‘Faith, hope, and charity,’ muttered the archbishop thoughtfully. ‘He who never wavers in his faith, he who never gives up hope in the benevolence of the Holy Virgin, shall be rewarded. In my opinion this is what She wants to show us all. Is that not your view as well, Arn de Gothia?’

‘Far be it from me to interpret otherwise than Your Eminence this wondrous thing that has befallen us,’ admitted Arn, now even more amazed by the archbishop’s knowledge and the good will he radiated.

‘Then in our opinion,’ drawled the archbishop with a look at Bishop Stenar, who nodded in agreement, ‘it would be a grave sin to oppose the high will that God’s Mother and thereby God have shown us in this matter. Come, my son, let me bless you!’

Arn once again stepped forward and knelt down before the archbishop, who motioned to one of his chaplains to bring a silver bowl of holy water.

‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Virgin I bless you, Arn de Gothia, who have been granted grace, who witnessed a miracle of love for the edification of all in this earthly life. And may the Lord’s countenance shine down upon you, may the Holy Virgin ever after walk by your side, and may you and your beloved Cecilia soon harvest the reward of grace, for which you both, burning with faith, have thirsted so long. Amen!’

During the blessing the archbishop touched Arn’s forehead, shoulders, and heart with the holy water.

Dazed and confused, Arn left the archbishop’s tent and stepped out into the light that now struck him sharply in the eyes, since the sun had sunk low in the west.

On the way back to the castle courtyard, where he felt sure he would find his brother still at the ale tents, he pondered what had just happened.

He did not see the benevolent hand of Our Lady behind it, although it was no doubt in accordance with Her will. He saw instead the will and intentions of human beings, but he didn’t understand how it all had fitted together. Nor did he understand how a simple Nordic bishop could have so much information about the intimate secrets of himself, Cecilia, and Our Lady.

He did not see Cecilia again until the grand council feast in the great hall, where a hundred guests were assembled just after sundown.

On Queen Blanca’s orders, branches of stock were raised at the head of the royal table, which made the women entering the hall whisper and titter happily.

The guests came into the hall in a specific order. The lowlier guests entered first and filled all the seats at the tables located farthest from the king’s table. There could be much grumbling over the seating arrangement, but the king’s ushers assiduously kept track so that nobody could seize a chance to claim a seat that was superior to his station.

Then came the guests who had seats at the king’s table; they always wore the most colourful clothing. All who were seated craned their necks to witness the splendour, or to complain about some neighbour or acquaintance who was unjustly honoured as a guest at the royal table.

Arn was among these guests, as was Harald, who made a point of complaining to his friend that he had not yet been introduced to either the jarl or the king, as if Norwegian kinsmen were not good enough. Arn whispered that there were reasons that had nothing to do with Harald’s honour; discord and rancorous discussion had delayed the introductions.

Next to last came the royal family with golden crowns, and the jarl, also wearing a crown. The king and queen were dressed in the most magnificent, but unfamiliar, clothing that shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow. The whole family wore blue mantles bordered with ermine, even the three princes who walked along chattering to each other as if this were a perfectly ordinary meal.

When the royal family members were seated the archbishop and his retinue entered, and the splendour of their clothing was no less splendid. The archbishop first blessed the royal family, and then he and all the other bishops took their seats.

Arn could see Cecilia seated far away. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be hiding among the castle maidens near her and didn’t dare look in his direction.

When all the seats were filled but the two at the head of the table, the queen stood up, holding two leafy branches high over her head, one of birch and the other of rowan. An expectant murmur of approval at once rose in the hall, and the queen began to walk with the two branches, which she pretended to offer in jest or in earnest to first one, then another, then snatching them back as soon as a hand reached out. Everyone enjoyed this little drama, and speculated wildly about how it would end.

When the queen stopped next to Cecilia Rosa, who blushed and looked down at the table, they understood at least half the truth. Happy shouts and good wishes streamed toward Cecilia as she accepted the birch branch and with head bowed followed the queen to the vacant seat adorned with foliage.

Once again an expectant murmur arose when the queen held the rowan branch high above her head and slowly began walking toward the king’s table. She stopped at Arn’s seat; everyone knew him by reputation even if they had not had a chance to shake his hand, and loud shouts echoed from the stone walls, which were decorated only with banners of the Erik clan, showing golden crowns on a blue field.

Arn hesitated, not knowing what to do. But Queen Blanca whispered to him to hurry up and take the branch and follow her before it was too late. He stood up and followed along.

Queen Blanca led Arn to his beloved Cecilia, and there was such a great roar in the hall that no shout from king or jarl could have been heard.

When Arn, smiling uncertainly with his heart pounding as if before a battle, sat down next to Cecilia, the guests thumped their fists on the tables, raising a great commotion. The moment for the king or the jarl to do something had come and gone with the speed of a bird. The noise died down as the guests went back to their murmured conversations, thinking more about the anticipated meal than about the surprise they had just witnessed.

The jarl sat with his fists clenched, looking as if he were about to stand up, but he was forestalled by the archbishop, who raised both hands for silence. Taking out his white pallium, the holy sign of his high eminence, he slipped it over his back and chest and walked along the table until he reached Cecilia and Arn.

There he stopped and placed his right hand on Cecilia’s shoulder and his left on Arn’s.

‘Behold now the miracle of the Lord and of love!’ he announced in a loud voice, whereupon the whole hall fell silent, because what was happening was something entirely new. ‘This loving couple has in truth received the grace of Our Lady. They are meant to be together, for Our Lady has shown this more clearly than water. Their betrothal ale took place many years ago, so what occurs this evening is merely an affirmation. But when the wedding takes place, I promise that none of lower rank than archbishop shall be the one to read the benediction over you both at the church door. Amen!’

The archbishop walked with slow dignity and a look of satisfaction back to his place. On the way he exchanged a secret smile with the queen but avoided looking the king or the jarl in the eyes. He took off his pallium, sat down, and at once began speaking with the bishop sitting next to him. He acted as though the whole matter had already been decided.

And that was true. A woman could never become an abbess if her promise of betrothal had already been blessed by the archbishop. The sacrament of union between a man and woman was ordained by God, and what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.

The jarl sat there, white with fury under his emblem with the Folkung lion, the only insignia that was allowed in the castle hall besides the three crowns.