"But everyone has ancestors, everyone comes from somewhere, all the way back to Adam and Eve, and we're all born equally naked," Arn objected with a hint of wonder in his voice.

   "Yes, indeed we all have ancestors. But some, according to that method of judging, have ancestors who are superior to others, and others have wealthier ancestors, and they inherit property from each other out there."

   "So if someone is born rich, then he remains rich; and if he has ancestors who are superior, then he doesn't have to do anything for his own sake, since he's naturally superior? So it doesn't matter if he's good or evil, intelligent or stupid—he remains superior?" Arn pondered this, at the same time looking oddly astute as he took this first stumbling step into an awareness of the other world.

   "That's precisely how it is, and that's why some have thralls out there even today. You're aware of that, aren't you?" said Father Henri.

   "Well, yes . . ." Arn said hesitantly. "My own father had thralls. It's something I haven't thought about in a long time, as if it were something my memory didn't like. I've mostly thought about my mother at evening prayers, but not so much about my father, and never about the fact that he had thralls. But so it was. Now I recall that he beheaded a thrall once, I forget why, but I'll never forget that sight."

   "You see. And I'm afraid that your father has thralls even today. He is from a superior clan, and that means, and pay close attention to this, that means that you are as well. On your mother's gravestone there are two marks, as you have surely seen although we've never talked about it. One is a dragon head and a sword; that is your mother's mark. The other is a lion rampant, and that is your father's mark. It is the mark of the Folkung clan, and you are therefore a Folkung. And you probably don't know what that entails."

   "No . . ." said Arn hesitantly. He looked as though he couldn't even imagine the import of being somebody other than who he was.

   "Specifically it means this," said Father Henri straight off. "You have the right to ride with a sword, you have the right to carry a shield with the mark of the Folkungs. And if those rough customers had seen you thus, they would have never dreamed of attacking you. If you did not have a sword and were not carrying a shield with the mark of the Folkungs, you would only have needed to tell them your name, which is Arn Magnusson of Arnäs, and their belligerence would have instantly melted away. This is what I never told you. I never told you who you are in the eyes of the other world, and that was very wrong. If I have any excuse to offer, it is that in here we do not view our neighbors as they do out there. And I didn't want to lead you into the temptation of ever believing that you were superior to other people. I think you can understand that, and perhaps even forgive me for it."

   "But this can't make me into someone other than who I am, can it?" Arn protested, puzzled. "I am as God created me, just as everyone else is, just as you are or the thralls are out there. I bear no blame for that, nor do I benefit from it. And by the way, why would the unfortunate souls who wanted to kill me let themselves be checked by a name? I was still only a 'monk boy' who couldn't handle a sword in their eyes, so why would a name frighten them?"

   "Because if they laid a hand on you, none of them would live to see the sun go down for more than a few days. Not one of them. Then they would bring down the whole Folkung clan, your clan, on their necks. And no peasants in all of this unfortunate land would ever dream of doing something that stupid. That's the way it is out there, and you're going to have to get used to it."

   "But I don't want to get used to such an unreasonable and evil order of things, father. Nor do I want to live in a world like that."

   "You must," said Father Henri curtly. "Because so it has been decided. You must soon go out into the other world again—that is my command."

   "I will obey your command, but—"

   "No buts!" interrupted Father Henri. "You no longer have to shave your head. You shall break your fast starting now; just remember to eat cautiously at first. Immediately after supper you shall go to Brother Guilbert, and he will explain the other part of the truth about you, the part you do not know."

   Father Henri arose heavily from the small wooden bed. He suddenly felt old and stiff and thought for the first time that his life was turning to autumn, that time was running out of the hourglass, and that he might never find out what sort of task God had prepared for his beloved son.

   "Pardon me, father, but one last question before you go?" ventured Arn with an expression of bewilderment on his face.

   "Yes indeed, my son, ask as many last questions as you like, because the questions will never cease."

   "What was the nature of the sin that you and Brother Guilbert committed? I still can't conceive of it."

   "Very simple, my son. If you knew who you were, you wouldn't have had to kill. If we had told you who you were, you would have known. We kept silent about the truth because we believed we were protecting you with lies. And God enlightened us in a most brutal fashion, showing us that nothing good can come of something evil. It is that simple. But nothing evil can come of something good, either, and you had no evil intent. So, see you at vespers!"

   Father Henri left Arn alone for the hours he now required for his prayers of thanksgiving, something Father Henri did not need to mention. Because as soon as Father Henri had closed the door behind him, Arn dropped to his knees and thanked God, the Holy Virgin, and Saint Bernard in turn for saving his soul through Their ineffable grace. During his prayers he felt as though God were answering him, since life returned to his body like a warm stream of hope and, finally, in the form of something as trivial as ordinary hunger.

Gunvor felt as if intoxicated by her own goodness, and it made her happy. For certainly it was a great sacrifice that she and Gunnar were now about to make. The two sorrels were almost half of all that she and her betrothed owned, and giving away so much was no easy task. But it was the right thing to do, and she was proud and glad that neither she nor Gunnar had felt any doubts as they approached the cloister at Varnhem. As Gunvor saw it, the Holy Virgin had answered her sincere prayers, not by taking her into the liberating embrace of death but by sending a young monk who with two strokes of his sword transformed both her own life and Gunnar's forever. Now they would live together until the day that death parted them. On no day of that journey would they ever neglect to offer prayers of thanksgiving for the decision of Our Lady to save their lives and give them both what they held dearest in all the world.