A great host of soldiers had crowded into the castle courtyard, and between the stone walls there were echoes of the horses' iron shoes and snorting, the rattling of weapons, and impatient voices. The sun was on its way up and it was going to be a cold day, but without snow and with good road conditions. Two heavily loaded carts were dragged on ironclad oak wheels whining and creaking out through the gate to make room for all the horsemen. They were waiting for the headmen of the clan who were saying prayers in the high tower room, and some joked that they could well be lengthy prayers up there if the young monk was in charge. As if to keep warm or burn off some of their impatience, four of the Arnäs retainers began fighting one another with sword and shield, while terrified thralls had to hold their restless stallions and kinsmen outside shouted merrily and offered good advice.

   It was indeed Arn who had led the prayers with his father and his uncle Birger Brosa and Eskil, for they truly needed the protection of God and the Saint before this journey, which might end well but also might end with the ravages of war sweeping across all of Western Götaland.

   When Arn came out into the castle courtyard and saw the four retainers hacking away at one another with swords, he stopped short. He stood speechless in amazement when he discovered that these men, who were supposed to be his father's finest fighters and armed guard, didn't know how to handle a sword. He never would have imagined anything like this. Although they were full-grown men and heavily clad in knee-length chain mail and tunics bearing the colors of the Folkungs, they looked like little boys who barely knew a thing about using sword and shield.

   Magnus, who saw his son's sheepish stare and thought that Arn might have been frightened by these wild games, placed his hand calmly on Arn's shoulder and consoled him by saying that he had no cause to be afraid of such men as long as they were in the family's pay. But they were huge giants, which was good for Arnäs.

   Then for the first time in a long while Arn looked as if he were slow to comprehend. But then a light apparently went on for him, and he smiled uncertainly at his father's consoling words, assuring him that he hadn't been frightened of the fighting at all. He said he felt safe at seeing that they bore the colors of the Folkungs like himself. He didn't want to hurt his father by saying what he thought of the ability of these men to wield a sword. For by now he had learned that sometimes it was wise out in the base world not to speak the truth.

   There was more trouble when Magnus discovered that Arn had heedlessly fastened the sword he'd received from the monks at his side. That sword would only arouse ridicule, so he went straight to the armory and fetched a good, beautiful Norwegian sword to offer Arn instead. But then Arn turned stubborn, the same way he did about wanting to ride his skinny monk horse instead of a manly Nordic stallion.

   Magnus tried to explain that the Folkungs now had to ride with a great force to put fear into the enemy and pacify them. Even Arn who was clad in the Folkung colors had to do his share so that he did not entice ridicule. And it would be ridiculous if a son so close to the headman of the clan carried a sword like a woman's and rode a horse that was good for nothing.

   Arn restrained himself for a good long while before replying. But then he suggested politely that he might consider riding one of the sluggish black stallions, but that he would rather not carry a sword at all than relinquish his own. And faced with this dilemma Magnus relented, not entirely pleased yet relieved at being quit of the most mortifying spectacle of his son on a horse that would arouse ridicule.

   Finally the mighty force could ride out from Arnäs on its way to the ting of all the Goths, the ting that was now called a landsting because King Karl Sverkersson himself would participate for the first time in two years. This time he would have to choose between war and peace.

   In the vanguard the leader of the retainers rode alone with the banner of the Folkungs raised on a lance. Then followed Birger Brosa and Magnus Folkesson riding side by side, clad in silver and blue. They were wrapped in their wide blue mantles lined with marten fur, and they wore shiny pointed helmets on their heads. On the left side behind the saddle they had fastened their shields on which the rampant golden lion of the Folkungs stood defiantly posed for battle. After them rode Eskil and Arn, dressed and armed in the same manner as the headmen of the clan, and then followed a double rank of retainers who all carried lances with the colors of the Folkungs fluttering in the wind from the tips.

   An equal number of Folkungs would meet up with them from the southern and western parts of the country, and outside Skara they would join with the Erik clan to demonstrate clearly, when they rode into the ting as the strongest contingent, that war would make both the Folkung and the Erik clans enemies of King Karl, since they belonged together not merely through their bond of blood but also through their shared determination never to be subjugated. The ting of all Goths would be held outside the royal manor at Axevalla.

   If two young men other than Eskil and Arn had been forced to ride side by side for such a long way, they would have talked most about the struggle for power in which they themselves had unavoidably become involved. But Arn was still as passive and quiet as he had been ever since returning from Varnhem. The morning after the night he spent at Husaby, he had ridden in a wild dash to Varnhem to confess to Father Henri. When he eventually returned home he had morosely reforged the two helmets that he understood they were going to compel him and his brother to wear. What he changed was not visible so much on the outside, but the helmets were padded and warm on the inside so that they would not freeze their ears off in the cold.

   But two brothers could not ride together in silence, Eskil thought. He supposed it would be better if he broke the ice and talked about what was preoccupying his mind; afterward they could more easily tackle what was obviously bothering Arn.

   And so Eskil talked about the Norwegian business transactions, which had gone very well. They had succeeded in acquiring an offer of first refusal, so that the farms in question might be said to remain within the same clan, yet they had still brought home so much Norwegian silver that it was good for Arnäs. The best thing was that they had been able to sell without arousing discontent or dispute.

   What concerned Eskil right now was something else: dried fish that was called clipfish in Norway—split dried cod. Up in northern Norway ocean fish were caught in huge numbers. Near a place called Lofoten they were caught in such quantities that it was more than they could eat and sell in all of Norway. This meant there was a surplus of clipfish that was cheap to buy, easy to ship, and almost like magic could last without spoiling until it was softened up in water. Eskil's idea was to buy up all such surplus Norwegian fish and sell it in the Gothic lands, because there were many periods of fasting, especially the forty days before Easter, when it was considered a sin to eat meat. The fish that people caught in lakes and seas in the Gothic lands was not sufficient, particularly for those who lived in large communities and far from fishing waters, such as in the cities of Skara and Linköping.