To Arn he had said that it was like seeing and feeling at the same time how life returned to both his body and soul. But what he said that gladdened Arn even more was that he understood that this was no miracle, no matter what other people would believe when they saw him healthy once more. This was his own work, his own will, and yes, his own prayers, but most of all it was due to the skills of the two foreign gentlemen. And they were ordinary men, neither saints nor sorcerers, even though they wore odd clothes and spoke an incomprehensible language.

Then Arn had finally told his father the truth, that these men, Ibrahim and Yussuf, as their names were more properly pronounced, were Saracens.

Herr Magnus had sat in silence so long when he heard this that Arn regretted his earnest veracity. But at last his father had nodded and said that good skills from near or far were what made life better. He had seen it with his own eyes and felt it in his own limbs. And if the people of the Church had bad things to say about these Saracens, their words were worth nothing compared to what his own son had to say. For who knew better the whole truth: someone who was priest in Forshem or bishop in Östra Aros, or someone who had waged war against the Saracens for twenty years?

Arn took the opportunity to tell him that all the fortresses of the Knights Templar had employed Saracen medical men because they were the best. What was good for God’s Holy Army of Knights Templar would surely be good in Western Götaland up in the North.

The good humour brought on by this insight made his father ask Arn to accompany him out on the walls to take a look at the new construction.

Arn had feared that it was too soon for his father to go outside, even though he had his son to support him. He had also feared that his father would find the construction unnecessary and forbid it, now that he had regained his reason.

But his concerns were groundless. When Herr Magnus saw how a perfectly smooth and high wall was being formed around the outer portions of the castle closest to Lake Vänern, and when he realized that these walls were intended to surround all of Arnäs, he was struck dumb with joy and pride. He himself had improved the fortifications considerably in his younger years, but he had often regretted that he hadn’t done better. Arn told him at length how everything would look when it was finished, and how no enemy could then threaten the Folkung clan. In all he recounted he received his father’s eager support.

The only matter that caused concern during Arn’s brief visit to Arnäs was Erika’s state of mind. Since he had heard about the death of his unknown little brother Knut, Erika’s son, he had spoken about this sorrow with her as he must. But she had made him angry by talking more about the revenge to which she had a right than about her grief. Even worse, she told him that she had offered thanks to Our Lady because a warrior of God like Arn had returned so that the days of that wretch Ebbe Sunesson were now numbered. For the law was clear. If Arn demanded a duel for the sake of the clan’s honour, the villain could not say no. Erika grew so heated that she seemed both to cry and laugh at the same time when she described how Ebbe Sunesson would feel when he was forced to draw his sword against the older brother of the youth he’d slain and then watch his own death coming straight at him.

Arn hadn’t been able to allay Erika Joarsdotter’s desire for vengeance; he found that out as soon as he tried. Instead he prayed with her for the soul of his brother Knut. Even though she couldn’t refuse such a prayer, she seemed to long more for revenge than for the peace of Knut’s soul.

It was sad to find Erika filled with such a sinful obsession. During the long night by the river he prayed first of all for Erika’s recovery and the forgiveness of her sin.

It felt as though they were on their way to the heart of darkness. The farther the river journey took them, the more certain the Wachtian brothers felt that they were leaving the habitations of men behind them and approaching the inhuman and unnamable. The individual hovels they passed looked more and more shabby, and on the banks of the river the livestock and wild children romped about together so that it was hard to tell the animals from the people.

The inn where they were to spend the night was abominable and crowded with savage, filthy men who bellowed in their incomprehensible singing language and drank like beasts until they ended up in brawls or simply passed out. All the men from Outremer, Christians as well as Muslims, kept to themselves and made camp some distance away from the inn buildings rather than set foot inside. The food that the thralls brought them they had refused with disgust and horror, and when darkness fell they all prayed, the Prophet’s people and the Christians separately, for forbearance.

In the morning it took an eternity to get going, since the sleeping oarsmen had to be rousted from the most unexpected places, wherever they happened to fall asleep. Red-eyed and grumpy, stinking of vomit and piss, these men had finally been herded together like beasts of burden to their oars. By then the sun was high, and it was said that Sir Arn and his band of riders had a lead of many hours.

Late that afternoon their boat glided up to the wharves at Forsvik. The unloading began at once, and Marcus and Jacob Wachtian were kept busy ensuring that nothing in their baggage was damaged by these ignorant and worthless souls.

Yet they agreed it could have been much worse, when Sir Arn called a meeting in the courtyard in the midst of the low grey wooden houses with the grass growing on the roofs. At least all the Nordic people around them were sober and relatively clean. At least they didn’t stink like the oarsmen.

‘In the name of God, most beneficent, ever-merciful, He Who is the God of us all even though we worship Him in different ways, I bid you welcome to my home,’ Sir Arn began as usual in Arabic. ‘This is the destination of our journey. Let us therefore, before we do or say anything else, offer prayers of thanksgiving that we have arrived safe and sound.’

Sir Arn then bowed his head in prayer, and all the men around him did the same. He waited until all had raised their heads when they finished their prayer.

‘What you see here at Forsvik will impress few of you, I know,’ Sir Arn went on. ‘But we have four years of work ahead of us until the time we have agreed on is over. None of us will recognize this place after those four years, you can be assured of that. We shall not build a fortress, but a caravanserai, a place of trade. We shall not build walls here as we did at Arnäs, but smithies, furnaces for making brick and glass, and workshops for the manufacture of saddles and tack, felt, leather goods, and clothing. But we can’t do everything at once. Of primary importance are roofs over our heads and cleanliness, which will be the same here as in Outremer. Then we will put in order everything else in the sequence we find best. But roofs over our heads must be the first priority, for winters here in the North are of a quite different nature than anything you have ever experienced. When the first snow and cold arrives, I’m sure that none of you, even in silence, will curse me that in your first days you had to slave like simple builders, although your skills could be employed doing more difficult things than dragging lumber. The Prophet’s people, peace be upon him, will not see any unclean food before them. Now we have hard work to do, but we will also reap the reward for it, because within less than half a year the first snow will fall!’

Sir Arn repeated his words in Frankish, as usual, and then he went over to the two field masters, Aibar and Bulent, and took them along to a smaller building which lay right next to running water.