‘Well, if they’re looking for red mantles in here, there aren’t many of us,’ said Ulvhilde, pretending to be offended as she set down her glass.

‘Don’t worry about it, dear friend,’ replied Queen Blanca. ‘It’s no small honour to be seated with the queen and the bride, and as luck would have it, you’re sitting on that black rooster.’

‘Just as you’re sitting on three crowns!’ giggled Ulvhilde, continuing the game.

Next to Arn at the other end of the hall, in the place of honour on the groom’s dais, sat the king on one side, with Magnus Månesköld and Erik jarl on the other. This was at the king’s own request when he heard that Magnus had been the best in the warrior games, after the two Templar knights, who competed at an entirely different level, of course.

King Knut was sitting with one arm thrown around Arn’s shoulders, recounting long stories about how much he had suffered by not having Arn at his side during the bloody years before the crown was securely placed on his head. He had never in his life had a better friend than Arn, for Birger Brosa was more like a wise father than a friend. That was something that he could admit now that nobody could hear what they said. He had not hesitated for a moment to decide to attend the bridal banquet of his best friend, bringing along all the banners and horsemen that he could muster. Nor had he doubted that this wedding between his two friends was taking place because it was God’s will and the grace of Our Lady, as well as the reward for the years of faith and hope which Arn and Cecilia had never given up. And who was he, a poor and sinful man, to defy the will of the Almighty?

Since Cecilia Rosa and the queen were the dearest of friends in this world, the joy was even greater since now they would all live on neighbouring estates. For those who lived at Forsvik, the closest church was the one located at Näs, and he and his queen would honour Forsvik with their visits. He also hoped that Arn and Cecilia Rosa would often be his guests at Näs, and on more occasions than to attend church.

Many were the gracious words that the king spoke to Arn early in the evening. At first Arn was both happy and relieved; he had lived so long in a world where lies and falsehoods were prohibited that he believed everything that was said to him. But somewhat later in the evening he happened to think about the Saracen saga regarding the ignorant Frankish physician who proposed smearing honey onto deep gashes made by a sword.

In people’s minds, honey was the very opposite of wounds and pain, just as salt was the opposite of sweet. And since salt in a wound was what caused the most pain and harm, many believed in the honey remedy. It was also said that a thick layer of honey applied to a nasty gash did provide some relief in the beginning. But after a short time, the wound would get even worse and start to putrefy.

All of the Saracen builders were sitting together at the second long table closest to the bridegroom’s seat. Arn had seen to it himself that they were placed there, since he wanted everybody to see that they were being honoured for their work. He had also been careful to ask Erika Joarsdotter more than once to provide water in the clay tankards at that section of the long table; the house thralls were also told not to serve any pork to these foreigners. And he wanted to sit close to his builders in case any quarrels should arise.

And now it looked as if some sort of trouble was indeed brewing down there, although from this distance he couldn’t hear what the row was about. Arn cast a glance at Knut, as if to indicate that it was about time for him to go out and relieve himself, and then he jumped down behind the groom’s dais and headed toward the door, until he stopped near the Saracens, as if in response to the good wishes they wanted to offer him. And they did indeed express their congratulations as soon as he approached, and their quarreling quickly died out.

Arn felt unworthy, both in the eyes of the Saracens and in his own eyes, dressed as he was in the vain Frankish attire, which rustled under his mantle with every move. He also thought he could see a hint of derision tugging at the mouths of the builders, even though they did their best to hide it. He asked them candidly, following the Nordic manner rather than the Arab way, what the discord had concerned but received evasive answers that some of the gifts of the table might be unclean food.

He wanted to put a swift end to this dissension before rumours about these Franks who would not eat pork spread through the entire hall. There was only one way to win the immediate respect and loyalty of the Saracens. As if he were merely reciting passages from some ordinary foreign verse, he spoke to them with a smile, but using God’s own words.

‘In the name of God the Beneficent and the Merciful!’ he began, and silence fell over the table at once. ‘Hear the first verse of sura Al Maidah! Believers! Fulfil your obligations according to the agreements you have made! Permissible food for you is meat from all plant-eating animals. Or why not God’s own words from sura Al Anam? Eat of all food over which God’s name has been pronounced, if you believe in His message. Why should you not eat of food over which God’s name has been pronounced, since you have clearly been told what He has forbidden except in a dire circumstance? Many people mislead others by what they in their ignorance believe to be right or wrong. Your Lord knows best who oversteps his commandments!’

Arn needed say no more, nor did he have to explain how these words were meant to be understood. He gave a friendly nod, as if musing about something, as if he had simply recited some worldly verses to amuse his friends and fortress builders from the Holy Land. Then he calmly returned to his place, and more attention was paid to the most beautiful of all Folkung mantles in the land than to a bridegroom’s unexpected decision to recite verses.

At the Saracens’ table not a single spiteful grumble was heard for the rest of the evening.

As soon as King Knut began to get drunk, all honey was stripped from his speech and instead he started in on what was foremost on his mind. First he said that it was of greatest importance for Arn to be reconciled with his paternal uncle, Birger Brosa. Then he mentioned what he thought should be the next bridal banquet for the Folkungs, and that was when Arn’s son Magnus Månesköld went to the bridal bed with the Sverker daughter Ingrid Ylva, and the sooner the better. Arn immediately filled his throat with wine.

‘The bridal coverlet hasn’t even been placed over me and Cecilia, but you’re already hastening toward the next wedding. There is some purpose behind your words – what is it?’ asked Arn after choking on the wine that had gone down the wrong way.

‘That wily archbishop over there wants to make a Sverker, and more specifically Sverker Karlsson, the next king of the realm,’ replied Knut, lowering his voice even though no one nearby could hear them any longer over the great noise of the other guests.

‘First of all, power is now in the hands of you Eriks and us Folkungs,’ replied Arn. ‘And second, I don’t understand how we would appease the archbishop with my son’s wedding to a Sverker daughter.’

‘Nor is that the intention,’ replied the king. ‘But our intent is to avoid war for as long as possible. None of us wants to relive what we saw in this kingdom during so many years of war. It’s not the archbishop and his Danish friends that we need to appease, but rather the Sverkers. The more ties of marriage between us, the easier it will be to prevent another war.’

‘Those are the thoughts of Birger Brosa,’ said Arn with a nod.

‘Yes, they are Birger Brosa’s thoughts, and his wisdom has not failed us for more than twenty years. Sune Sverkersson Sik was the brother of King Karl. If the archbishop and his Danish friends want to go to war against us, they will have to win the support of Sune Sik. It will not be enough to have the backing of King Karl’s son Sverker, whom they are fattening up to be king down there in Roskilde. Sune Sik would no doubt think twice about drawing his sword against his own son-in-law Magnus Månesköld. That is our royal wish!’