But Algot Pålsson found no reason to plunge his important but awkward guest into more embarrassment. He stepped down from the high seat at once and took Arn by the arm to offer him the chair at his right hand, which was the place of honor. Then he called for the huge drinking horn, which according to tradition had been at Husaby since the time of Olof Skötkonung, the first Swedish king to be baptized, in 1008, in the spring at Husaby. Algot solemnly handed the horn to Arn and thereby the feast commenced.

   Arn couldn't help studying the drinking horn for a moment before he raised it to his lips. At first he didn't think about how heavy it was, instead noticing all the heathen images that adorned it. The Christian cross seemed to have been added much later, as if to gloss over the sin. Realizing that he was no doubt expected to swill down the ale like an animal, he took a deep breath and then did his best to drink until he choked, with the others watching him intently. Panting, he set down the horn, but more than a third of the ale remained. Algot took the horn from him and quickly emptied it out onto the floor. Then he turned the horn upside down, and the others pounded on the table with their palms as a sign that the guest had honored their house by drinking it to the bottom. Arn already sensed that this supper was not something he would remember with pleasure.

   Then the roast meat and more ale in huge tankards were brought in and served to everyone. The meat proved to be a deer roasted on a spit and a young pig roasted the same way. As Arn expected, the venison tasted tough and dry and unspiced except for salt, which had been liberally applied. They had roasted an animal that had been alive that very morning, something that Brother Rugiero would have viewed as a sin almost as serious as blasphemy. Arn vowed not to betray his thoughts or complain about anything, so he praised the excellent meat, drank eagerly of his ale, and smacked his lips in contentment, because that was what people did. Yet he had a hard time finding anything to say, and Algot had to help him along by asking about the hunt. Any man given the chance to brag about his hunt would become as voluble as a bard, even if he was otherwise taciturn.

   But Arn didn't know what to do when offered an opportunity to boast, and he replied briefly, instead praising his thralls as skilled hunters. This was not received well by the host and hostess. So at the beginning of the feast the conversation dragged along reluctantly, like a forest slug on a dry path. At last Algot asked whether Arn himself had shot any of the animals, which was a wickedly bold question even though the guest could always exaggerate without anyone thinking ill of him. Arn replied in a low voice and looking down at the table that he had shot six of the deer and seven of the boars, but he was quick to add that his thralls had shot almost as many. Silence fell over the table, and Arn didn't understand that no one believed him. They were all now thinking that he certainly was allowed to brag a little, but not so much that it was obvious he had told a bald-faced lie.

   A young man whose kinship with Algot had not been made clear to Arn now asked with a sneer whether Arn may have missed a shot or two, or if he'd had such luck that he felled all the animals with the first shot. Arn, who didn't see the trap in this question, replied honestly that he had killed all the animals with the first shot. But then the young man laughed derisively and asked to be allowed to raise his goblet in respect for such a great archer. Arn drank the toast in all seriousness, but his cheeks burned when he saw scorn and mockery in the other man's eyes. He was well aware that he hadn't answered the questions he was asked wisely. But he had merely spoken the truth; why would it have been wiser to tell a lie? That question bore thinking about, for just now he almost wished he had been able to tell some clever lie and evade the disdain and contempt he saw all around him.

   Algot Pålsson attempted to come to Arn's rescue, hastening to change the subject, saying that he had heard about some new plants at the cloister, and he wondered whether Arn might describe them. But the young man who had mocked Arn didn't want to let him wriggle off the hook, and with a knowing glance toward Katarina he loudly declared that it would be a shame if braggarts should win good women whom they didn't deserve in their own right. He uttered other, similar surly remarks, which made Arn suspect that the hostile man was in love with Katarina, though that was absolutely none of Arn's business.

   Algot made a new attempt to steer the conversation toward the peaceful subject of the cloister and away from archery, which could only bring more dissension to the table. But Tord Geirsson, as the scornful young man was named, wanted to vanquish Arn and thus show Katarina how strong he was himself. Now he proposed that they fetch a bow so they might compete for a few shots, since the hall was quite long. Arn agreed to this at once, since he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Algot Pålsson had taken in a breath and was about to avert the contest.

   House thralls were sent immediately to fetch a bow and quiver, and a tied-up bale of hay was set up by the door at the other end of the hall, at a distance of twenty-five paces. Tord Geirsson took the bow and the arrows, proclaiming that this wasn't a very difficult distance from which to shoot wild boar. Perhaps Herr Arn, who was so skillful, would show them first how it was done, and then Tord would take the second round.

   Arn felt coldly resolute and stood up at once. He did not like the position he had landed in by telling the truth, and he wanted to get out of this predicament right away; as far as he knew there was only one way to do that. With long strides he went over to Tord Geirsson and almost rudely snatched the bow from him. He strung it quickly and skillfully, and carefully selected three arrows, holding two in his bow hand and nocking the third onto the bowstring. He drew it back as far as the bow would tolerate, wanting to shoot with the bow's full power so that the arrow would drop as little as possible on the way. And then he loosed the arrow. It struck the center, a mere thumb's-breadth below the middle of the bale of hay. They all craned their necks to see and then began whispering to one another. Arn now knew how the bow shot, and he took careful aim with the two following shots, which he loosed without hurry, and striking somewhat better. Then without a word he handed the bow to Tord Geirsson and went to sit down.

   Tord Geirsson was white in the face as he stared at the three arrows protruding from the target in a tight pattern. He realized that he had lost, but he didn't know how to handle the quandary he had landed himself in. Of all the methods he could imagine, he found every single one shameful. He did not choose wisely. He flung the bow to the floor in pique and left the hall without saying a word, but with the loud laughter of everyone in his ears.

   Arn said a silent prayer for him, asking that his anger might abate and hoping that he had learned something from his pride. For his own part he prayed that Saint Bernard continue to remind him about pride and that he might not be seduced into exaggerating the importance of this simple incident.

   When Algot Pålsson recovered from his astonishment over Arn's skill, he was very pleased and soon had everyone around the table drinking a skålto Arn in earnest, now that he had proven what a skillful archer he was. Much more ale was brought in, and Arn began to feel more at ease, soon even deciding that the tough, unhanged venison tasted quite good. And he tried to drink ale like a real man.