in his service the men who now rode with him in the column on the roads all over Outremer, where everyone had become everyone else’s foe and where a Saracen who served the Christians was just as much at risk as a Christian who served the Saracens. But putting together a ship’s crew and a group of men who would be of good use when travelling the long way back to Western Götaland had not been the hard part.
Brother Guilbert studied his friend’s face now and then when he thought Arn wasn’t looking. He found nothing in Arn’s outward appearance that surprised him. Had someone asked him to guess how Arn might look if, against all logic, he survived twenty years as a Templar knight in Outremer, Brother Guilbert would have guessed at something like this: A blond beard that had not yet begun to grey but had nevertheless lost its lustre. All Templar knights wore beards, of course. Short hair as well. White scars on his hands and all over his face, the marks of arrows and swords and perhaps an axe-blow over one eyebrow which made that eye seem a bit stiff. This was more or less the appearance that he would have guessed. The war in Outremer had been no banquet.
But there was an unease inside Arn that could not be as easily discerned with a mere glance. He had already admitted the day before that he considered his service in the Holy War to be finished, and his reasons were good. But now that Arn was riding the last day’s march toward home and with great wealth besides – which was truly an unusual way for a Templar knight to return – he should have felt happier, exhilarated and full of eager plans. Instead there was a great sense of unease about him, something resembling fear, if that word could be applied to a Templar knight. There was still much to understand and to question.
‘Where did you get such a vast amount of gold?’ asked Brother Guilbert resolutely as they rode past Skara without entering the town. He felt that he needed to resume their conversation.
‘If I answered that question right now you wouldn’t believe me, dear Guilbert,’ replied Arn, but he looked down at the ground. ‘Or even worse, you would think that I had committed treason. And were you to believe that, however briefly, it would make both of us sad. You must take my word for it. This wealth was not come by unjustly. And I will tell you everything when we have time, for it is not a story that is easily fathomed.’
‘I believe you, of course, but don’t ever ask me again to believe you without question,’ Brother Guilbert said bitterly. ‘You and I never lied to each other inside the walls, and outside the walls I take it for granted that we speak to each other as the Templar knights we both once were.’
‘That is precisely how I want it to be, and I will never make another request that you take my word for something on faith,’ Arn almost whispered, still with his eyes cast down.
‘Well, then I’ll ask you something simpler,’ said Brother Guilbert more cheerfully and in a louder voice. ‘We’re riding toward Arnäs now, your father’s estate, are we not? Well, you’re bringing with you baggage that is not insignificant, including horses from Outremer and a monk you just acquired in Varnhem – no, don’t contradict me! I’m also part of your purchase. I admit that I’m not used to such things, but that’s the way it is. And you have bought other men, possibly after negotiations more difficult than those you pursued with Father Guillaume, but they are going to be used for something, just as I am. Won’t you tell me something about all this? Who are these men in the caravan?’
‘Two of the men, those two riding the mares to your left, are physicians from Damascus,’ replied Arn without hesitation. ‘The two sitting on the ox-carts at the rear of the column are deserters from the army of King Richard Lionheart, an archer and a crossbowman. The Norwegian Harald Øysteinsson, who wears the coat of a sergeant of the Knights Templar, served with me, but I’ve already told you that. The two sitting on the ox-carts just behind us are Armenian armourers and craftsmen from Damascus, and most of the rest of the men are builders and sappers from both sides in the war. They are all in my service, except Harald, because in their direst hour I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Does that answer the question you really wanted to ask?’
‘Yes, to a great extent,’ replied Brother Guilbert meditatively. ‘You intend to build something great. Will you tell me what it is you want all of us to build?’
‘Peace,’ said Arn resolutely.
Brother Guilbert was so surprised by the answer that for a long while he could not bring himself to ask anything more.
When on the second day of the journey the caravan neared the church in Forshem, summer had returned in all its glory. It was hard to imagine that the whole village had been rocked by storms and foul weather only a few days earlier. Trees and other debris that had fallen across roads and farms had already been removed. Out in the fields the turnip harvest was in full swing.
Since there had long been peace in the country, no armed guards rode forth along the roads, and no one disturbed the travellers, even though it must have been evident from a great distance that many of them were foreigners. The workers in the fields would straighten up for a moment to watch with curiosity the ox-carts and the knights on the lively horses, but then they went back to their labour.
When the caravan reached Forshem, Arn led his men up the hill to the church and signalled for them to rest. When all had dismounted he went over to the Prophet’s people, who usually kept to themselves, and told them there was still plenty of time before the afternoon prayer hour, but that here the Bible’s people were going to pray for a while. Then he asked the two Armenian brothers, and Harald and Brother Guilbert, to come with him into the church. But as they approached the door, the priest came hurrying out of his presbytery and called to them not to enter God’s house in disarray. He ran over and took up position before the old-fashioned ornamented doors of the wooden church. Trembling, he blocked the way with arms outstretched.
Arn then calmly told him who he was, that he was the son of Herr Magnus of Arnäs, and that all in his party were good Christians. After a long journey they wanted to give thanks at the altar and also leave an offering. They were allowed in at once by the priest, who only now seemed to notice that one of the strangers was a Cistercian in a white cloak, and that two of the men bore big red crosses on their shields. Fumbling and apologizing, he unlocked the big church doors.
But Arn did not go far up the aisle toward the altar before the priest caught up with him and tugged on his sword, saying something in an odd mixture of Latin and Swedish to indicate that swords were an abomination in God’s house. Brother Guilbert then shooed him away like a fly, explaining that the sword at Sir Arn’s side was blessed. It was the sword of a Templar knight, even if it was the only one that had ever been inside Forshem church.
At the altar the Christians fell to their knees, lighted some candles from the one that burned at the altar, and said their prayers. They also placed silver on the altar, which instantly calmed the agitated priest standing behind them.
After a while Arn asked to be left alone with his God, and everyone complied with no objections. They all went outside, closing the church doors behind them.
Arn prayed a long time for support and guidance, as he had done so often before. But never had he felt anything stir within him or seen any sign that Our Lady had answered him.
In spite of this constant lack of an answer he had never been stricken with doubt. People filled the earth, just as God had prescribed. At any one moment God and the saints had to listen to thousands of people offering up prayers, and if they had to take time to answer every one of them it would lead to great confusion. How many foolish prayers did people voice every moment, asking for luck in the hunt, success in trade, the birth of a son, or to be allowed to continue their earthly lives?
And how many thousands of times had Arn asked Our Lady for protection for Cecilia and their child? How many times had he prayed for success in war? Before every attack in the Holy War, clad in their white mantles, they all sat their horses knee to knee, about to dash headlong toward death or toward victory, and Our Lady had to listen to their prayers. Almost all prayers had selfish intent.
But this time Arn prayed to Our Lady that she might guide him and advise him in what he could and should do with all the power he had brought home; that