Cecilia Blanca turned pale as she sank to the ground and silently rocked back and forth, tearing her nails bloody scratching at the earth. Finally she uttered a scream that stabbed like knives into everyone’s heart. Erik jarl led her inside the church, where they both stayed for a long time.

Arn gave orders for the horses to be looked after, for the weapons to be put away, and for the three Erik sons to be taken to the cool room made of bricks that was used to store meat. It was not a dignified place for the fallen sons of a king, but the bodies had already begun to smell, and they needed to be buried soon.

He took his wife Cecilia to their own house and closed the door. Then he briefly and in Cecilia’s eyes rather cold-heartedly recounted what had happened. Three royal sons had been killed by Sverker’s people. The Forsvikers had slain almost all of the one hundred men sent out by Sverker; only a few had escaped. And so it was that war had come to the Göta lands, even though it would be a relatively long time before the real battles began. The important thing right now was to bury Erik jarl’s brothers. Arn suggested the church at Riseberga cloister, since it was the closest, and at the moment a journey to Varnhem would be dangerous as well as too long and hot for those who had already been dead a week.

Cecilia had a hard time replying to Arn’s question about Riseberga, since she felt confused by the fact that she didn’t really recognize him. His eyes had grown narrow and cold, and he spoke in a terse and harsh manner. After a while she realized that this was a different Arn than the one she knew; this was not her beloved and gentle husband or Alde’s father, this was the warrior from the Holy Land.

She saw the same change in Erik jarl when he appeared with his arm around his trembling mother, leaving her in Cecilia’s care as if she were a child. Then he took Arn aside at once to exchange only a few words about how and when they ought to ride to Riseberga.

That very day the funeral procession set off from Forsvik. Most of the young noblemen who had been part of the force that went to Älgarås now stayed behind at Forsvik. In Arn’s opinion, the talkativeness that had come over them after participating in and winning their first armed conflict would not be fitting at a funeral. Instead, three cavalry squadrons were formed and armed from those who had remained behind at Forsvik when their kinsmen rode off to Älgarås. But the six who had been knighted by Erik jarl had to come along, since honour demanded their presence.

At Riseberga cloister the three sons of the king were buried, and a large sum was donated for prayers of intercession on their behalf. Erik jarl borrowed the money from Arn and Cecilia Rosa. Cecilia Blanca, as the mother of the dead men, remained at the cloister when the funeral procession returned to Forsvik. Neither she nor anyone else knew how long she might stay there, whether for a short time or forever.

During that autumn and early winter, many Folkung and Erik riders headed off in all directions. Erik jarl went to Norway to attempt to win the support of warriors there. Eskil and his son Torgils, along with Arn and Magnus Månesköld, made a long journey through Svealand, where news of the ignominious murder of the three Erik sons aroused great anger. The Swedes seemed to consider the Erik clan as their royal clan. Relics from Erik jarl’s paternal grandfather, St. Erik, were carried around the fields in Uppland to bring a good harvest. At the judge’s tingat the Mora Stones outside Östra Aros, the Swedes voted unanimously to take up their swords at once. The Folkungs from the south managed to dissuade them, since a Svea army would undoubtedly need better footing than the autumn mire to do full justice to their bravery, as Arn cautiously presented the matter. What he had seen of the Svea warriors at the tingdid not persuade him that they’d be able to accomplish much against the Danish cavalry. After a lengthy and loud discussion, they finally agreed that the Swedes should go in force to Östra Götaland to join the warriors at Bjälbo in the spring, between the feast of Saint Gertrude and Annunciation Day.

On their way home the Folkungs stopped at Eskilstuna, where Arn donned the attire of a Templar knight to visit the hospital of the Order of St. John. If he had hoped to find Hospitaller knights of the order in Eskilstuna, he was soon disappointed. The brothers there devoted themselves almost exclusively to caring for the sick, and he had to give up any idea of acquiring reinforcements from the best warriors in the world besides the Templars. But he was courteously received by the brothers, and they had done their job well, almost as if they had been Saracens, with regard to Arn’s two wounded young men. They would both be able to return to the saddle by spring.

After the New Year, a tingwas called at Arnäs for the Folkung clan, and Erik jarl returned from his Norwegian travels in order to attend. It had been a disappointing journey because the Norwegians were once again at each other’s throats; they had their hands full with their own war. But Erik jarl brought greetings from Harald Øysteinsson, who had now become jarl of the Birchlegs in Nidaros and had been granted several large estates. Harald had promised that as soon as he was victorious in Norway, he and his kinsmen would come to the aid of the Folkungs and Eriks. That was a promise of questionable value.

Before the start of the tingof the Folkung clan, Erik jarl took a tour of the walls with Arn because he hadn’t been there in many years. He offered much praise for the mighty strength of this castle, but he also had to admit that it made him uneasy. When Arn asked him outright what he meant by this, Erik jarl said that no one could help seeing how Arnäs had grown. It was evident that the power of the Folkungs was much greater than that of anyone else. The horsemen that Arn had trained at Forsvik so that they could easily defeat an enemy force of twice their numbers at Älgarås had merely reinforced their power. So who was he, Erik jarl, leader of the much weaker Erik clan, to think that he might set his father’s crown upon his own head?

Arn didn’t take this concern seriously but jested that if Erik found himself a good marshal he would have fewer worries. Erik jarl didn’t understand the jest but replied almost angrily that he thought Arn was his marshal.

‘Yes, such is the case,’ replied Arn with a laugh, placing his hand on Erik jarl’s powerful shoulder. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten what we swore to each other at your father’s deathbed. I am your marshal. For me, you are already king. Such was my oath.’

‘Why don’t you Folkungs seize power now that it’s within your reach?’ asked Erik jarl, not entirely reassured.

‘For two reasons,’ said Arn. ‘First, we have all sworn to fight for your crown, and the Folkungs do not take their oaths lightly. Second, you have the Swedes on your side, but we don’t. Your axes and few horsemen may not frighten many Danes, but I have no doubt of their bravery, and besides they are many in number.’

‘And if I didn’t have the Swedes on my side?’ said Erik jarl, throwing out his hands.

‘Then we would still stand by our word and you would become king. But who will succeed you is less certain; perhaps Birger Magnusson.’

‘Young Birger who is the son of your Magnus Månesköld?’

‘Yes, he is the most lively of the brothers at Ulvåsa, and he has a good head. But why should we be thinking of those days that will come long after we’re gone? The future is in God’s hands, and right now we have a war to win. That should be our first thought.’

‘And will we win this war?’

‘Yes, most certainly. With God’s help. The only question is what will happen afterwards. Sverker has no strong army supporting him; we’ll vanquish him by spring. Even the Swedes could accomplish that. If he falls in battle, it will be over. If he manages to flee to Denmark, we will have Valdemar the Victor upon us. And then we’ll have to pull back a bit.’