The fact that his eldest son was certainly no man of swordplay was something that Magnus could live with, however, without great disgrace, since it was to the advantage of Arnäs that Eskil would live longer for not using sword and shield.

   But the fact that his second son was also utterly lacking in the manly virtues was worse and made the disgrace much greater. Magnus had heard some of his retainers whispering scornfully about Arn as the nun from Varnhem. He had chosen to swallow the affront and pretend that he hadn't heard it rather than draw more attention to what was said. It was bad enough that his retainers seemed to be entirely right in this case, for it was not easy to understand what the monks had done with the little boy— whom Magnus remembered as a lively rascal who had learned to use a bow and arrow when he was very young. There had been lovely prayers said at table since Arn came home, but that added little to the honor of the house.

   The boy had come riding up one beautiful autumn day on a skinny horse that provoked much laughter; even worse, he wore a sword at his side that seemed designed for women, if such a sword could be imagined. It was much too long and too light, with poor smithwork and too bright a sheen. Magnus had soon seen to it that the sword was put away in the tower's armory so as not to prompt malicious laughter toward the innocent boy.

   A father had to love his lawful sons, that was God's inescapable commandment. But the question was how much disappointment and dishonor could gnaw at that love until in the end what he felt could no longer be called love.

   Another question, of course, was whether they could even make a man of the boy; it seemed as though he had been with the monks so long that he had become like one of them. Magnus felt that in a way, which was not entirely to his pleasure, it was like having a priest in the house, as if at the evening meal they could no longer talk freely about what they happened to be thinking but had to watch their words so as not to sound ungodly.

   Nor did Arn drink to any extent. This had been evident at their first meal to welcome him home, which was intended to be a joyful celebration. Just like the account in the Holy Scriptures, Magnus had slaughtered the fatted calf upon the prodigal son's return, although in this instance it was a fatted suckling pig, which was much finer. And they had all dressed up for the feast, Arn wearing some of Eskil's clothes that he had grown out of in recent years, for Eskil had almost degenerated to the state of his great-grandfather Folke the Fat.

   But during the evening no one could fail to notice that this son Arn was not much of a man, since he drank only two tankards of ale the whole evening and picked at the excellent pork like a woman. Even though he did make an effort to seem amenable, he was a bit slow to follow everything that was said, he had a hard time understanding jokes, and he was not quick enough to toss words back to anyone who tried to draw him into the revelry. He seemed to have inherited none of his mother's quick wit or sly tongue.

   Since ale loosened his thoughts the same way it loosened his tongue, Magnus reeled into the abhorrent idea that Arn had become like a woman among the monks. Such stories were told by the ungodly and those of little faith about the unnamable sins of certain monks.

   With his acuity now somewhat muddied Magnus tried to judge whether the fact that Arn seemed more comfortable among women meant that he had succumbed to that particular abomi nation of the monks, or whether his proclivity for getting along better with women actually indicated the opposite.

   It must mean the abomination, he thought at first. Since such fallen men were just like women and so perhaps felt more comfortable with women.

   It must mean the opposite, he corrected himself. For if a man had fallen into an abomination of a similar type, such as fornicating with heifers, wouldn't he seek out heifers more or less in secret? There were plenty of young thrall boys at Arnäs, but considering how everyone was keeping an eye on the irresolute prodigal son, the slightest attempt to assault one of the thrall boys would have led to a storm of gossip. And that would not have escaped the attention of the lord's family.

   No, he was definitely not a catamite. That would have been the worst shame he could have brought down upon his father's house and his clan. In that case he would have to be killed quickly to restore the honor of the house.

   Magnus shouted angrily to his terrified house thralls to bring out more ale; they obeyed wordlessly and swift as the wind.

   After reflecting on his latest conclusions, when after half a tankard he remembered where he was, Magnus began to weep, overwhelmed by emotion. In truth he had thought much too ill of Arn who was his true son, and who was the apple of his dear Sigrid's eye. What did the Lord God actually mean by all this? First Arn was to be given as a little boy to God; all the signs had spoken so clearly that there could be no doubt. And if Arn had remained a man of God for the rest of his life all would have been well, for Magnus certainly was not among those who denied all the good that the monks had accomplished in Western Götaland. On the contrary, he admitted to all and sundry that much of what had made Arnäs a better farm than others was due largely to the monks' knowledge.

   But now Arn, instead of doing God's good work among the monks, had been released to what had once been his home, and he came as half a man and half a monk. What could be the meaning of that? Those who said that the ways of the Lord were often inscrutable had indeed good reason for saying so.

   But even worse perhaps was that the boy persisted in working like a thrall. Only a few days after Arn had returned to Arnäs, he began busily digging, building walls, and hammering everywhere. It hadn't helped matters when Magnus carefully explained to his son that he didn't need to toil that way, since he could use thralls to perform such tasks, and there were plenty of them idle this time of year. Then Arn had merely increased his activity as he ran from one job to the next. It was hard to know what would come of all this, but it would have been unwise for Magnus to stop it before he knew more.

   One thing, however, had won the admiration of all the men, even the most scornful retainers. Arn had examined all the estate's horses, and he had forged a new type of horseshoe with a nail that stuck up from the forward edge of the hoof and prevented the shoe from falling off. These horseshoes were certainly an improvement over the old ones. Magnus had asked both his retainers and the smithy thralls, and they all agreed.

   It was a good thing, because anything that was made better at Arnäs was considered a good thing, and that was the opinion of Magnus as well as Eskil. But what was embarrassing was that his lawful son should be working in the filth and smoke as if he were a thrall, and was not in the least ashamed of it. On the contrary, when Arn said grace at table, which he now did in normal language, he always thanked God for the day's blessed work.