Arn had taken a lengthy and emotional leave of them all. He was utterly filled with their love for him, which he had never really understood until that last mass when he saw and heard the great solemnity of the singers, offering him the most beautiful farewell they could give him.

   Finally, out in the receptorium he was alone with Father Henri and Brother Guilbert. Father Henri nodded silently for him to mount his horse, and Arn swung up into the saddle of the impatiently prancing Shimal.

   "There is one last thing you should think about now as you venture out into the other world better equipped than last time," said Father Henri, stopping because he seemed briefly overcome by his emotions. "You carry a mighty sword at your side, as you already know. But remember also the words of Saint Bernard: 'See, God's warriors, what are your weapons? Are they not fore most your shield of faith, your helmet of salvation, and your chain mail of gentleness?' "

   "Yes, father, I swear never to forget that," replied Arn, looking Father Henri in the eye without blinking.

    "Au revoir, mon petit chevalier Perceval,"Brother Guilbert then said, and gave the impatient stallion a hard slap so that he galloped off at once with thundering hooves, heading out through the narrow stone passage to the world outside.

   "That was a bit incautious of you. What if he'd fallen off the horse?" muttered Father Henri sadly.

   "Arn doesn't fall off horses, and that's hardly the thing that threatens him most just now," said Brother Guilbert, shaking his head with a smile at his prior's unfounded concern.

   "By the way, I don't like that nonsense about Perceval and the Holy Grail and such vulgar songs," Father Henri snapped as he turned abruptly and took a few steps toward the oak gate. But as so often happened, he thought of something else he wanted to say and turned halfway around.

   "Perceval this and that, all those things will soon be forgotten like all the other base stories, it's rubbish!"

   "For something that is rubbish, you seem to know these vulgarities rather well yourself, father," Brother Guilbert said with a bold laugh, displaying a merriment he didn't usually show toward his prior.

   Without a doubt both of them were moved by the farewell with Arn, although neither of them wanted to admit it. But Brother Guilbert, unlike Father Henri, was firmly convinced that he would see Arn again. Because unlike his prior, he was also entirely certain of what the task was that God had prepared for young Arn.

Chapter 8

Herr Magnus was in a bad mood as he sat in the longhouse in the middle of a sunny afternoon, drinking too much ale. He was regretting that he was unable to love his second son Arn, whom his wife Sigrid, blessed be her memory, had loved above all else in life.

   Magnus had a hard time admitting, even though he was now forcing himself to do so with the aid of liquor, that he had two grown sons who did not bless his house with the honor that was due their clan. For what good did it do if they had royal blood in their veins, as long as people pointed their fingers and snickered at them both.

   In Eskil's case Magnus had long since accepted how matters stood, because what people still had a hard time trusting was everything that belonged to the future. This included trade and new ways of using the soil and making the silver grow in the coffers; in all this Eskil was very talented and would probably leave an inheritance twice as large as what he would one day receive. Those who reproached Eskil because he was not interested in the more manly virtues were ignorant wretches. They understood nothing of God's will behind human striving in earthly life. With regard to everything that had true meaning Eskil would become a wise and wealthy lord of Arnäs; about that there was no doubt.

   The fact that his eldest son was certainly no man of swordplay was something that Magnus could live with, however, without great disgrace, since it was to the advantage of Arnäs that Eskil would live longer for not using sword and shield.

   But the fact that his second son was also utterly lacking in the manly virtues was worse and made the disgrace much greater. Magnus had heard some of his retainers whispering scornfully about Arn as the nunfrom Varnhem. He had chosen to swallow the affront and pretend that he hadn't heard it rather than draw more attention to what was said. It was bad enough that his retainers seemed to be entirely right in this case, for it was not easy to understand what the monks had done with the little boy— whom Magnus remembered as a lively rascal who had learned to use a bow and arrow when he was very young. There had been lovely prayers said at table since Arn came home, but that added little to the honor of the house.

   The boy had come riding up one beautiful autumn day on a skinny horse that provoked much laughter; even worse, he wore a sword at his side that seemed designed for women, if such a sword could be imagined. It was much too long and too light, with poor smithwork and too bright a sheen. Magnus had soon seen to it that the sword was put away in the tower's armory so as not to prompt malicious laughter toward the innocent boy.

   A father had to love his lawful sons, that was God's inescapable commandment. But the question was how much disappointment and dishonor could gnaw at that love until in the end what he felt could no longer be called love.

   Another question, of course, was whether they could even make a man of the boy; it seemed as though he had been with the monks so long that he had become like one of them. Magnus felt that in a way, which was not entirely to his pleasure, it was like having a priest in the house, as if at the evening meal they could no longer talk freely about what they happened to be thinking but had to watch their words so as not to sound ungodly.

   Nor did Arn drink to any extent. This had been evident at their first meal to welcome him home, which was intended to be a joyful celebration. Just like the account in the Holy Scriptures, Magnus had slaughtered the fatted calf upon the prodigal son's return, although in this instance it was a fatted suckling pig, which was much finer. And they had all dressed up for the feast, Arn wearing some of Eskil's clothes that he had grown out of in recent years, for Eskil had almost degenerated to the state of his great-grandfather Folke the Fat.

   But during the evening no one could fail to notice that this son Arn was not much of a man, since he drank only two tankards of ale the whole evening and picked at the excellent pork like a woman. Even though he did make an effort to seem amenable, he was a bit slow to follow everything that was said, he had a hard time understanding jokes, and he was not quick enough to toss words back to anyone who tried to draw him into the revelry. He seemed to have inherited none of his mother's quick wit or sly tongue.