"When it applies to the crusades, obviously," replied Arn obediently.

   "Correct! But a crusade involves killing large numbers of Saracens, doesn't it? So, doesn't the commandment against killing apply here? And if not, why not?"

   "It doesn't apply because it is done, always done, with the blessing of the Holy Father in Rome," Arn replied cautiously.

   "Yes, but that's a circular argument, my son. I asked why?"

   "Because we have to imagine that the good is very good, that the good in preserving the Holy Sepulchre for believers is so much greater than the evil of killing Saracens," Arn ventured hesitantly.

   "Yes, you're on the right track," Father Henri assured him with a thoughtful nod. "But even when the Lord Jesus drove the moneylenders out of the temple he was never close to killing them, was he?"

   "No, but that could be because, through his Father's wrath, which naturally is much different from our human wrath, he used only as much force as was necessary. He actually did drive the moneylenders out of the temple. He didn't need to kill them; it's as if Brother Guilbert had—"

   "All right! Let's get back to the question at hand," Father Henri interrupted him brusquely. But behind his stern mask he was secretly smiling at how Arn had suddenly and as if by chance managed to find an almost devastating argument that would strengthen his earlier position that Brother Guilbert should have used limited force. He should have simply acted as did the Lord Jesus himself in the temple.

   "Did the Lord Jesus repudiate the soldiers, did he ever condemn them for being soldiers?" asked Father Henri in a deliberately subdued tone of voice.

   "No, not that I know of . . ." Arn pondered. "Like that part about the coin, render unto Caesar what is Caesar's and unto God what . . . something like that. And then of course we have almost the same thing in the gospel of Luke, 3:14, I think . . . 'Then some soldiers asked him, "And what should we do?" He replied, "Don't extort money and don't accuse people falsely— be content with your pay." ' If the soldiers behave like honest men when they're not soldiers . . . then it's not wrong to be a soldier?"

   "Correct! And what do soldiers do?"

   "They kill people. Like the ones who came in response to your letter to the king, Father. But soldiers and kings out there in the base world, what do they have to do with us?"

   "Your question is very interesting, my son. Because you're simply asking the following: Is there a situation when such as you or I would be able to kill? I see that you are doubtful, and before you say anything foolish that you might regret I will answer you. There is indeed an exception. The Lord Jesus in his ineffable kindness of course meant that we should not kill other children of God, not even Roman soldiers, or Danish ones for that matter. But there is a people not included in the Lord's prohibition, and I think you can guess who they are, can't you?"

   "The Saracens!" Arn said at once.

   "Right again! Because the Saracens are the most nefarious race that the Devil has put on our earth. They are not human beings, they are devils in human form. They do not hesitate to impale Christian babies on their spears and roast them over fires and then eat their fill. They are known for their dissolute lives, their excessive drinking, and their constant habit of sodomy and fornication with animals. They are the scum of the earth, and every dead Saracen is a pleasing sight for Our Lord, and whoever kills Saracens has committed a holy act and is therefore assured of a place in Paradise!"

   Father Henri had gradually grown more agitated as he enumerated the heinous ways of the Saracens, and Arn's eyes had grown wider and wider as he listened to these comments. What Arn had heard surpassed his understanding. His mind refused even to picture such a scene with these detestable creatures eating roasted Christian babies from their spear points. He couldn't conceive how such devils could take the form of human beings.

   But he could easily understand that it would be a pleasing deed to God, even for brothers within walls, to kill such evil. He also drew the conclusion that there was a vast distance between the Danish riffraff that had so unfortunately turned to the path of robbery and the Saracens. In that one case the commandment Thou shalt not killwas valid without exception. In the second case it was the direct opposite.

   Although such a simple and clear conclusion had little practical importance up here in the North.

During the years Arn had not been able to sing, he had changed, just as his work had changed. The time that he previously would have spent with Brother Ludwig and the choir brothers, several hours each day, had now become time spent with Brother Guy down by the shore. Brother Guy soon taught him the methods from his home district for knotting nets, catching fish, and maneuvering small boats. For safety's sake Brother Guy had also seen to it that Arn learned how to dive and swim.

   With Brother Guilbert he had now become both a worker and a pupil. He was given all the heavier tasks in the smithies, and his arms grew in bulk almost as fast as his body shot up in height. He mastered most of the everyday smithing activities so that he could make good and marketable items. Only when it came to forging swords did he still lag far behind Brother Guilbert.

   The two mares, Khadiya and Aisha, had now given birth to three foals, and Khamsiin had grown into a stallion as powerful as Nasir. It was Arn's job to take care of all the horses from Outremer, to break the new foals, and make sure that Nasir and Khamsiin were each kept isolated in a fenced pasture so that they wouldn't mate with Nordic mares in an order other than what Brother Guilbert had determined after precise studies.

   Yet Brother Guilbert's great hope that these horses from Outremer would bring in much silver was fulfilled only slowly. The Danish magnates who came to visit primarily to buy new swords for themselves and herbs for their women regarded the foreign horses with suspicion. They thought that these animals were too spindly and didn't look like they could do very much. At first Brother Guilbert had a hard time taking such objections seriously and actually suspected that the Danes were joking with him. Then he realized that the barbarians were quite seri ous, sometimes even leading in their own animals to show him proudly how a real horse should look. Brother Guilbert grew dejected.

   Finally circumstances led him to devise a trick that did indeed work well, but which made him feel guilty and contrite. One of these Danes led in his chubby, unruly Nordic horse to compare its advantages to those of the "skinny" ones. The man extolled both his steed's strength and his speed, which far surpassed anything foreign. Brother Guilbert at once had a bright idea. He suggested that the honorable Danish knight should race down to the shore and back to the cloister, and that only a little cloister boy would ride one of the new horses. And if the honorable Danish gentleman won the race, he wouldn't have to pay anything for the sword he had just purchased.