They waited without saying much in the longhouse until the sleighs' head start was so great that they could not be caught. Now it was time to conclude the bargain. Emund was melancholy and pale, and his left hand shook when with Eskil's help he burned his seal onto the bill of sale. The stump of his right arm, suppurating through his linen bandages, smelled terrible.

   When the bill of sale was in order, Eskil carefully rolled it up and stuffed it inside his shirt. He shoved the chest with the second half of the purchase price over toward Emund and said goodbye, explaining that for his part there was nothing more to do at Forsvik. Some of his men would stay and maintain the manor until spring, when replacements from Arnäs would come to take over.

   Then he went outside and gathered his waiting retainers from Arnäs. He mounted his horse and rode off without haste.

   But inside the longhouse no one gave any sign of allowing Emund to leave in his waiting sleigh. When such a long time passed that Eskil was no longer in sight and could no longer hear any noise from Forsvik, Elling the Strong and Egil Olafsen of Ulateig went out to the courtyard and immediately killed the retainers who were waiting for their lord and flung their bodies into the sleigh.

   When that was done they came back into the longhouse and sat down without saying a word, since nothing needed to be said. Everyone inside had heard and understood.

   Now Knut turned to Emund and spoke to him in a low voice but with cold hatred.

   "You wondered, Emund One-Hand, who I was since you did not know any Knut. I will now tell you, because I'm not an ordinary Norseman. I am Knut Eriksson, Erik Jedvardsson's son, and although you have paid your debt to Eskil Magnusson, you also have a debt owing to me."

   Emund understood which debt he was referring to and jumped up as if intending to flee, but was caught with happy shouts by the Norsemen. With much scorn they dragged him out to the courtyard kicking and flailing, and there they spread him out on the ground by pounding spikes into the ground frost and tying his arms and legs so that he lay on his back with a piece of wood as a pillow.

   Geir Erlendsen thought that they should have bound him in the other direction so that Knut could witness the good Norwegian custom of carving the blood-eagle into wretches who deserved to die in torment. But it would be sufficient, after the king-killer's ribs were broken and folded out like wings on the ground, if Knut could then with his bare hands rip Emund's heart from his body.

   But Knut Eriksson refused to hear of it, since he did not want to soil his hands with an outlaw's blood. Rather, as the Holy Scriptures prescribed, the king-murderer should die in the same manner as he had murdered, by decapitation from the front.

   Emund Ulvbane behaved in a manly way and did not beg for his life. With a single blow Knut Eriksson severed his head from his body and had it raised on a lance in the middle of the courtyard to remind the thralls who were left that there was a new lord at Forsvik. Emund's body was flung into the sleigh among those of the retainers, and the sleigh was sent off to be burned out on the ice of the lake.

   Knut Eriksson and most of his men stayed only another day at Forsvik to go through whatever might seem useful in the storehouses and lake houses. What they found was good, for in one of the lake houses there was enough sawn oak to build the ship they had planned. Eyvind Jonsson, Jon Mickelsen, and Egil Olafsen of Ulateig had to remain at Forsvik to finish building the ship before the ice on Lake Vättern thawed. It would be a mighty task that only Norwegian shipbuilders could manage.

   With the rest of his Norwegian retainers and some of those from Arnäs, Knut Eriksson headed back to Western Götaland. He had taken his first long stride on the path that would lead him to the three royal crowns.

Listen, there is my friend!

Yes, there he comes,

bounding along on the hills.

Like a gazelle is my friend

or like a young stag.

See, now he stands there behind my wall,

he looks in through the window,

he peers through the grating.

My friend begins to speak,

he says to me:

Stand up, my beloved, you my beauty, and come outside.

For see, winter is gone, the rainy time is over and has gone its way.

Again and again Arn murmured the words of the Lord to express what filled him more than anything else. He was riding toward Husaby, making great clods of earth and frozen snow and ice spurt up around Shimal's hooves. The stallion was hot and sweaty, but Arn bore his own heat within and thought that the springtime wind of speed could cool him. He knew full well that this might not be the most suitable state of mind for appear ing in the house of the Lord to sing the Lord's praises and His alone. And he was very sure that Father Henri would have had many stern views on the matter.

   But he rode like a lunatic with the speed of a fool because he could do nothing else. So filled was he with Cecilia that all else had to stand aside except the Lord Himself. And it felt as though the Devil were tempting him with evil thoughts, asking if he had to choose between the Lord's love or Cecilia's, which would he choose? Evil thoughts seemed to force themselves on him no matter how much he tried to defend himself, as if the Devil had truly discovered a soul with a great weakness.

   He had to stop, dismount from Shimal, and pray for forgiveness for the wicked thoughts that had seeped inside him. He prayed until he was freezing cold and then even more. After that he continued on at a more modest pace, for he had come so close to Husaby that people there would soon be able to see him.

   He arrived at the church in good time and led Shimal to the priest's stable. He wiped the horse down, covering him with homespun so that he wouldn't cool off too fast after the sweaty ride. Shimal looked at him with his big, grateful eyes—as if the stallion had been wronged and had seen through him.

   It was Annunciation Day, the time when the storks came to Western Götaland and when the plow was to be put to work in the fields at Vitae Schola in Denmark. This mass was suited to Arn's voice just as well as the mass at Christmas. The Virgin Mary was the patroness of the monastery at Varnhem, and all singers who came from Varnhem thus knew every mass by heart that belonged to the Holy Virgin.