At first sounding a bit reluctant, he told her that these Muslims, as the followers of Muhammed were called, had worked for the Christians in the Holy Land. They would have been killed by their own kind if they hadn’t fled with him to the North. The same was true for the Wachtian brothers, who were Christians from the Holy Land. Their workshop and their trade had been on Al Hammediyah, which was the biggest business district in Damascus. So the question of who was a friend and who was an enemy in the Holy Land was not solely determined by a person’s faith.

Cecilia found this incomprehensible, even though she offered only cautious objections.

Then he began his story, which would continue for many winter nights.

In the Holy Land there were great men whose eminence far exceeded that of all others. Arn was thinking in particular about two of them; the first was a Christian named Raymond of Tripoli, and some night he would tell Cecilia about him. But it was more important to speak of the other, for he was a Muslim and his name was Yussuf Ibn Ayyub Salah ad-Din. For the sake of simplicity, the Christians called him simply Saladin.

When Arn said the name of the worst enemy of Christendom, Cecilia involuntarily gasped. She had heard thousands of oaths, reeking of brimstone, pronounced over that name by nuns and priests.

Yet Saladin was his friend, Arn went on, undaunted by her expression of alarm. And their friendship had followed such a course over the years that not even the greatest of skeptics would see anything but God’s hand behind it.

It all started when Arn unintentionally saved Saladin’s life; upon closer examination, that could not have happened without God’s hand. Because why else would a Templar knight, one of God’s most devoted warriors and defenders of His Tomb, be the one to save the man who in the end would crush the Christians to the ground?

After that they had met as foes on the battlefield, and Arn had triumphed. But a short time later, Arn’s life ended up in Saladin’s hands when the Muslim arrived with an invincible army at the fortress in Gaza where Arn was fortress master among the Templars. And Saladin had, in turn, saved Arn’s life.

Saladin had spared his life because of their friendship, and that was how he had become Saladin’s prisoner and negotiator.

That was during his last days in the Holy Land, when Jerusalem was already lost, as were most of the Christian cities. And Arn was Saladin’s prisoner but also occasionally his messenger and negotiator, as one of the worst villains that had ever set foot on the ground of the Holy Land arrived with an army to meet Saladin on the battlefield and recapture the Holy City of Jerusalem. This man, whose name was Richard Lionheart, a name that would live on in eternal infamy, had amused himself during the negotiations by beheading three thousand prisoners rather than accepting the last of the ransom that he had demanded for them, and rather than receiving back the True Cross for Christendom.

At that sorrowful moment Arn and Saladin had parted ways for all eternity, and Arn had received as a farewell gift fifty thousand besants in gold, which Richard had refused in favour of sating his thirst for blood.

And so it was that Arn could now afford to pay for the building going on at Arnäs as well as for the new church at Forsvik and everything else that was being constructed there.

And this was just a short version of the story, said Arn. Many winter nights would be required to give a fuller account. And it might take the rest of his life to understand the meaning behind everything that had happened.

There he stopped and got up to put more wood on the fire. It was then he discovered that Cecilia had fallen asleep.

NINE

Filled with a sense of foreboding, Arn rode at the front of the groom’s procession as it entered Linköping. From the bishop’s stronghold to the cathedral three red Sverker banners waved, as if taunting the guests. And among the spectators watching with hostility, only red mantles were visible; there was not a blue one in sight. And not a single rowan bough was tossed toward the bridegroom to wish him well.

It was like riding into an ambush. If Sune Sik and his kinsmen wanted to turn this wedding into a blood feud, they would be able to kill all the foremost Folkungs except for the aged Herr Magnus of Arnäs, who had been forced to forgo this ride through the chill of autumn because of his health.

As they neared the cathedral they could hear the distant shouts greeting the bride’s procession with much greater warmth. Birger Brosa was leading the way, as the one who had fetched the bride.

Even Erik jarl was riding in the groom’s procession alongside his friend Magnus Månesköld, who had his mother Cecilia on the other side of him; his paternal uncle, councillor Eskil, rode behind him. All the powerful Folkungs and King Knut’s eldest son as well were putting their lives at risk. If the Sverkers truly wanted to take back the crown by force, this was the time to do it.

But the Folkungs had not come to the enemy’s city unprepared like lambs to the slaughter. From Bjälbo came a hundred retainers and kinsmen fully armed. They had drawn lots so that half of the men swore not to drink even one tankard of ale during the first day and night. Those who won the draw had sworn to remain sober on the second day and night. The Folkungs were not about to be slaughtered either by surprise or by fire.

Yet it was for Cecilia that Arn felt the greatest concern. He could easily ride through hordes of Nordic peasant soldiers or use his sword to slash his way through the ranks of retainers. But the question that he hardly dared even consider was whether his foremost duty was to stay by Cecilia’s side or to save himself so that the Folkungs would not be robbed of all defenders and avengers when the subsequent war began.

When the first arrows were shot, it was Arn’s duty to ride away to save himself. His loyalty to the Folkungs demanded this. There was no better man to lead their avenging army to victory, and he couldn’t possibly deny this fact either to his own conscience or to anyone else.

Nevertheless he decided to break with the laws of honour if the worst should happen. He would not leave Linköping alive without Cecilia. She was riding a good horse, and her new gown allowed her to sit astride the saddle with solid support in both stirrups. She was also an excellent horsewoman. At the sight of a single glinting weapon anywhere, he would immediately ride up alongside and clear the way for her.

These were his thoughts as they approached the cathedral where the bridal procession was coming from the other direction, and his expression was more harsh and sombre than would be expected of a bridegroom’s father. People whispered and pointed at him, and he suspected that in their opinion, he was the one among the enemies wearing the blue mantles who ought to be felled first.

Outside the cathedral they dismounted. Stable thralls came running to hold the reins of their horses. Arn surveyed the area with suspicion, casting a glance up at the walls of the bishop’s stronghold when he went to fetch Magnus, who was suffering terribly after the bachelors’ evening at Bjälbo that had been almost as good as the one at Arnäs. Even better, according to Magnus, since this time he didn’t have to compete against old men and monks. Hence in the last games of his youth he had salvaged the victor’s crown that had been denied him at Arnäs.

The gift for the bride was a heavy necklace made of gold with red stones. Erik jarl brought it to Arn, who accepted it and then handed it to his son Magnus. With much fumbling the groom fastened the necklace around Ingrid Ylva’s neck, over the red mantle that she wore.