Gure was given a work team of four thralls, whom he was to supervise according to his own wishes. If he needed new tools, he could simply go to the smithies and ask for them.

At first Arn wanted to give Kol and his son Svarte lodgings in the old longhouse. But they said they would rather live in the simplest of hovels, since they were used to keeping to themselves and hunters went out at different hours than workers.

Arn thought he remembered Kol from his youth, but he had to ask several times before this was confirmed. They had hunted together when Arn was seventeen and Kol was apprenticed to his father, who was named Svarte, like Kol’s son. The old Svarte had died by now and was buried near the thralls’ farm at Arnäs. That was why it had been easier to sell Kol and his son to Arn. At Arnäs it was not viewed favourably to leave old and feeble thralls without kin.

After these explanations, Arn refrained from asking any questions about the boy’s mother. He was still not accustomed to the fact that he was the owner of human beings. From the age of five he had lived among monks and Templar knights, for whom the very idea of slavery was an abomination. He promised himself to speak with Cecilia about this matter as soon as possible.

He told Kol that the first thing of importance was to see to it that he and his son had horses and saddles so that they could make a survey of the region and find the best hunting areas. Kol and Svarte, whether morose by nature or dumbstruck with embarrassment, followed Arn over to the horse pastures. There Arn put halters on two horses that he chose for their calm nature rather than for speed and impetuous temperament.

Until the hunters became accustomed to their horses, the animals would be kept in the stable to rest instead of being released into the pastures with the others. Otherwise it would be difficult to catch them again, Arn warned as they led the horses up toward the estate.

Arn was pleased to see that Kol was overjoyed to see these horses, and he spoke eagerly with his son in the thralls’ language as he gestured toward the necks and legs of the steeds. Arn couldn’t resist asking Kol what he was telling his son. He learned that it was just such a horse that Sir Arn himself had once, long ago, brought to Arnäs, and all the servants had thought the animal a miserable beast. Even Kol and his father had foolishly believed the same until they saw Sir Arn ride the horse that was called Kamil or some such name.

‘Shimal,’ Arn corrected him. ‘It means “north” in the language of the land where these horses come from. But tell me, Kol, where do you come from?’

‘I was born at Arnäs,’ replied Kol in a low voice.

‘But what of your father, with whom I also hunted. Where was he from?’

‘From Novgorod on the other side of the Eastern Sea,’ said Kol, sounding sullen.

‘And the other thralls at Arnäs, where do they or their ancestors come from?’ Arn persisted, even though he could see that Kol would have preferred to avoid any further questions on the subject.

‘All of us come from across the sea,’ replied Kol reluctantly. ‘Some of us know this to be true; others merely believe it is so. Some say from the Byzantine Empire, other say Russia or Poland, Estonia or even the Abbasid Caliphate. There are many sagas but little knowledge about this. Some think that our fathers and mothers were once taken captive in war. Others believe that we have always been thralls, but I don’t agree.’

Arn remained silent. He stopped himself from saying at once that Kol and his son would now be free men; he needed to think about the matter first and discuss it with Cecilia. He didn’t ask any more uncomfortable questions, merely told Kol and his son to spend time getting to know the area and not to do any hunting unless the opportunity to shoot some animal happened by chance. But he assumed that right now the important thing was to find out where the hunting would be best.

Without speaking Kol nodded his agreement, and then they parted.

Arn had planned to say something to Cecilia about his concern regarding ownership of thralls during their journey to Bjälbo, where they were to attend the betrothal ale for their son Magnus and the Sverker daughter Ingrid Ylva.

But Cecilia had apparently also planned to use this journey, in particular the first idle hours on the ship crossing Lake Vättern, for a conversation that required both time and consideration. As soon as the ship left shore, she spoke at length and without stopping about the old weaver Suom and the almost miraculous skill that this woman possessed in her hands. As Cecilia had requested, Eskil had sent along a heavy bundle of tapestries that Suom had made; previously they had hung on the walls at Arnäs. A number of them Arn had already seen, since Cecilia had adorned the walls of their bedchamber with Suom’s work.

Arn murmured that some of the images were much too strange for his taste, especially the ones that purportedly depicted Jerusalem with streets of gold and Saracens with horns on the foreheads. Such images were not true, and he could attest to this better than most people.

Cecilia seemed a bit offended by his comment and said that the beauty of the images was not simply a matter of truth; it had as much to do with how the colours were put together and the ideas and visions that the pictures conjured up if beautifully done. In this manner the conversation veered a bit from what she had intended to discuss, and they ended up quarrelling.

Arn moved forward to the bow of the ship to see to their horses for a while and to speak to Sune and Sigfrid. The boys had been allowed to come along to tend to the horses even though they no doubt regarded themselves more as Sir Arn’s retainers. When Arn rejoined Cecilia, she spoke at once about the matter she wanted to discuss.

‘I want to free Suom and her son Gure,’ she said quickly, her eyes fixed on the planks at the bottom of the ship.

‘Why? Why Suom and Gure?’ Arn asked with curiosity.

‘Because her work has great value that will produce silver many times the worth of a thrall,’ replied Cecilia at once, without looking at Arn.

‘You can free anyone you like at Forsvik,’ said Arn. ‘Forsvik belongs to you, and therefore all the thralls are yours as well. But I would like to free Kol and his son Svarte.’

‘Why those particular hunters?’ she asked, surprised that the discussion had already moved past the initial hurdle.

‘Let’s say that Kol and his son bring home eight stags during this first winter,’ replied Arn. ‘That will not only make our meals less monotonous, but it’s more than the value of a thrall, and in only one winter. But the same can be said of every thrall. They all bring in more than their own worth.’

‘Is there something else you wish to say?’ asked Cecilia, giving him a searching glance.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter that I have been saving to discuss during this journey—’

‘I thought as much!’ she interrupted him, looking pleased. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth to show that she had no intention of saying more until Arn had finished.

‘God did not create any man or woman to be a thrall; that is how I view it,’ Arn went on. ‘Where in the Holy Scriptures does it say that such should be the case? You and I have both lived in that part of the world, behind walls, where thralldom would be unthinkable. I imagine that we think alike regarding this matter.’

‘Yes, I think we do,’ said Cecilia solemnly. ‘But what I can’t decide is whether I am wrong or whether all of our kinsmen are mistaken. Not even the thralls believe otherwise; they think that God created some of us to be masters and others to be thralls.’

‘Many of the thralls don’t even believe in God,’ remarked Arn. ‘But I have had the same thought that you mention. Am I the one who is wrong? Or am I so much wiser and better than all of our kinsmen? Even Birger Brosa and Eskil?’