Algot Pålsson attempted to come to Arn's rescue, hastening to change the subject, saying that he had heard about some new plants at the cloister, and he wondered whether Arn might describe them. But the young man who had mocked Arn didn't want to let him wriggle off the hook, and with a knowing glance toward Katarina he loudly declared that it would be a shame if braggarts should win good women whom they didn't deserve in their own right. He uttered other, similar surly remarks, which made Arn suspect that the hostile man was in love with Katarina, though that was absolutely none of Arn's business.

   Algot made a new attempt to steer the conversation toward the peaceful subject of the cloister and away from archery, which could only bring more dissension to the table. But Tord Geirsson, as the scornful young man was named, wanted to vanquish Arn and thus show Katarina how strong he was himself. Now he proposed that they fetch a bow so they might compete for a few shots, since the hall was quite long. Arn agreed to this at once, since he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Algot Pålsson had taken in a breath and was about to avert the contest.

   House thralls were sent immediately to fetch a bow and quiver, and a tied-up bale of hay was set up by the door at the other end of the hall, at a distance of twenty-five paces. Tord Geirsson took the bow and the arrows, proclaiming that this wasn't a very difficult distance from which to shoot wild boar. Perhaps Herr Arn, who was so skillful, would show them first how it was done, and then Tord would take the second round.

   Arn felt coldly resolute and stood up at once. He did not like the position he had landed in by telling the truth, and he wanted to get out of this predicament right away; as far as he knew there was only one way to do that. With long strides he went over to Tord Geirsson and almost rudely snatched the bow from him. He strung it quickly and skillfully, and carefully selected three arrows, holding two in his bow hand and nocking the third onto the bowstring. He drew it back as far as the bow would tolerate, wanting to shoot with the bow's full power so that the arrow would drop as little as possible on the way. And then he loosed the arrow. It struck the center, a mere thumb's-breadth below the middle of the bale of hay. They all craned their necks to see and then began whispering to one another. Arn now knew how the bow shot, and he took careful aim with the two following shots, which he loosed without hurry, and striking somewhat better. Then without a word he handed the bow to Tord Geirsson and went to sit down.

   Tord Geirsson was white in the face as he stared at the three arrows protruding from the target in a tight pattern. He realized that he had lost, but he didn't know how to handle the quandary he had landed himself in. Of all the methods he could imagine, he found every single one shameful. He did not choose wisely. He flung the bow to the floor in pique and left the hall without saying a word, but with the loud laughter of everyone in his ears.

   Arn said a silent prayer for him, asking that his anger might abate and hoping that he had learned something from his pride. For his own part he prayed that Saint Bernard continue to remind him about pride and that he might not be seduced into exaggerating the importance of this simple incident.

   When Algot Pålsson recovered from his astonishment over Arn's skill, he was very pleased and soon had everyone around the table drinking a skål to Arn in earnest, now that he had proven what a skillful archer he was. Much more ale was brought in, and Arn began to feel more at ease, soon even deciding that the tough, unhanged venison tasted quite good. And he tried to drink ale like a real man.

   Katarina had taken the liberty of pouring ale for Arn herself, which was polite and something she should have done from the start, since she sat in the mistress's place and Arn in that of the guest of honor. At first she had found him much too uncertain and humble. Now she found his stature more than impressive.

   Soon she had changed places with her father in the high seat so that she was sitting next to Arn, close enough that he was aware of her body when she spoke to him, which she did more and more eagerly, showing how clever she found everything that Arn said. Her hands touched his now and then, as if accidentally.

   Arn was even more enlivened by this, and drank more ale every time it was set before him. He was pleased that Katarina, who had seemed to look at him with such cold and scornful eyes when he first entered the hall, now beamed and smiled at him with such warmth that he felt the heat touch his own skin and rise up inside himself.

   If Algot Pålsson had handled his position as lord of the manor with greater chivalry, he would have rebuked his daughter for this flirtatious behavior. But he decided that there was a considerable difference when such unsuitable behavior for a young woman was directed toward a proud but poor clan kinsman such as Tord Geirsson, instead of toward a young nobleman from Arnäs. So he looked through his fingers at such things when he noticed what good fathers cannot avoid discovering and usually choose to reprove.

   Arn's head was soon spinning from all the ale, and almost too late he noticed that he had to vomit. He made his way quickly out of the hall so as not to defile the place where people ate. When the cold air struck him in the face outside, he bent over to empty his stomach of what seemed like half a tough deer and a good cask of ale. He bitterly regretted his actions but could not think of praying before he was done.

   Afterward he wiped his mouth carefully and took deep breaths of the cold air, admonishing himself about how foolish he looked no matter what he tried. Then he went inside to say good night without eating any more, wishing everyone God's peace, and thanking them for all the generous food. Then he staggered on stiff but resolute legs out of the hall, into the courtyard, and over to the spring which now lay shrouded in darkness and drizzling rain. He splashed cold water on his face, chastised himself loudly in a slurred voice, and fumbled his way over to the guesthouse. He found his bed in the dark and fell forward like a clubbed ox.

   When night came to the longhouse and only snoring was heard, Katarina cautiously crept off into the night. Algot Pålsson, who usually slept poorly after big ale feasts, heard her sneak off and understood full well where she was heading. As a good father he should have prevented her from such antics and chastised her roundly.

   As a good father, he consoled himself, he could also refrain from doing so; if nothing else, in hopes of having a daughter at Arnäs.

Chapter 9

For anyone who did not know, it might look as though the Folkungs were now going to set off to war from Arnäs. Even for those who knew everything, this was conceivable.