The cathedral dean then questioned Arn about where he came from and decided to escort the poor monk personally back to Varnhem. Gunnar of Redeberga would be carried home to be buried and the gravely wounded Joar would be carried on a litter to his home.

It was a very oddly matched pair that came riding up to Varnhem on that mild autumn morning when the rowan trees and oaks and beeches around the monastery had begun to turn yellow and red.

   Cathedral Dean Torkel was in a radiant mood, for God had granted him the opportunity to witness one of His miracles on earth. It was a signal honor.

   Arn, who had been fasting since his misdeed and refused to spend the night anywhere but in the cathedral in prayer, was ashen-gray in the face and weighted down by his grievous sin. He was well aware that the dean's confused talk of a miracle was untrue. God had shown him grace by giving him a sword, with which he could have defended himself without injuring anyone. But he had misused that grace and instead committed the worst of sins. He knew that now he was lost, and it amazed him that God had not smote him to the ground at once when he committed such an unforgivable deed.

   When they were let in the cloister gate beneath the two tall ash trees that were the only visible remains of what Arn's mother had once donated, Arn began praying at once for forgiveness. He slunk into the cloister church to pray for the strength to be able to do honest penance soon.

   Dean Torkel proudly asked for an audience with Father Henri, because he had such magnificent news to report.

   The conversation between the two men was very strange, and not only because they had a hard time understanding each other. Dean Torkel spoke Latin as poorly as Father Henri spoke Norse, and besides, Dean Torkel was so excited that he couldn't tell the story sensibly. Father Henri had to ask him to calm down, drink a glass of wine, and then begin at the beginning.

   And when it gradually dawned on Father Henri what a catastrophe had occurred, he was at a loss to understand the dean's giddy enthusiasm.

   It was obvious that Arn was no bride-robber. How he could even be accused of something like that was at first very difficult for his uneducated Nordic colleague to explain.

   When someone foolishly took it into his head to toss a sword to Arn, it was equally obvious that the result would be one dead and one dying man. But it was (blasphemous thought) as if God the Father were cruelly joking with the wedding guests in that case. Or, perhaps rather, He was punishing them for their ruthless thoughtlessness when a frightened woman ran off and they took the first man on the road to be a bride-robber. The latter displayed despicably barbaric behavior, especially as they then supposed they had the right to slay on the spot the man they had encountered. On the other hand, the laws were such in this part of the world that the poor misguided souls had to some measure acted in good faith.

   But the hardest thing to swallow was the dean's self-righteous notions that he had been granted the opportunity to witness a miracle with the archangel Gabriel standing behind Arn, helping him to wield each stroke of the sword.

   Father Henri muttered to himself that if the archangel Gabriel had really seen what was going on, he wouldn't have rushed to help Arn but instead come to the aid of the foolish drunkards. But he said none of this aloud.

   The imagined miracle became a more delicate matter in that Dean Torkel was now asking the cloister's help to have his account written down properly, while he still had the images clear in his mind and also remembered the names of all the witnesses.

   At first Father Henri gave an evasive reply to the request and asked instead to be informed of what the laws outside the walls said about lay brother Arn's behavior. For a long while Dean Torkel was distracted from his request for written assistance.

   The laws said that bride-robbers could be struck down if caught in the act. But not an innocent person, because that would be concomitant to murder.

   On the one hand, the law was such that if twelve men swore that Arn was innocent and that a miracle had occurred, then Arn would be acquitted at the ting, if the matter went that far. On the other hand, if the families of the dead man, or in the worst case the two dead men, wanted to bring a suit at the ting, then the question would arise as to whether Arn, as he clearly was named, had anyone who could serve as his oath-swearers and who were not foreigners. Did Arn have anyone who could be his oath-swearers, and did he possibly belong to any clan?

   "Yes," sighed Father Henri in relief. "The young man does belong to a clan. His name is Arn Magnusson of Arnäs, his father is Magnus Folkesson, and his uncle is Birger Brosa of Bjälbo. Eskil the judge is his kinsman, et cetera, et cetera. The boy thus belongs to the Folkung clan, although I am unsure whether he entirely understands what that means. Of course there would be no problem getting oath-swearers."

   "Well, is that so! Praise be to God!" exclaimed Dean Torkel. "I shall hurry to inform the kinsmen that they should not expect success at any ting. This is even better, now they won't have anything against testifying that the account of the miracle is true!"

   Despite the fact that the two men of God now seemed to have found a simple solution to a legal problem, they were of much different minds. The dean was so happy he seemed to be hovering a bit above the ground, for his account of the miracle, which he would speak of at great length in the cathedral, had now been saved and would also be recorded in calligraphy on parchment by those who did such things best.

   Father Henri, who knew that no miracle had taken place, was relieved that Arn would not be subjected to the harsh and blind justice of Western Götaland. But he grieved for Arn's sake, and he grieved for his own sin, for he now realized that he and Brother Guilbert must share the blame for what had happened.

   "Could I receive at once the writing help that this great and important matter deserves?" asked the dean, full of bright enthusiasm.

   "Yes, of course, brother," replied Father Henri in a surprisingly deliberate tone. "We shall see to it at once."

   Father Henri summoned one of the scribes and explained in French, which he was sure that the uneducated dean did not speak, that he should keep a straight face and keep writing and make no objections, no matter how demented the whole thing might sound.

   When the dean, with a youthful bounce to his step and praising the Lord vociferously, was led toward the scriptorium, Father Henri got up with a heavy heart to seek out the unhappy Arn. He knew quite well where he would find him.