Yet another side of power was that used most effectively by Eskil, Alde’s paternal uncle and the brother of Birger’s paternal grandfather, Arn. Power as strong as that of the sword could be found in trading transactions between various countries and in the flow of wealth that such trade set in motion.

Pure faith guided by conscience, the sword, and gold were the three pillars upon which power rested. Many men felt themselves called to serve one of these aspects of the trinity of power, but few were able to master all three. Yet kings had to possess great knowledge of everything pertaining to this trinity of power, otherwise they would be deposed like King Sverker.

Cecilia was not convinced that these types of conversations were what her daughter needed most, and deep in her heart she thought that it was a great risk, at a place like Forsvik, for a young woman to be raised like a man. The manner in which Alde rode could not described as befitting a fair maiden’s hand, even though she’d been given one of the most gentle of the Arabian fillies on her twelfth birthday. But it had proved impossible to keep her away from the horses.

Since Cecilia was herself an excellent rider, she had at first tried to keep Arn and the young noblemen away from Alde’s horseback lessons, choosing to teach her daughter on her own. But she couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the accounts took much of her time each day. Soon she saw Alde racing with Birger and other young men. It did little good for Cecilia to fret or worry about the matter.

And when the great game drive of the autumn arrived with the first snow for tracking, Alde was one of the hunters positioned at the pass while all of Forsvik’s riders set off in a long horseshoe-shaped loop to drive in the wild game. Already during her second year, Alde shot her first wild boar.

Yet this time was like the harvest of her life, Cecilia realized. Her hair had turned grey, as had Arn’s, and now they were both closer to death than to birth. But it was glorious to be alive when everything was going so well for them, and no evil or danger was in sight, even far in the distance where the heaven and the earth met.

She would remember even the last Christmas before the war as a time of calm and confidence.

They had celebrated the Christmas ale at Arnäs in the big, warm stone hall with log fires; never had life seemed so good. At the dawn church service on Christmas Day at Forshem, Arn could now without embarrassment show his pride at what he had commissioned to be built, even the fact that his own image was depicted above the church door as the one handing the keys of the church to God. Since it had become easier to talk with the bishops after the victory at Lena, many of them had assured Arn that such an image represented neither a sin nor pride. On the contrary, it offered a good example to everyone. For what better deed than to pay for such a beautiful church and please God by consecrating it to His Grave?

The image of the grave was located in the centre aisle, in front of the altar, and it had been adorned with Master Marcellus’s best work. At this last Christmas service before the war, Arn and Cecilia sang the hymns for the mass alone, she providing the first voice, he the second. Their voices may not have been as pure as before, but everyone thought that they could see God’s angels standing before them when they heard their song.

The Danes came in the middle of summer in 1210, two and a half peaceful years after the victory at Lena. Sverker Karlsson was determined to take back his crown, and unfortunately he had persuaded King Valdemar the Victor to give him a new army, which was almost as big as the one wiped out during the winter war.

At first word of the enemy’s arrival in the realm, Arn headed south from Forsvik with three squadrons of light riders to procure information; at the same time requests for help were sent to both Svealand and Norway.

This time it would not go as easily, Arn realized on the second day as he and his horsemen rode along the length of the Danish army. And when he came to the middle where Sverker Karlsson and his bishop Valerius were riding, his heart clenched in pure, cold terror; he hadn’t had that feeling since his first years in the Holy Land. Around Sverker Karlsson rode almost a hundred men in the uniform of the Hospitallers, their red shields and surcoats marked with the white cross.

What would have induced the Hospitallers to ally themselves with Sverker Karlsson or with King Valdemar the Victor? It was not easy to understand, but one thing was sure: a hundred Hospitaller knights was almost the equivalent of a hundred Templar knights, and such a force would have been feared by Saladin himself. No one in the North would be able to defeat it.

Like a Templar knight, each Hospitaller knight would be comparable to ten Danes or five Forsvikers. What astonished Arn the most, once he’d reconciled himself to having to fight against the best knights in the world, was that they were not riding at the head as they normally did. That was how it had always been in the Holy Land. The Hospitallers rode in the vanguard and the Templars took the rear, because these two locations were the most exposed for an army on the march. But here the Hospitallers were riding in the middle, leaving both the supply train in the rear and the Danish knights furthest forward in danger of attack by light cavalry. Arn guessed that the Danes had decided that the protection of Sverker Karlsson’s life was most important in this war. Hence they would rather take losses in the front and rear than risk the life of their pretender to the crown.

This time the Danish army was headed for Falköping, as if they intended to return to Lena to avenge their previous defeat. Because it was the middle of summer and the harvest had not yet been brought in, it was not grain but meat and draft animals that the enemy could plunder for their own provision. And even though the Danish army was least protected at the rear, where all the ox-carts with the supplies were travelling, it would not be wise to attack there until the enemy had passed Falköping.

More important would be to ride back and warn the inhabitants of Falköping and try to get them to hide all the oxen and livestock that otherwise would end up in the maws of the Danes. It took two days to get this done, but when the Danish army arrived, Falköping was emptied of everything that the enemy most would have wanted to plunder.

Arn was more cautious in his command than he had ever been before, and it was almost a week before he did anything but ride back and forth along the enemy’s serpentine column of foot-soldiers and riders. He was awaiting reinforcements from both Bengt Elinsson and Sune Folkesson; when they arrived he not only had more light cavalry but also a squadron of heavy riders. Then he could not afford to wait any longer.

Together with Sir Bengt and Sir Sune he had quickly decided on how the first attack should proceed. But it had to be launched at the right place so they could carry it out at high speed. It was a few more days before the Forsvikers found a high hill with sparse leafy forest where the Danish army would have to pass. There they took up position and waited.

By this time the Danes had become accustomed to seeing constantly in the distance the blue-clad light riders who never seemed to venture into battle. So the first attack did not come merely like lightning from a clear blue sky, but surprised them even more because of its great force. Three squadrons of light cavalry suddenly thundered down from a beech forest to the side and front of the head of the Danish army. As they approached the riders fanned out into a long row and rode in close, each man firing his crossbow and leaving behind a tumult of shrieking horses and Danes howling in pain. If they got close enough they aimed at the enemy’s legs. If they struck home the enemy had one knight less and one more wounded man to drag along. If they missed then they usually killed a horse.