A person had to learn to come to terms with the fate determined for him by God. It would do no good to grumble that one would rather be someone else or live somewhere else. Instead one had to try to make the best of the situation; that was the only way to fulfill God's plans. The last of the brothers to repeat these words to Arn before his departure was Brother Rugiero, who had also been called from Vitae Schola to Varnhem after Father Henri found the food up there wretched.

   Brother Rugiero had secretly shed a few tears at their parting, but then foisted on Arn a gigantic package of traveling provisions that would have lasted a week or more. When Arn protested, Brother Rugiero quickly closed the boy's knapsack and mentioned that it certainly couldn't hurt to bring along a bit of food to provide for his welcome ale at home. Brother Rugiero, like the other brothers from Vitae Schola, knew little about Arn, surmising that he'd come to them because his parents were poor and were having a hard time with all the mouths to feed back home.

   After a few hours Arn spied Skara in the distance; the double tower of the cathedral rose grandly over a conglomeration of low wooden houses. Soon he caught the scent of the town, since he was approaching from downwind. It smelled of smoke and putrefaction and rubbish and manure—a smell so strong that he would have had no trouble heading in the right direction for the last half hour even if it had been pitch dark.

   When Arn came closer to the town his curiosity was aroused by a large building under construction, and he made a little detour so he could watch the work at close hand. They were erecting a fortress.

   He reined in his horse and grew more and more astonished at what he saw. A whole crowd was in motion; most of the people were busy dragging stone blocks over rolling logs, but the work looked to be proceeding sluggishly. Nowhere did he see any block and tackle or hoisting mechanisms. Everything seemed to be done by brute force. Many ill-clad men were toiling hard, overseen by men with weapons who didn't seem at all kindly disposed toward the workers. And none of those who were doing the dragging and laboring seemed happy about their work.

   The walls were not very high, and they consisted mainly of earthworks that an attacker could easily ride to the top; from there a good horse could probably leap over in one jump. Khamsiin would be able to do it easily.

   Arn didn't know very much about war and defensive works except what he had read in books, which was mostly Roman strategy and tactics. But it seemed to him that this fortress under construction would be difficult to defend if the attackers built their own covered wooden towers and rolled them up to the walls. But perhaps the Roman methods were totally antiquated.

   Some of the men supervising the work noticed Arn staring, and they came over to him and let fall some harsh words which Arn didn't fully understand, but he gathered that he should leave because he wasn't welcome. He at once begged their pardon and turned his slow horse back toward town.

   The town of Skara was also surrounded by some sort of walls that consisted of logs and piles of branches with dirt thrown on top. Outside the town gate was an area with tents and people singing foreign songs and playing instruments. When Arn drew closer he saw that many men were sitting together in one of the tents drinking ale, and they had no doubt been doing so for a good while, since some had collapsed unconscious. He saw to his surprise a woman with her clothing in disarray, staggering over to a smaller tent, and a man sitting utterly without embarrassment as he answered the call of nature.

   Arn was completely bewildered by the behavior of his fellow human beings, and this was obvious from looking at him. Three small boys spotted him, pointed their fingers, and laughed, but he had no idea why. Yet he had to pass them to get through the opening in the wall, and then they whispered something amongst themselves before they approached to block his way.

   "Here you have to pay toll to the poor to be allowed in, monk boy!" said the oldest and boldest of the three.

   "I don't have much to give," replied Arn, truly sorry. "I just have a little bread and—"

   "Bread would be good, because we have nothing at all. How much have you got, monk boy?"

   "I have four pieces of bread baked this morning," said Arn truthfully.

   "Fine, we'll take them. Give us the bread at once!" called all three. And it seemed to Arn that they suddenly looked happy.

   Fortified by the thought that he could make his neighbor happy so easily, Arn opened his knapsack and handed over the pieces of bread. The three boys snatched them away and ran off, laughing wildly and without a word of thanks. Arn watched them go in amazement. He suspected that he'd been fooled in some way, but he didn't understand why anyone would want to do such a thing, so he felt guilty for thinking ill of his neighbor.

   When he tried to go through the gate, two sleepy men with weapons in their hands prevented him from doing so. First they wanted to know his name and what business he had there. Arn replied that he was lay brother Arn from Varnhem and that he had come to visit the cathedral, but that he would be moving on soon. They let him in with a laugh and said something mysteri ous about how he should mind he didn't commit some act that he didn't understand either. And because his confusion was so obvious from his expression, the two men laughed even more.

   When Arn entered through the gate he wasn't sure which way to go. The direction of the cathedral was clear from the two tall towers visible from anywhere in town. But there seemed to be nothing but compost amongst all the low and tightly packed wooden buildings. At first Arn thought he would have to find another way through all the garbage. But then he saw a man come riding down an alley that seemed to head straight for the cathedral. The hooves of his horse sank deeper with every step into sludge, manure, and rotting garbage. Very hesitantly and with the stench tickling his nostrils, Arn took the same alley in the opposite direction. It was still morning, or time that was reckoned as morning inside the town. Everywhere cocks were crowing, and at several spots along the alley he was almost struck by garbage thrown out from pots and cooking vessels. The people apparently shared living quarters with their livestock and poultry. He was filled with more astonishment than disgust.

   But when Arn finally emerged from the alley and found himself in front of the cathedral itself, the crowded streets gave way to a large market square with long rows of tents where all sorts of trade was conducted. The ground was also cleaner out here.

   Cautiously he dismounted from his horse, careful where he set his feet, and tied the reins to a post outside the cathedral where two other horses stood. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should let his curiosity take over and go to see what was being sold in the tents, or whether he should go inside God's house first. As soon as he posed that question to himself he was ashamed that he'd had even the slightest doubt; he walked straight in through the church door, fell to his knees, and crossed himself.