When Birger Brosa and his retinue made ready to ride back to Bjälbo, Arn apologized and said that he would have to follow somewhat later, as he wanted to take advantage of the moment to speak privately with his son Magnus. Birger Brosa couldn’t very well object to this, but he frowned and muttered that it was a short journey to Bjälbo. He had no intention of waiting for his kinsman, since his time was precious. Arn promised not to keep his uncle waiting at Bjälbo; in fact, they would probably arrive at the same time.

‘Then you’ll certainly need a good horse!’ snorted Birger Brosa and set off at a slow gallop with his retainers lagging behind in surprise.

‘I’ll be all right with myhorse, dear uncle,’ whispered Arn after the retreating jarl.

It seemed most likely that Ingrid Ylva and Magnus thought they had spent enough time in the company of their kinsmen; they were already behaving with affection toward one another. Yet Magnus could not say no to his father’s request for a short ride and conversation, just the two of them.

Ulvåsa stood in a beautiful location on the promontory, with water glittering all around and fertile fields tended by both the house thralls from the estate and people from the nearby village of Hamra, which now was also owned by Ingrid Ylva. The farm buildings were of the older type and would not be comfortable in the winter. Arn said nothing of this, although he was thinking that next spring he would send builders from Forsvik to repair the living quarters for both the house servants and thralls. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it; right now there were more important things to discuss.

Without making any digressions to talk about the wedding or the youth competitions at Bjälbo, which Magnus found it pleasant to brag about, Arn began describing his plans for Arnäs. Every Folkung within three days’ journey was to go to Arnäs if misfortune were ever approaching, because there no enemy would be able to touch them.

Magnus objected sullenly that in such case one’s own estate would be left to fire and plundering, and Arn nodded grimly that this was true. But if the enemy was strong, it was more important to save one’s skin than a few timbered houses that could easily be built anew.

Magnus didn’t seem to understand or show any interest in what his father wanted to tell him. There were no enemies for as far as the eye could see. Besides, now that peace between the Sverkers and Folkungs had been so strongly sealed, wasn’t that the reason that they were able to ride together here at Ulvåsa with Ingrid Ylva waiting back at the longhouse? Wasn’t the very idea behind this wedding to secure the peace? And hadn’t he, without grumbling, agreed to the clan’s demands, even though it was no hardship to go to the bridal bed with such a lovely, dark-haired woman as Ingrid Ylva?

Arn realized too late that he had been tactless in his timing as he tried to make his own son see the threat to the realm and how they needed to defend themselves. He answered evasively that no danger would befall them during the next few years, and it was true that this wedding offered a strong message of peace. He was merely trying to see further into the future. At that, Magnus just shrugged his shoulders. Arn then asked him about the youth games at Bjälbo.

With much greater enthusiasm Magnus seized upon this topic of conversation and described in detail everything that had taken place during each of the seven contests. In the end he had come out the victor, and Erik jarl was again defeated.

More than an hour passed, and Arn began to have trouble hiding his impatience even though he had arrogantly promised Birger Brosa he would arrive at Bjälbo when the jarl did. Only with difficulty did he finally turn down Magnus’s suggestion that they have a tankard of ale before his departure. They said farewell out in the courtyard, and Arn set off for Bjälbo at once, at full gallop. Magnus watched his father ride away, thinking that no one could keep up that pace for long; no doubt his father merely wanted to show his strength as long as he was in sight, but he would have to slow down as soon as he was beyond the oak grove south of Ulvåsa.

Birger Brosa and his retinue did not have to make another rest stop before they reached Bjälbo, and they could already see the church tower in the distance when Arn suddenly came racing up behind them, riding one of his foreign stallions at great speed. When Birger Brosa was told that a rider was approaching, he turned around in his saddle and saw the Folkung mantle. At first he thought that Arn had doubtless sneaked up behind them in order to ride the last stretch of the way at this unreasonable pace. But he soon had misgivings when he saw that Arn’s steed was lathered with sweat.

Arn was relieved to find that the young horse he had chosen to ride to the wedding turned out to be good enough, even though it was slow compared to Abu Anaza. But Abu Anaza was black, and it would not have been suitable to ride such a horse to a wedding. An animal of that colour, according to what Cecilia had told him, was more appropriate for a funeral and would be considered bad luck at a wedding.

Birger Brosa led the way and came to a halt as soon as they entered the confines of Bjälbo behind the stockade. He first wished to don simpler attire, then he had to go to his writing chamber where people were waiting with all sorts of missives. Only then would he meet with Arn, and their meeting would take place in the tower chamber of the church where the clan tingwould be held in former times. A brazier and ale, cushions and sheepskins were to be taken up there at once; in an hour’s time no one but Arn was to be present. After issuing these brusque commands, Birger Brosa laboriously dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to a stable thrall without even glancing around. Then with determined strides he headed for the longhouse.

Feeling rather offended, Arn himself saw to the care of his horse, which needed attention after such a hard ride. He paid no attention to the fact that his presence in the stable caused much confusion and surprise among the thralls. The health of his horse was more important. After drying the horse’s flanks and cleaning the hooves, Arn asked for several hides, which he slung over the back of the dapple-gray steed to make sure the animal wouldn’t cool down too fast. And he spoke in a foreign tongue, whispering as he caressed and seemed to console the horse. The stable thralls shook their heads and exchanged glances behind Arn’s back, keeping out of his way.

After Arn left the horse, he went at once to brush himself off. Then at the appointed time he went to the old tower room and waited. There was a rank smell of mould and mortar. Birger Brosa arrived a bit late.

‘You are more trouble to me than any other kinsman, Arn Magnusson, and I will never make any sense of you!’ Birger Brosa said in greeting in a loud voice as he climbed the stairs. And without further ado he sank down onto the largest seat, exactly where Arn had thought he would choose to sit.

‘Then you must ask me questions, dear uncle, and with God’s help I will try to help you understand,’ replied Arn humbly. He had no desire to quarrel anew with the jarl.

‘It’s much worse than that!’ declared Birger Brosa. ‘And it will get even worse if I do understand, because then I will feel foolish that I hadn’t understood at once. And that would not please me. Nor do I have any particular wish to apologize, and I’ve already been humiliated by you once before. Now I am doing that again, for the second time. This has never happened, and as God is my witness, I shall never again, for a second time, be forced to ask some rogue for forgiveness!’

‘What is it that you wish me to forgive?’ asked Arn in surprise at this fiery drama his uncle was now presenting.