‘I think I understand now,’ said Arn, nodding. ‘What sort of resistance can we expect from Svante?’

‘That’s hard to know. He has twelve retainers, but we should be fifty men or more by tomorrow. But we must ride no later than tonight; preferably at once,’ replied the first man.

‘We are only three Folkungs here at Forsvik, and two are mere boys. Can I take my retainers along with me?’ asked Arn, and received eager nods in reply.

There was nothing more to ask or discuss. It took less than an hour to load up the pack horses and for Forsvik’s five horsemen to dress for battle. The sun was still high in the sky when they rode off to the northwest.

It was shortly after the Feast of the Birth of the Virgin Mary, and the foliage in the woods gleamed red and gold. The nights had grown darker, which was good for the true believers, since their ninth month, the fasting month of Ramadan, had begun two days earlier. As they started off, Arn fretted about the exception to the Koran’s laws, which stated that fasting need not apply during times of war. Yet this journey could hardly be considered war; as he understood it, they were merely headed to an execution.

He rode up alongside his Muslim companions and asked them candidly for their opinion. But they simply laughed, saying that there was nothing to worry about since it was the very beginning of the fasting month. Also, the weather was pleasantly cool and the sun had come to its senses so that it once again set in the evening. And besides, they were forced to ride at a reduced speed because their two guides were so slow. Arn smiled and nodded in reply, thinking then that it was fortunate the fasting month had not occurred around Midsummer during the past few years. It would have been difficult for the Prophet’s people to refrain from water and food from sunrise to sundown.

They continued riding for a hour after the sun disappeared and darkness descended, finally forcing them to make camp for the night. Ali and Mansour, who now rode with blue shirts on top of their leather-clad steel chain mail, gave no sign that they would have preferred to stop for food and drink as soon as the sun had set.

The next day, when the sun was to go down for the third time since Svante Sniving’s killing of a Folkung woman, five dozen riders had gathered outside Ymseborg. During the night the retainers up on the castle palisades had seen fires burning in all directions as a sign that escape was impossible. The estate’s wooden gate was closed and up above perched four archers, anxiously gazing upon all the blue mantles that had gathered to confer less than a few arrow-shots away.

The leader of the Folkungs was Germund Birgersson, the father of the murdered Elin. At his side sat a grieving and bruised boy wearing a mantle that was half yellow and half black, which were the clan colours of Svante Sniving.

Arn had taken Ali and Mansour along for a short ride around the wooden fortress. They agreed that if required to take the castle, it could no doubt be easily accomplished with fire, but they wouldn’t be able to simply ride through the wooden walls. And besides, Arn now realized that speed was essential, since everything had to be done by sundown.

When he returned to the group he went to talk to Germund Birgersson to find out more about what was planned. As far as he understood, the boy would inherit Ymseborg, so surely it would be unwise to burn it down.

Germund smiled grimly, saying that he didn’t think it would be difficult to force open the gate. All he needed was for Arn, whose reputation had spread widely, also in this district, to help him persuade those who were standing guard. Arn replied that he had nothing against helping in any way he could.

‘Good. You are a man of honour, and any other response would have greatly surprised me,’ grunted Germund Birgersson with satisfaction. With an effort he got to his feet, straightening the mantle around his shoulders. ‘Mount your horse and follow me; we’ll soon take care of this minor hindrance!’

Somewhat puzzled, Arn went over to his horse, cinched the saddle tight, and rode up alongside Germund, who was now headed toward the gate of Ymseborg. None of the other Folkungs went with them.

They rode so close that they could easily have been struck by arrows, but no one chose to shoot at them.

The old Folkung chieftain cast a wily glance at Arn and rode even closer; Arn followed without hesitating, since hesitation is halfway to death.

‘I am Germund Birgersson of the Folkung clan, and I come to Ymseborg for the sake of honour and not for war or plundering. I am mistress Elin’s father, and I have come to demand my right, as have my kinsmen with me,’ said Germund in a loud and clear voice, almost as if he were singing his message.

No one up on the wooden wall replied, but neither did anyone reach out a hand to grab a weapon. Germund waited a moment before continuing.

‘We would prefer not to harm Ymseborg, for the estate shall soon pass in inheritance to the young Bengt, who is our kinsman,’ he went on. ‘Hence this is what I now swear to you. We seek no man’s death other than Svante’s. We will not harm either buildings or thralls, nor house servants, nor any of the retainers; we do not intend to visit any sort of violence upon you once we have finished here. That is our vow if you open this gate in an hour’s time and lay down your weapons. All of you will be in service to young Herr Bengt, or the one we choose to reside here as caretaker in his place. Your life here will continue as it was before. But if you should resist, I swear that not a single retainer among you will come through this alive. At my side is Arn Magnusson, and he makes the same vow to you!’

Then Germund slowly turned his horse around, and Arn followed, his expression grave, although he felt an unseemly mirth trying to force its way up inside him because someone had sworn death and destruction in his name with even asking his permission.

Not an arrow was shot at them; not a single jeer was heard.

‘I have no doubt that we’ll have this matter resolved by nightfall,’ said Germund Birgersson, groaning as he laboriously sank down at his former place in the encampment and reached toward the fire to pull out a piece of pork.

‘What do we do with the bodies when we’re done?’ asked Arn.

‘My daughter’s body I will take with me to Älgarås for a Christian burial at the church nearby,’ said Germund. ‘Svante’s body and his head we will stitch inside a cowhide and send to his kinsmen. Then we will choose a caretaker for Ymseborg, to reside here in young Bengt’s place.’

‘What about the boy? It will be a sorrowful time ahead for him, after losing both his mother and father,’ said Arn.

‘That’s true. I shall do my utmost to see to it that young Bengt’s life will be brighter from now on,’ said Germund pensively. ‘As young as he is, he still has the seed of a wastrel in his body. It is not his inclination to work the fields; instead he babbles on about knights and the king’s retainers or service at Arnäs. All youths seem to be dreaming of such things these days.’

‘Yes,’ said Arn, his expression serious as he mused. ‘The young seem to set their sights more easily on swords and lances than on ploughs and flails. But you intend to shake that inclination out of him and turn him into a farmer?’

‘I’m too old for such business,’ muttered Germund crossly at the thought that before the sun set he would have a thirteen-year-old boy foisted upon him, and he would have to try to turn the boy into a man.

Arn excused himself and went to seek out Sune and Sigfrid. He found both boys busy sharpening the tips of their arrows, their faces solemn. He took Sune’s whetstone from him and showed him how the task could be done better as he told the boys about young Bengt’s sorrowful fate. Not only was he without a mother, but he would soon be fatherless too, and then he would be forced to accompany old Germund home to become a farmer, as was the custom a hundred years ago. Perhaps, Arn mused aloud, it might not be such a foolish idea if Sune and Sigfrid stayed close to Bengt during the next few hours, since the three of them were the only retainers who were so young. And it would do no harm to tell Bengt a little about what they were learning at Forsvik.