Birth of the Kingdom

TWELVE

It was a whole week before the riders who had left Forsvik returned. They had found much that needed cleaning up after the battle at ?lgar?s where more than ninety Danes and Sverkers were laid in a common grave, and all those from the estate who had been slain were taken to the church for a Christian burial.
Two Forsvikers had fallen in the conflict, while four were badly wounded, two of them so gravely that Arn didn’t dare take the responsibility of transporting them to Forsvik to tend to their wounds. Ibrahim and Yussuf were no longer at the estate, at a time when their skills were sorely needed. With a fervent appeal, and in his capacity as a Templar knight, Arn wrote a brief letter on the only piece of parchment that he could find at ?lgar?s to the brothers of the Order of St. John in Eskilstuna. He sent the two wounded men by cart to ?rebro, and from there it was an easy journey across Lake Hj?lmaren to the brothers’ hospital.
The bodies of two Forsvikers who had fallen were wrapped in Folkung mantles and sent to their kinsmen.
Since many Forsvikers left to accompany wounded and dead kinsmen, it looked as if the force had been cut in half when they returned to the estate. And the tidings were ominous, judging by the sombre expressions of both Erik jarl and Arn as they entered the courtyard ahead of the other Forsvikers. The alarm had already been sounded when the horsemen were spotted far in the distance. Erik jarl and Arn brought the saddest news of all to the dowager queen Cecilia Blanca, who was the first to step forward when everyone anxiously appeared to greet the returning men. Three of her sons had been killed, all on the same day. They were wrapped in their mantles on a cart at the back of the procession.
Cecilia Blanca turned pale as she sank to the ground and silently rocked back and forth, tearing her nails bloody scratching at the earth. Finally she uttered a scream that stabbed like knives into everyone’s heart. Erik jarl led her inside the church, where they both stayed for a long time.
Arn gave orders for the horses to be looked after, for the weapons to be put away, and for the three Erik sons to be taken to the cool room made of bricks that was used to store meat. It was not a dignified place for the fallen sons of a king, but the bodies had already begun to smell, and they needed to be buried soon.
He took his wife Cecilia to their own house and closed the door. Then he briefly and in Cecilia’s eyes rather cold-heartedly recounted what had happened. Three royal sons had been killed by Sverker’s people. The Forsvikers had slain almost all of the one hundred men sent out by Sverker; only a few had escaped. And so it was that war had come to the G?ta lands, even though it would be a relatively long time before the real battles began. The important thing right now was to bury Erik jarl’s brothers. Arn suggested the church at Riseberga cloister, since it was the closest, and at the moment a journey to Varnhem would be dangerous as well as too long and hot for those who had already been dead a week.
Cecilia had a hard time replying to Arn’s question about Riseberga, since she felt confused by the fact that she didn’t really recognize him. His eyes had grown narrow and cold, and he spoke in a terse and harsh manner. After a while she realized that this was a different Arn than the one she knew; this was not her beloved and gentle husband or Alde’s father, this was the warrior from the Holy Land.
She saw the same change in Erik jarl when he appeared with his arm around his trembling mother, leaving her in Cecilia’s care as if she were a child. Then he took Arn aside at once to exchange only a few words about how and when they ought to ride to Riseberga.
That very day the funeral procession set off from Forsvik. Most of the young noblemen who had been part of the force that went to ?lgar?s now stayed behind at Forsvik. In Arn’s opinion, the talkativeness that had come over them after participating in and winning their first armed conflict would not be fitting at a funeral. Instead, three cavalry squadrons were formed and armed from those who had remained behind at Forsvik when their kinsmen rode off to ?lgar?s. But the six who had been knighted by Erik jarl had to come along, since honour demanded their presence.
At Riseberga cloister the three sons of the king were buried, and a large sum was donated for prayers of intercession on their behalf. Erik jarl borrowed the money from Arn and Cecilia Rosa. Cecilia Blanca, as the mother of the dead men, remained at the cloister when the funeral procession returned to Forsvik. Neither she nor anyone else knew how long she might stay there, whether for a short time or forever.
During that autumn and early winter, many Folkung and Erik riders headed off in all directions. Erik jarl went to Norway to attempt to win the support of warriors there. Eskil and his son Torgils, along with Arn and Magnus M?nesk?ld, made a long journey through Svealand, where news of the ignominious murder of the three Erik sons aroused great anger. The Swedes seemed to consider the Erik clan as their royal clan. Relics from Erik jarl’s paternal grandfather, St. Erik, were carried around the fields in Uppland to bring a good harvest. At the judge’s ting at the Mora Stones outside ?stra Aros, the Swedes voted unanimously to take up their swords at once. The Folkungs from the south managed to dissuade them, since a Svea army would undoubtedly need better footing than the autumn mire to do full justice to their bravery, as Arn cautiously presented the matter. What he had seen of the Svea warriors at the ting did not persuade him that they’d be able to accomplish much against the Danish cavalry. After a lengthy and loud discussion, they finally agreed that the Swedes should go in force to ?stra G?taland to join the warriors at Bj?lbo in the spring, between the feast of Saint Gertrude and Annunciation Day.
On their way home the Folkungs stopped at Eskilstuna, where Arn donned the attire of a Templar knight to visit the hospital of the Order of St. John. If he had hoped to find Hospitaller knights of the order in Eskilstuna, he was soon disappointed. The brothers there devoted themselves almost exclusively to caring for the sick, and he had to give up any idea of acquiring reinforcements from the best warriors in the world besides the Templars. But he was courteously received by the brothers, and they had done their job well, almost as if they had been Saracens, with regard to Arn’s two wounded young men. They would both be able to return to the saddle by spring.
After the New Year, a ting was called at Arn?s for the Folkung clan, and Erik jarl returned from his Norwegian travels in order to attend. It had been a disappointing journey because the Norwegians were once again at each other’s throats; they had their hands full with their own war. But Erik jarl brought greetings from Harald ?ysteinsson, who had now become jarl of the Birchlegs in Nidaros and had been granted several large estates. Harald had promised that as soon as he was victorious in Norway, he and his kinsmen would come to the aid of the Folkungs and Eriks. That was a promise of questionable value.
Before the start of the ting of the Folkung clan, Erik jarl took a tour of the walls with Arn because he hadn’t been there in many years. He offered much praise for the mighty strength of this castle, but he also had to admit that it made him uneasy. When Arn asked him outright what he meant by this, Erik jarl said that no one could help seeing how Arn?s had grown. It was evident that the power of the Folkungs was much greater than that of anyone else. The horsemen that Arn had trained at Forsvik so that they could easily defeat an enemy force of twice their numbers at ?lgar?s had merely reinforced their power. So who was he, Erik jarl, leader of the much weaker Erik clan, to think that he might set his father’s crown upon his own head?
Arn didn’t take this concern seriously but jested that if Erik found himself a good marshal he would have fewer worries. Erik jarl didn’t understand the jest but replied almost angrily that he thought Arn was his marshal.
‘Yes, such is the case,’ replied Arn with a laugh, placing his hand on Erik jarl’s powerful shoulder. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten what we swore to each other at your father’s deathbed. I am your marshal. For me, you are already king. Such was my oath.’
‘Why don’t you Folkungs seize power now that it’s within your reach?’ asked Erik jarl, not entirely reassured.
‘For two reasons,’ said Arn. ‘First, we have all sworn to fight for your crown, and the Folkungs do not take their oaths lightly. Second, you have the Swedes on your side, but we don’t. Your axes and few horsemen may not frighten many Danes, but I have no doubt of their bravery, and besides they are many in number.’
‘And if I didn’t have the Swedes on my side?’ said Erik jarl, throwing out his hands.
‘Then we would still stand by our word and you would become king. But who will succeed you is less certain; perhaps Birger Magnusson.’
‘Young Birger who is the son of your Magnus M?nesk?ld?’
‘Yes, he is the most lively of the brothers at Ulv?sa, and he has a good head. But why should we be thinking of those days that will come long after we’re gone? The future is in God’s hands, and right now we have a war to win. That should be our first thought.’
‘And will we win this war?’
‘Yes, most certainly. With God’s help. The only question is what will happen afterwards. Sverker has no strong army supporting him; we’ll vanquish him by spring. Even the Swedes could accomplish that. If he falls in battle, it will be over. If he manages to flee to Denmark, we will have Valdemar the Victor upon us. And then we’ll have to pull back a bit.’
‘So it would be best if we kill Sverker in the spring?’
‘Yes, that’s my view. It’s the only sure way of preventing him from bringing in the Danes.’

Not much came of the first war against King Sverker. In the spring of 1206, a large and noisy horde of Swedes came south to Eastern G?taland, threatening to plunder Link?ping if King Sverker refused to meet them on the battlefield. While they waited for his answer, they drank up all the ale but otherwise spared the town.
King Sverker, his most loyal supporters, and his retainers then fled from N?s and headed south to Denmark. The Swedes had to return home without delivering a single blow from their axes. He left behind his daughter Helena at Vreta cloister, where she was confined with the novices.
Erik jarl then moved with his mother and kinsmen to his childhood home at N?s and henceforth called himself King Erik, since both the Swedes and the Folkungs recognized him as such. Arn thought the king ought to have sought the protection of Arn?s instead, but he sent three squadrons of young Folkung riders to join the king’s retainers at N?s.
Now the question was not if the Danish army would come, but when. For now King Erik’s tenuous kingdom was secure, since during that year Valdemar the Victor was busy with a new crusade. He was plundering the Livonian islands of Dag? and ?sel, killing many heathens or those who were not sufficiently Christian, and taking much silver back to Denmark.
The workers in the weapons smithies at Forsvik were now toiling day and night; the fires were doused only on the day of rest devoted to God. That year young Birger Magnusson began training with the largest group of young Folkungs that had ever been taken on at Forsvik. New houses were also built, including a separate house for the six knights that King Erik had dubbed after the victory at ?lgar?s. And as a belated gift from the king, all six men had been given spurs of gold. In their hall hung both Sverker and Danish shields that they had seized in their first victory.
Not until late in the autumn of 1207, after the first snowfall, did word come that a large enemy force was on its way north from Sk?ne. King Valdemar the Victor was not leading the army himself, perhaps because he didn’t want to offend his tributary King Sverker. But he had sent all his best commanders, including Ebbe Sunesson and his brothers Lars, Jakob, and Peder. And with them were twelve thousand men; it was the mightiest army that had ever been seen in the North.
Arn sent out a call to the Folkungs and Eriks, telling them to gather at two strongholds, the one at Arn?s and the one at Bj?lbo, which was more of a fortified estate than a fortress. After that he made ready to take four light squadrons from Forsvik and ride at once to meet the enemy.
Cecilia felt equal parts dread and admiration when she saw the zeal displayed by Arn. She couldn’t understand that there could be any joy in riding to face an impossibly superior enemy with only sixty-four young men. Arn then made time to speak with both her and Alde on the last evening before his departure. It was not his intention to engage in a real battle, he assured both of them. But for some inexplicable reason the Danes had chosen to come in the wintertime, and that made their heavy horses even slower. Danish riders would never be able to catch any Forsvikers; it would be a matter of flying past them at a safe distance. But it was necessary to obtain information about their intentions, their weapons, and their numbers.
What he told Cecilia and Alde was undoubtedly true, but it was far from the whole story.
Arn and his men got their first view of the enemy south of Skara. It was a few weeks before Christmas; the fields were snow-covered, but it was not yet really cold. The Forsvikers hadn’t needed to put on the bulky garb that they wore in the winter, with thick layers of felt over all the steel and iron. They rode annoyingly close to the Danish forces, moving in the opposite direction, at first partly to count the number of men, partly to see where they could do their enemy the most damage. Now and then the Danes sent a group of heavy riders with lances toward them, but they easily rode out of range. They saw that King Sverker and Archbishop Valerius were situated in the middle of the army, surrounded by a strong force carrying many banners. Arn decided that an attack on the king himself would not be worthwhile. Their own losses would be too great, and they couldn’t be certain of killing the king. In addition, most of Arn’s young men had never been in battle; they needed to experience a few victories in several lesser assaults before he could order them to put their lives at risk.
But an hour’s ride along the convoy he found easier targets. There most of the Danes’ provisions and fodder for the horses were being hauled on sluggish ox-carts through the mire created by all the riders up ahead. It would have been easy to ride up to the draft animals and kill enough of them, while also setting fire to the fodder, so that the enemy army would have been significantly delayed.
But there was no need to make haste with such action, and besides, now would be a good time to teach the young men more about war in general. Arn had no doubt that on the small scale, in terms of protecting their own lives and limbs, he could rely on the Forsvikers. Without releasing a single arrow or making any attempt to attack even if only to instil fear, Arn and his riders withdrew for the night to a village that was far enough away from the Danish army. They treated the villagers with consideration, taking only what they needed for an evening meal. Nor did they strike or harm anyone who complained.
Arn spent the evening and much of the night describing how they would destroy the Danes’ provisions. Yet there was not much point to such action now because the enemy convoy had the city of Skara ahead. If the army arrived there starving, angry, and without fodder for their horses it would not bode well for those who lived in Skara. But as things now stood, it was uncertain what Sverker and his Danes intended to do after Skara. Arn speculated that the reason they had arrived in the winter was that they planned to reach Lake V?ttern when it was frozen over so as to reclaim for Sverker the royal castle of N?s. That would not be much of an achievement, but kings often had a tendency to think like children. If Sverker once more occupied N?s, he would again feel like the king. But how was he going to provide for such a large Danish army at Visings? in the middle of the lake? And if it wasn’t possible to find supplies for them there, what was the next step?
Arn laughed and seemed in high spirits, and this wasn’t just because he wanted to infuse courage into his young and inexperienced warriors. He understood full well what it felt like for a small force of sixty-four men to ride past an army that was three hundred times as large. But on the following day they would gain more self-confidence.
After a long and good night’s sleep, since the days were short at this time of the year, Arn told his men that they would now be going into battle. Not against oxen and supply carts but against the best of the Danish horsemen, who were no doubt those riding in the lead. The reason for this was simple. They were going to teach the Danes that whoever pursued the faster enemy would not come back alive.
The first time they carried out this simple plan, everything went as expected.
Arn took only one squadron, riding towards the front of the enemy army where many banners could be seen and where there was a large contingent of heavy cavalry. At first the Danes couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw a mere sixteen men come riding at a slant towards their vanguard, getting closer and closer. Finally they were so near that the horsemen could shout jeers at each other. Then Arn pulled his bow from his back, calmly strung it, and placed his quiver at his side, as if he was planning to stay for a long time. Then he nocked an arrow and took aim at the foremost of the banner carriers, who raised his shield at once. Arn abruptly changed his aim and felled a man much farther back who was sitting there gaping in surprise rather than bothering to protect himself. Only then did all of the Danes raise their shields, and furious commands resounded over the entire advance group with fifty heavy riders gathered to stage a broad attack. Arn laughed loudly and told his sixteen men to nock their arrows.
Naturally that was too much for the Danes, who immediately launched an attack with lowered lances and the snow spraying out from the front hooves of their heavy horses. Almost indolently the sixteen Folkungs and Arn turned their horses and headed for the nearest grove of trees with their pursuers only a few lance-lengths behind, a distance they were careful to maintain.
From the Danish army loud, triumphant laughter arose as the soldiers saw what a sorry spectacle the enemy made, chased away into the woods.
But not a single Danish rider returned, because among the trees they had encountered three squadrons of light riders who approached at close range and then shot their arrows, finishing off any survivors with their swords.
This sort of cunning wouldn’t work on a second attempt since the Danes didn’t dare pursue the chase after the taunting and fleeing enemy. But by now the Danish army had already been delayed because of the loss of some of their heavy riders, since such horsemen were often high-born men and they had to be tended to after death, unlike the bodies of ordinary foot-soldiers. The Danes were now hungry for revenge, of course, but since they were travelling with riders in the vanguard because of the deep snow, they had no foot-soldiers up front with bows. And their horses could not keep up with the lighter and faster steeds of the Forsvikers.
The next day Arn rode close to the head of the Danish army with all sixty-four of his men. He had chosen a spot where the landscape opened up just beyond two high hills, and there was an expansive view in all directions, so the Danes wouldn’t suspect an ambush.
The Forsvikers quietly approached, moving in so close that they were certain of being able to strike home with their arrows. But this time they aimed not at the iron-clad horsemen or their shields but at their horses. Every horse that was hit was as good as dead, and that meant a horseman on foot, especially if the arrow struck the horse’s belly. The heavy snowfall had prompted the Danes to ride without chain mail for their horses.
Once again the Forsvikers’ attack enraged the Danes, who lined up a hundred horsemen with lances to stage a counterattack.
The Forsvikers now seemed to be frightened and hesitant, and they turned around to flee; with that, the Danish riders attacked at once. And so they rode out into the snow, getting farther and farther away from the rest of the Danish army until the heavy pursuers began to falter, having used up most of their strength and that of their horses. Then Arn suddenly turned his fleeing forces and divided them into two groups, which surrounded the Danish riders and went on the attack, using arrows that pierced right through the chain mail. They managed to kill most of the horsemen, or to cause terrible wounds with their swords before they once again had to flee from the reinforcements sent by the army. But this time they didn’t succeed in enticing their pursuers to their deaths.
A thaw set in, and the soft, knee-high snow was like a blessing for the Forsvikers but a curse for the Danish cavalry.
Over the following days the enemy grew more discriminating when it came to making a sortie against the Forsviker forces. Not much was accomplished by either side, but according to Arn, that was the whole intention.
The Danes stopped for a short time in Skara but did not carry out extensive plundering before they moved on towards the southeast. They didn’t even bother to besiege the fortress of Axevalla. That was an important piece of information; they truly were headed for Lake V?ttern and N?s. Along the way stood the castle of Lena. Despite his grumbling over the expense, Birger Brosa had indeed followed Arn’s advice to have it fortified. The Danes would either take the castle or besiege it in order to secure the route to N?s. So the real battle would take place in the vicinity of Lena. There they would gather to see if it was possible to set a trap for the entire Danish army. Arn sent off four riders with messages for Arn?s and Bj?lbo, summoning all Swedes and Goths to Lena.
Then it was time for the Forsviker cavalry to cause serious delays for the Danish army so that their own forces would have plenty of time to assemble. It helped that they would soon be several days’ ride from Skara.
The first time the Forsvikers switched to the new way of attacking, they killed more than a hundred of the oxen and other draft animals; they also burned most of the fodder at the very back of the Danish column. Then they cut off the supply line to the rear, so that everyone who was sent on foot to Skara to fetch new animals disappeared, never to be seen again.
When heavy riders were dispatched back to protect the columns that were supposed to procure new supplies and draft animals, Arn immediately moved his men up toward the head of the army and began harassing the standard-bearers by riding close and shooting either the men or their horses. Now the Danes no longer dared send any of their forces to pursue these tormenters.
Every third day Arn sent one squadron home to Forsvik to tend to their minor wounds and tack, to sharpen their weapons and rest, while the next squadron went into service. The most important thing that the Forsvikers achieved during these weeks as they constantly plagued the Danes with their pinpricks was to delay the army and make them frantic with longing to use their superior force for a decisive battle. The cold grew worse every day, and that too ought to make the Danes more inclined to go into battle with all their troops or to proceed across the ice of Lake V?ttern to N?s.
The nights were becoming unbearable for them, and the snow meant that the enemy could approach in silence, even on horseback. Anyone who emerged from his tent at night to stand by the fire would certainly have the blessing of warmth, but he was also blinded by the blaze and couldn’t see where the arrows were suddenly coming from. Every night the winter-clad Forsvikers crept up close with their bows.
When the Danes were within a day’s ride from the castle at Lena, their blue-clad tormenters suddenly disappeared, but the tracks in the snow clearly led toward the castle, which King Sverker and his men knew well. It looked as if the Swedes and Goths were finally preparing to fight like honourable men.
And such was truly the case. At Lena the entire Swedish army had assembled, consisting of three thousand men on foot, along with all of the Folkung riders.
But of even greater importance was the fact that from every Folkung estate thralls and stable hands, peasants, caretakers and smiths had arrived in great numbers; even some house thralls had come. Most brought their own longbows with them and five arrows. But anyone who needed a new string or even a new bow or arrows was well supplied. More than three thousand of these low-born archers had gathered at Lena.
The Forsviker cavalry was one hundred and fifty strong; a third of them were heavy riders, the rest were light. Two hundred crossbowmen from Arn?s and Bj?lbo and other Folkung estates were also there, as were a hundred men with long horse lances and steel-clad horse shields.
As the Danish army approached Lena, the Folkungs, the Swedes, and the few Eriks who had managed to get past the Danes, took up position in the valley at the foot of H?gstenaberget. In the vanguard stood the heavy riders, mostly to tempt the Danes into what appeared to be an easy assault. Behind them stood the light cavalry, and behind them a defensive wall of shields and long horse lances. Only a few paces in back of the line of shields stood the two hundred crossbowmen, and then the entire roaring and battle-ready army of Upplanders and other wild Swedes who were the foot-soldiers.
At the very rear were the more than three thousand longbow archers. They were the key to either victory or defeat.
Arn had brought with him King Erik and two squadrons of his own horsemen to ride out to the Danes and induce them to turn in the right direction. With King Erik rode his standard-bearer, and the three golden crowns against a blue background could be seen from far away on that clear and cold winter day. It was a signal to the Danes that they were now confronting the real enemy for a decisive battle.
Arn and the king and their retinue didn’t need to show themselves to the Danish army for very long before the Danes began doing what they had hoped. The troops came to halt high up in the valley in order to have a downward slope for their first overwhelming attack with the heavy cavalry. They must have been very pleased when they found that the enemy didn’t seem to realize what a disadvantage it was to offer the possibility for such a descent. Now the site of the battle had been determined, but it would take several hours before the Danes established order among their forces.
Arn rode with King Erik back to their own army. Together they made the rounds so as to instil courage in their men, since they could all see what a mighty force had begun to rally up on the slope. Time after time Arn and the king tried to impress upon all their men that if everyone did as they were ordered, they’d be able to win victory faster than anyone could guess. But no one should have any doubts or lose their courage, since that was not only a great sin but also halfway to defeat.
To the line of big, rectangular horse shields and lances, they said that each man must stand firm. If a single man started running when the ground shook with horses thundering forward, a gap would appear that could be seen from far away by the attacking riders; that was exactly what they were waiting for in order to get through. But if everyone stood his ground, they would not get through; it was as simple as that.
To the crossbowmen they said time and again that they should take up position only when the enemies were so close that they could see the whites of their eyes. Then, and only then, should they take aim and shoot. Anyone who shot without taking aim would merely lose a bolt, but if everyone did as ordered, more than a hundred riders would fall before the lances, blocking the way for all the riders coming behind them, if any actually came.
But it was difficult to talk any sense into the Swedish army. These savage men looked more as if they were shaking with impatience, wanting to rush out onto the battlefield as fast as possible and get themselves killed.
On the other hand, there were important words to say to the longbow archers who stood at the very back and represented the largest force in the army. Arn explained that they and no one else would secure the victory. If every man did as he had practiced, then the victory was theirs. Otherwise, they would all die together here at Lena.
After King Erik and Arn had spoken with so many longbow archers that their mouths were dry, they noticed that a commotion had started up among the Danish troops, as if they were preparing to attack. Silence fell over the battlefield, and everyone prayed to God and the saints that they might see victory and survive. The Danes already sensed victory within their grasp, since from their viewpoint high on the slope, they could see that the enemy they were about to fight had an army only a third the size of their own, and less than a third as many riders.
The faces of the Goths, Eriks, and Folkungs turned pale, while the Swedes merely seemed even more impatient to get started.
Arn rode over to the longbow archers and ordered one of the best archers, whom he knew from the village outside Arn?s, to shoot an arrow with red fletches to the height and in the direction that all had been ordered to shoot.
One lone arrow soon sailed high and far over the battlefield, landing close to the mid-point between the two armies. Coarse laughter was heard from the Danes up there; they seemed to think that some frightened archer had lost his wits. But they had never encountered longbow archers. Arn breathed a sigh of relief and said his last prayers.
When the heavy Danish riders set off, the mighty sound was heard of thousands upon thousands of horses’ hooves pounding through the snow. Arn thought that it would have been much worse and more terrifying if the ground had been hard and free of snow; then the roar would have been deafening. But even without the rumble of attacking heavy riders, it was a mighty wall of death and steel that now came pouring down the slope.
Arn sat on his horse near a small hill across from the longbow archers. He ordered them to nock their first arrow and aim as they’d been taught, which was halfway between heaven and earth. There was a great rustling as three thousand bows were pulled taut.
The clang of weapons and the thunder of horses’ hooves in the snow came closer, but the snow also sprayed up in an ever-growing white cloud, which was an advantage that Arn only now perceived. He cast a stern glance at the distant arrow with the red feathers, and the wall of horsemen in the snowstorm as they approached it. Then he raised his hand and shouted at the top of his lungs that everyone should wait…and wait…and wait still more!
‘Nowwww!’ he bellowed as loudly as he could, and dropped his right hand.
And then the battlefield grew dark with a great black cloud that at first rose up and then sank toward the attacking riders; there was a whistling and roaring in the air, as if a thousand cranes had lifted off at once.
When the first salvo of arrows struck the storming Danish army, it was as if God’s iron fist had dealt them a blow from above. Hundreds of horses fell, shrieking and kicking in the great cloud of snow that blinded those who came behind them, causing many who weren’t even struck by arrows to fall to the ground. By then the next black cloud of arrows was already on its way.
A thin line of the vanguard Danish riders had passed through the deadly rain of arrows and continued forward with undiminished speed. They never realized that they were now only a small part of their own cavalry force.
Arn had ordered the third and last salvo of longbow arrows against the foot-soldiers, who came running behind their own horsemen. Then he had ridden forward to the crossbowmen and commanded all the heavy and light riders in front of them to move to the sides to get out of the way.
He positioned his horse in the midst of the crossbowmen and shouted both to them and to the men with the horse lances that victory was now very close at hand if they would just wait until the right moment. Then he ordered the crossbowmen to stand up and aim as he raised his hand.
At a distance of twenty paces, almost all of the last Danish riders, numbering now barely a hundred, fell to the ground. A few came sliding through the snow all the way up to the lances and were quickly speared.
Now the untouched Folkung cavalry could go on the attack; the riders moved like a plough through the devastated Danish army and soon reached the foot-soldiers, who turned to flee.
Arn didn’t even need to give the Swedes a command before they were on their way forward amidst wild war cries, swinging their axes overhead. Arn had to swiftly move out of the way in order not to be mowed down by the Swedes. He rode over to join King Erik, who had taken up position with a squadron of light Forsvikers on a hill with a view of the battlefield.
‘May God grant us victory on this day!’ shouted King Erik as Arn rode up alongside.
‘He has already done so,’ replied Arn. ‘But Sverker and his Danes up there don’t know it yet, because they probably can’t see through the clouds of snow.’
Arn called his light riders back from the battlefield since they were no longer needed among all the Swedes, who were assiduously hacking at the enemy with their axes. Arn moved the riders into position near the place where he and King Erik were watching the battle, which was now more slaughter than war. The Swedish warriors were advancing fiercely, having now been thrown into the type of battle that suited them, with the enemy on foot and most of them already dead or wounded, and in slushy snow.
It was time to seize the victory. Arn took King Erik and his standard and all the light Forsvikers up past the hill where the Danes had stood when they launched their attack. There he divided his forces into two groups and commanded the rider Oddvar and the rider Emund Jonsson to take their men and encircle the royal Danish standard-bearers that were visible some distance away, and cut off any retreat.
King Sverker and his men didn’t seem to have fully grasped what had happened. For when Arn and King Erik and their standard-bearer with both the three crowns and the Folkung lion slowly approached, the Danes couldn’t believe their eyes. And when they started getting uneasy and cast a glance behind them, they saw that they were surrounded.
The victors took their time, advancing slowly toward King Sverker and his men, among whom they recognized Archbishop Valerius and the marshal Ebbe Sunesson and several more from N?s.
When the circle of Folkung riders closed ranks around Sverker and his men, the Danes were still scanning the battlefield looking for reinforcements. From down there the shrieks of dying men and horses could still be heard. King Erik and Arn approached until they were within two lance-lengths before they stopped. King Erik was the first to speak. His voice was calm and filled with great dignity.
‘Now, Sverker, this war is over,’ he began. ‘You are at the mercy of my favour or disfavour, and I hold your life in my hands like a baby bird. The same is true of the men who are with you. All the others are dead or will be soon; that is what you are hearing from down below. Tell me what you would have done if you were in my position now.’
‘He who kills a king will be excommunicated,’ replied King Sverker, his mouth dry.
‘So you think that you have God on your side?’ replied King Erik with an odd smile. ‘Then He has shown you His mercy in a very strange manner today. You came to us in cowardice with a foreign army, and God rewarded you as you deserved. But now I will tell you what I have decided, and God knows that I have thought a good deal over what I should do when this moment arrived. Your father killed my paternal grandfather. My father then killed your father. Let it end there. Give me the crown that you bear on your helmet of your own free will. Go back to Denmark and never return to our realm. Take your men and your archbishop with you, except for Ebbe Sunesson, for he has a debt to pay. The next time I will not spare your life. This I now swear before all men and before God.’
It was not a difficult decision for King Sverker to make. With only a moment’s hesitation, he took the crown from his helmet, rode forward to Erik, and handed it to him.
But the marshal Ebbe Sunesson, who realized that now his life had little value, demanded in a loud voice and displaying no fear that he should be allowed to defend himself in a duel, preferably against the cowardly Folkung who hadn’t dared to fight him; the one whose brother he had already humbled.
King Erik and the Folkungs were all surprised when they understood that it was of Arn Magnusson the Danish marshal was speaking. They exchanged uncertain glances, as if they couldn’t have heard correctly.
‘It’s true,’ said Arn, ‘that I have previously refused to kill you as revenge because you murdered my brother for the sake of your own amusement. I had sworn an oath of loyalty to Sverker, but I have now been released from that vow. I thank God for choosing me to give you the reward that you deserve.’
With these words Arn rode off to the side and drew his sword. Then he bowed his head in prayer, which looked more like a prayer of thanksgiving than a plea for his own life.
Ebbe Sunesson was one of the few men present who had no idea of the reputation of the combatant he had chosen for the duel. With a triumphant expression he now drew his sword and galloped toward Arn. A moment later his head fell onto the snow.
Sverker Karlsson, his archbishop Valerius, and a few other men went back to Denmark. They were among the twenty-four who returned. The army that Valdemar the Victor had sent against the Swedes and Goths had been more than twelve thousand strong. The killing and plundering at Lena went on all night in the blaze of fires and continued into the next day.
King Erik, who now withdrew for the winter to his castle at N?s, had received the crown from Sverker’s own hand. Erik had been wise to handle the matter in this way, because not even the Holy Roman Church could contest that he was truly the new king of the Swedes and Goths.
But he had also spared Sverker Karlsson’s life, in spite of the fact that he easily could have killed him. That was a noble act, worthy of a king. But not a wise decision, as circumstances would show a few years later.

The victory at Lena was the greatest in man’s memory in the North, and it was given many heroes. For the Eriks, most of whom had found themselves cut off in the southern part of Western G?taland and unable get to Lena, the victory belonged without a doubt to King Erik alone. He had withstood a difficult trial and proved himself worthy of the king’s crown.
In the view of most of the Folkungs, it was the new Folkung cavalry that had been decisive. And if anyone objected that it was mostly the longbow archers who had crushed the Danes, every Folkung would reply that in that case it was their own house servants, thralls, caretakers, and peasants who had done what their masters ordered them to do.
Yet the strangest explanation for the remarkable victory at Lena came from the Swedes. It was during this time in Svealand that the saga spread about how the god Odin, after long absence, had reappeared. Many Swedish warriors said they had seen Odin with their own eyes; he was wearing a blue mantle and riding his steed Sleipner to lead the Swedes out to the battlefield.
This blasphemous explanation about the pagan god Odin as sire of the victory galled all the bishops in the three lands. As if with one voice and from ?stra Aros, Str?ngn?s, and ?rebro, to Skara and Link?ping the bishops preached that God the Father, in His inscrutable mercy, had granted this victory to the Swedes and Goths and King Erik. There was one good thing about this conviction so loudly proclaimed by the bishops; it meant that King Erik had triumphed with God’s support and clearly demonstrated will. For this reason, the bishops all showed up to a man at the council meeting at N?s to assure everyone that Erik was now the incontestable king of the realm. But when he then asked them to set the crown on his head, they argued that such could be done only by the archbishop. And the one who would appoint a new archbishop to succeed Valerius would be the new Danish archbishop Andreas Sunesson in Lund. Yet no sign of good will could be expected from him; he was not only King Valdemar the Victor’s man, but he was also the brother of the felled Danish commanders Ebbe, Lars, Jakob, and Peder. The only one of them to be given a Christian burial back in Denmark was Ebbe Sunesson, although he had to travel home missing his head.
The fact that Denmark was to appoint the archbishop for the Swedes and Goths was certainly unreasonable, and a better arrangement would no doubt be made after a letter was sent to the Holy Father in Rome. Yet it was not something that could be accomplished quickly.
Nevertheless, it was reassuring for the young king to have the bishops of the realm on his side from the very beginning. This newly established goodwill on the part of the bishops was also of benefit to the Folkungs because the clerics now stopped their surly resistance toward consecrating the church at Forshem to God’s Grave. The church had been finished several years ago, but could not yet serve as the house of God. King Erik himself rode to Forshem to honour Arn Magnusson, his marshal and the one who commissioned this church, at the consecration.
The friendship between King Erik and Arn had grown even stronger. In Arn’s eyes, Erik had quickly changed from a youth greedy for simple pleasures into a man of great solemnity and dignity. For Erik, who had now seen his marshal in a war against overwhelming enemy forces, there was no doubt who was the true architect of this victory. And he didn’t hesitate to give full credit to Arn before the worldly members of his council, although in the presence of the bishops he found it wise to declare that the victory had been given to them by the hand of God.
Arn was not opposed to encouraging the bishops to talk of David versus Goliath, since every such more or less astute comparison from the prelates served to reinforce the idea that Erik had triumphed through God’s will and was thereby entitled to wear the crown.
But in his own heart Arn had more doubts. Earlier in his life he had seen far too many apparently inexplicable victories or defeats to be genuinely convinced of God’s intervention in every little human struggle on earth. In Arn’s experience, it was foolish commands on one side of the conflict that usually spelled victory for the other side.
And the Danes had been foolish in more ways than one, as well as arrogant. They had seriously underestimated their enemy, and they had depended almost exclusively on heavy cavalry, even though they should have realized that they would encounter snow. Their greatest mistake was not anticipating the longbow archers, and thus they had forced their entire army to ride to its death all at once. So many serious misjudgments could end only in defeat.
Yet as the marshal of the realm, Arn’s chief responsibility was to warn against pride. Such a great victory as occurred at Lena could never be repeated if the Danes decided to return. No doubt they wouldn’t come back soon, since it would take time to replace such a large army; so many riders, horses, weapons, and armour had been lost.
After the Swedes had finished their plundering of the battlefield at Lena, which went on for two days, all the equipment, saddles, and arrows collected were transported on fifteen fully loaded ox-carts to Forsvik. The plundered goods were more than enough to outfit two hundred new heavy riders.
They also obtained important information from the conquered armour. The Danes had a new way of protecting themselves against arrows and swords. Their helmets were stronger and offered better protection for the eyes. And some of their chain mail was not made of linked rings but rather from whole steel plates, like the scales on a fish; not even the long needle-sharp arrow points could penetrate such armour.
This information created many new tasks for the Wachtian brothers, prompting them to replicate the best of the Danish armour and also to think up new weapons that might work better than those they already had. One new weapon was the long war hammer, with a hammerhead on one side and a short, sharp pike on the other, which could puncture a hole in any type of helmet. Another weapon that they spent much time discussing with Arn was a light crossbow for riders that required only one hand for shooting arrows. It took time to develop this weapon, since it had to combine seemingly incompatible traits. It had to be strong enough to pierce steel plates and yet light enough to shoot with one hand from horseback, since the rider’s other hand had to hold the reins and his shield.
After much effort the Wachtian brothers finally produced a weapon that would allow a light rider to move in close to a heavy enemy and slay him with a single, infallible shot.
The marshal of a realm needed to prepare for the worst. That was Arn’s firm conviction, and he was quick to say so whenever given the opportunity. Other councillors and kinsmen seemed convinced that they were now living in favourable times and with eternal peace, since the victory at Lena had been so monumental.
The worst that might happen would be for the Danes to return with just as many heavy riders in the summer; this time they would not underestimate the enemy or be enticed into the sun-dimming cloud of arrows shot by the longbow archers.
The Danes’ greatest weapon was the number of heavily armoured horsemen. An attack launched by a large group of such riders would strike like an iron fist through any army, provided they were sent into battle at the proper moment.
The lack of heavy riders was the greatest weakness of the Goths, but it was worse for the Swedes. This simple but grim conclusion brought about a thorough change in the exercises carried out at Forsvik during the next few years. All adult Folkung men were sent there to obtain new armour, both for themselves and their horses. Then they had to practice in the fields around Forsvik that had been turned into an arena, where no grass grew any longer. Arn’s own son, Magnus M?nesk?ld, was among the many men who arrived to learn the methods required for this new way of waging war.
It was of course easier to train heavy riders. They needed to do little more than ride close together with lowered lance, but without hesitation when the battle started. The trick was not to send them into the wrong situation. For this reason Arn thought the young riders at Forsvik should take responsibility for them. But the foremost of the Folkungs thought this was an unreasonable demand. Men like Magnus M?nesk?ld and Folke jarl couldn’t possibly take orders from youths young enough to be their own sons. Such an arrangement would never have worked in the lands of the Goths or the Swedes.
In the new knights’ hall at Forsvik, Arn had requested that a big box of sand be brought in. There he gathered the young knights and squadron commanders a couple of times each week, shaping in the sand hills and valleys, using pine cones and spruce cones to represent cavalry or phalanxes of foot-soldiers. By this simple device he tried to teach them what he knew of what had happened on the battlefield. But only the young men wanted to learn such things; all of the older Folkungs believed far more in their own courage and that of their kinsmen rather than in anything they could learn from pine cones.
Another way to prepare for the war that no one thought would come, not even Arn, was to establish new Forsvik schools. Sir Sigfrid Erlingsson had inherited his own estate on Kinnekulle, and there he began to train young men, as well as at least a hundred longbow archers from among the peasants and thralls. Sir Bengt Elinsson now had two estates, since he had inherited Ymseborg from his parents and ?lgar?s from his maternal grandfather. At Ymseborg he created his own school, and he sold ?lgar?s to Arn and Eskil. They in turn gave the estate to Sir Sune Folkesson, provided he took it upon himself to train at least three squadrons of light riders and two hundred longbow archers. Forsvik itself was becoming more and more a school and weapons smithy for heavy cavalry.
It was particularly hard for Sune Folkesson to part with Arn and Cecilia. In confidence he told them the whole story of the great love between himself and King Sverker’s daughter Helena, how their love could have cost them both their heads, and how he had sworn that one day he would take a squadron of Folkungs to fetch Helena from Vreta cloister. There she still sat, withering away, even though her father had fled with his tail between his legs to Denmark.
Cecilia and Arn were probably the two people in all of Western G?taland who would be most moved by such a tale. They had never betrayed their love for each other, nor had they ever lost hope, and their virtue had been rewarded.
Yet Arn responded with great harshness toward Sune’s hopes of gaining permission to ride at once to Vreta.
Abducting a maiden from a convent, and that was what it would be called no matter now willingly Helena came running, would provoke all of the bishops. And such internal strife was not something that the fragile new realm could tolerate. As long as Sverker, the former king, was still alive, he was the only one who could give her hand in marriage; that was a right that no one could take from him. And as long as that was so, taking Helena in such a fashion would be considered stealing her from the cloister. It didn’t matter how much the two young lovers wished to think otherwise.
Arn could see only one possibility for Sune, and that would be a great misfortune for others at the same time. If Sverker came back with another Danish army, if King Valdemar the Victor truly hadn’t had enough of seeing his men obliterated, then taking Helena from the cloister would be a different matter. Because then King Sverker would be dead.
Even Cecilia, who felt great sympathy for the love of these young people, could do nothing but dread what her husband had just described. Stealing a maiden from a cloister was a heinous deed and, in addition to upsetting all the bishops, it was an unforgivable sin.
Hence there was only one man in the realm who hoped for another big war, and that was the dejected Sir Sune, who now set off for ?lgar?s to start his life as a teacher of warriors on his own estate. Arn sent with him all the Saracen builders who still remained in order to build stone walls where the burned wooden walls had once stood.

On the mild spring day when Alde Arnsdotter turned seventeen, a feast bigger than any in a long time was held at Forsvik. Since there were fewer young noblemen in training than in previous years, there was room for all the Christians and even people of other faiths in the great hall. A joyous mood spread, as if everyone at Forsvik were of the same clan, even though they might not all speak the same tongue. Forsvik was not only the biggest weapons manufacturer in the realm but also a place where much wealth was created, and all the Forsvikers contributed to this endeavour. Smiths, glassmasters and coppersmiths, feltmakers and saddlemakers, hunters and millers all considered themselves just as much Forsvikers as the young noblemen or their teachers. Alde was also much loved by everyone because of her merry laugh and the interest that she showed in everyone’s particular skill.
Both she and young Birger Magnusson had now spent seven years studying with Brother Joseph; they had learned everything they could from him, and he had now started over with a small group of Christian children. Alde would one day inherit Forsvik, and the skills that she would need then could not be taught by Brother Joseph. Instead, Cecilia had started teaching her daughter the secrets of keeping account books, which were both the heart and soul of all the wealth that was created with one’s own hands and through the work of others. So that Alde might better understand what this accounting could reveal, she accompanied her mother to speak with all the workers and tried to find out about even the smallest details of every task.
For Birger Magnusson, his time with Brother Joseph was also over, and he was now in his third year of training with the young noblemen, with Sigurd in command. Since he was Arn’s grandson, Birger was favoured with something not bestowed on ordinary young noblemen. Arn’s lectionis in the knights’ hall regarding battlefield logistics was really only intended for the Forsvikers who had been knighted or who commanded a squadron. But from now on, Birger was invited to join these sessions.
Arn had more time for both the young people than ever before at Forsvik. His brother Gure took care of everything that had to do with the workshops and construction; Cecilia supervised all the trade by ship; and the young knights and commanders trained the new Folkung youths with regard to sword, lance, and horse. Arn had gained more time in his daily life, or at least a new vision of how he could devote more hours to something that he had neglected for too long. Part of this had to do with his own daughter Alde and her cousin, Birger.
Arn had no doubt that Brother Joseph had taught them well the two most important languages of Latin and Frankish, for he was able to speak with them as easily in either of those tongues as in their own language. Nor did he doubt that Brother Joseph had pounded into their heads philosophy and logic, grammar and the Holy Scriptures.
But there was something else that a Cistercian, no matter how God-fearing and learned, could not know, something that was not found in books and could only be learned on the battlefield or at royal council meetings and from the mightiest men of the church. There was no word to describe this type of knowledge, but Arn called it learning about power. He began giving private lectionis for Alde and Birger on this topic.
According to Arn, the most important thing to learn about power was to understand that it could be both evil and good, and that only a well-trained eye could distinguish one from the other. Power could rot or wither just like the roses that grew in great abundance around the house where he and Cecilia lived, as well as in the gardens down by the lake. Cecilia’s gentle hands tended to these beloved roses from Varnhem, making use of both shears and water.
And it was not difficult to understand what the water of life was: it was God’s Word, the pure and unselfish belief that could make power grow as a force for good.
Strength was power, of course; many iron-clad knights represented strength, and hence power. But a God-fearing person had to use strength correctly, for as Paul said in the epistle to the Romans:
‘We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please his neighbour for his good, to build him up.’
These words of God were of course about the water of life, and it was in accordance with these words that they tried to live and build at Forsvik.
The most difficult thing to understand was how much the clear water of faith could muddy the minds of people, which was what had happened in the Holy Land. Yet it was necessary to try to see the direction in which this folly of faith was headed before it was too late. And that was only possible by using reason. No bishop’s mitre was greater than reason.
Arn admitted that if he had said such things during the time that he was a knight in the Templar Order of God and the Holy Virgin, his mantle would have been torn from him, and he would have been sentenced to a lengthy penance. For many of the faith’s highest guardians, there was no difference between faith and reason, since faith was everything, great and indivisible, while reason was merely the vanity or conceit of a single person. But God must have wished for human beings, His children, to learn a great and important lesson from the loss of His Grave and the Holy Land. What other intention could there be in such a harsh punishment?
And what they had learned was that conscience was power’s bridle. Power without conscience was doomed to lapse into evil.
But power was also trivial and as exhausting and monotonous as the daily toil of a farmer in his field. On several occasions Arn took Alde and Birger along to the king’s council meetings at N?s. There they were allowed to sit as quiet as mice behind Arn and Eskil, who had now reclaimed his seat on the council. Everything that they saw and heard was then discussed for days back home at Forsvik. Power was also the ability to unite the conflicting wishes of various individuals, which was an especially important trait in a king. King Erik often found that the council’s worldly members had an entirely different view of how to manage the realm than the bishops did, who were less interested in building fortresses, the cost of new cavalry, or Danish taxes. They preferred to talk about gold and silver for the church or possibly about new crusades to the lands of the east that were still being plundered. The king’s power was not to speak in a loud voice, slam his fist on the table, and turn red in the face. It was to coax all the council members, worldly as well as ecclesiastical, to reach a mutual decision; perhaps no one would be entirely satisfied with it, but neither would anyone be completely dissatisfied. When King Erik used this method to accomplish what he had intended, though never at the cost of discord in the council, he showed that there was another side to power. Blessed Birger Brosa had been the strongest advocate of this type of power among all the Folkungs.
Yet another side of power was that used most effectively by Eskil, Alde’s paternal uncle and the brother of Birger’s paternal grandfather, Arn. Power as strong as that of the sword could be found in trading transactions between various countries and in the flow of wealth that such trade set in motion.
Pure faith guided by conscience, the sword, and gold were the three pillars upon which power rested. Many men felt themselves called to serve one of these aspects of the trinity of power, but few were able to master all three. Yet kings had to possess great knowledge of everything pertaining to this trinity of power, otherwise they would be deposed like King Sverker.
Cecilia was not convinced that these types of conversations were what her daughter needed most, and deep in her heart she thought that it was a great risk, at a place like Forsvik, for a young woman to be raised like a man. The manner in which Alde rode could not described as befitting a fair maiden’s hand, even though she’d been given one of the most gentle of the Arabian fillies on her twelfth birthday. But it had proved impossible to keep her away from the horses.
Since Cecilia was herself an excellent rider, she had at first tried to keep Arn and the young noblemen away from Alde’s horseback lessons, choosing to teach her daughter on her own. But she couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the accounts took much of her time each day. Soon she saw Alde racing with Birger and other young men. It did little good for Cecilia to fret or worry about the matter.
And when the great game drive of the autumn arrived with the first snow for tracking, Alde was one of the hunters positioned at the pass while all of Forsvik’s riders set off in a long horseshoe-shaped loop to drive in the wild game. Already during her second year, Alde shot her first wild boar.
Yet this time was like the harvest of her life, Cecilia realized. Her hair had turned grey, as had Arn’s, and now they were both closer to death than to birth. But it was glorious to be alive when everything was going so well for them, and no evil or danger was in sight, even far in the distance where the heaven and the earth met.
She would remember even the last Christmas before the war as a time of calm and confidence.
They had celebrated the Christmas ale at Arn?s in the big, warm stone hall with log fires; never had life seemed so good. At the dawn church service on Christmas Day at Forshem, Arn could now without embarrassment show his pride at what he had commissioned to be built, even the fact that his own image was depicted above the church door as the one handing the keys of the church to God. Since it had become easier to talk with the bishops after the victory at Lena, many of them had assured Arn that such an image represented neither a sin nor pride. On the contrary, it offered a good example to everyone. For what better deed than to pay for such a beautiful church and please God by consecrating it to His Grave?
The image of the grave was located in the centre aisle, in front of the altar, and it had been adorned with Master Marcellus’s best work. At this last Christmas service before the war, Arn and Cecilia sang the hymns for the mass alone, she providing the first voice, he the second. Their voices may not have been as pure as before, but everyone thought that they could see God’s angels standing before them when they heard their song.

The Danes came in the middle of summer in 1210, two and a half peaceful years after the victory at Lena. Sverker Karlsson was determined to take back his crown, and unfortunately he had persuaded King Valdemar the Victor to give him a new army, which was almost as big as the one wiped out during the winter war.
At first word of the enemy’s arrival in the realm, Arn headed south from Forsvik with three squadrons of light riders to procure information; at the same time requests for help were sent to both Svealand and Norway.
This time it would not go as easily, Arn realized on the second day as he and his horsemen rode along the length of the Danish army. And when he came to the middle where Sverker Karlsson and his bishop Valerius were riding, his heart clenched in pure, cold terror; he hadn’t had that feeling since his first years in the Holy Land. Around Sverker Karlsson rode almost a hundred men in the uniform of the Hospitallers, their red shields and surcoats marked with the white cross.
What would have induced the Hospitallers to ally themselves with Sverker Karlsson or with King Valdemar the Victor? It was not easy to understand, but one thing was sure: a hundred Hospitaller knights was almost the equivalent of a hundred Templar knights, and such a force would have been feared by Saladin himself. No one in the North would be able to defeat it.
Like a Templar knight, each Hospitaller knight would be comparable to ten Danes or five Forsvikers. What astonished Arn the most, once he’d reconciled himself to having to fight against the best knights in the world, was that they were not riding at the head as they normally did. That was how it had always been in the Holy Land. The Hospitallers rode in the vanguard and the Templars took the rear, because these two locations were the most exposed for an army on the march. But here the Hospitallers were riding in the middle, leaving both the supply train in the rear and the Danish knights furthest forward in danger of attack by light cavalry. Arn guessed that the Danes had decided that the protection of Sverker Karlsson’s life was most important in this war. Hence they would rather take losses in the front and rear than risk the life of their pretender to the crown.
This time the Danish army was headed for Falk?ping, as if they intended to return to Lena to avenge their previous defeat. Because it was the middle of summer and the harvest had not yet been brought in, it was not grain but meat and draft animals that the enemy could plunder for their own provision. And even though the Danish army was least protected at the rear, where all the ox-carts with the supplies were travelling, it would not be wise to attack there until the enemy had passed Falk?ping.
More important would be to ride back and warn the inhabitants of Falk?ping and try to get them to hide all the oxen and livestock that otherwise would end up in the maws of the Danes. It took two days to get this done, but when the Danish army arrived, Falk?ping was emptied of everything that the enemy most would have wanted to plunder.
Arn was more cautious in his command than he had ever been before, and it was almost a week before he did anything but ride back and forth along the enemy’s serpentine column of foot-soldiers and riders. He was awaiting reinforcements from both Bengt Elinsson and Sune Folkesson; when they arrived he not only had more light cavalry but also a squadron of heavy riders. Then he could not afford to wait any longer.
Together with Sir Bengt and Sir Sune he had quickly decided on how the first attack should proceed. But it had to be launched at the right place so they could carry it out at high speed. It was a few more days before the Forsvikers found a high hill with sparse leafy forest where the Danish army would have to pass. There they took up position and waited.
By this time the Danes had become accustomed to seeing constantly in the distance the blue-clad light riders who never seemed to venture into battle. So the first attack did not come merely like lightning from a clear blue sky, but surprised them even more because of its great force. Three squadrons of light cavalry suddenly thundered down from a beech forest to the side and front of the head of the Danish army. As they approached the riders fanned out into a long row and rode in close, each man firing his crossbow and leaving behind a tumult of shrieking horses and Danes howling in pain. If they got close enough they aimed at the enemy’s legs. If they struck home the enemy had one knight less and one more wounded man to drag along. If they missed then they usually killed a horse.
When the last of the light Forsvikers rushed by, the heavy cavalry came in from the side at high speed. Their own horsemen scarcely got away before the knight squadron with lances lowered crashed into the already heavily mangled Danish group in the forefront. Just as quickly as the Forsvikers attacked they were gone, and more than a hundred enemy lay dead or severely wounded.
Two days in a row they repeated essentially the same attack. When the Danes then moved up infantry with shields and bows to protect the front, nothing more happened up there. Instead the Forsvikers assaulted the rear of the army, killing almost all the draft animals and setting fire to large parts of the provisions. Then they dashed away before the knights wearing the white cross on the red field came to the rescue. Arn had strictly ordered his men to avoid any battle with these knights.
When the Danes improved their protection with infantry and archers both in front and in the rear, the attack came instead a third of the way along, where most of the infantry marched in close formation. Arn led the heavy cavalry straight through the Danish army and left a wide swath of fallen and wounded behind, wherever the light Forsvikers rode in with swords drawn.
The war continued in this manner for a week as the Danes slowly advanced toward the same region to the west of Lake V?ttern as the previous time. It was hard to know what they now had in mind. In the winter they had the opportunity to cross the ice to N?s, but in the middle of summer? Arn guessed that they intended to entrench themselves at the fortress of Lena, or first take it and then wait for the winter and ice while they were already in place, instead of trudging all the way up from Denmark in the snow. So there was plenty of time, and the important thing was to take action wisely and with patience and not venture too early into a great battle.
Arn left the command of his cavalry forces to Bengt Elinsson and Sune Folkesson and rode up to Bj?lbo, where the Swedes and the rest of the Folkungs and Eriks would gather. This time the Eriks had not been trapped in the south, but were able to travel north along the eastern shore of Lake V?ttern. King Erik was with his kinsmen.
The war council that was held ended unhappily in Arn’s opinion. Folke jarl, the leader of the Swedes and Folkungs in Eastern G?taland, wanted to engage the Danes as soon as possible; he wanted to have the war over before the harvest. King Erik made a protracted attempt to force through the decision that Arn wanted. He said they should wait as long as possible and let the Forsvikers keep hammering at the Danish army in the meantime. The invading force had already been reduced by a couple of hundred riders and was seriously delayed by the loss of so many draft animals and horses. The Danes were the ones in enemy territory, yet they were the ones who had the stronger army for the time being. And they had the most to gain from a pitched battle fought as early as before harvest time.
But the leader of the Swedes, Yngve the Judge, thought that this was the prattle of weak women and hardly worthy of a king from the clan of Saint Erik. Waiting a long time before a battle would enervate every strong man; better to show vigour and courage when the desire to fight was still fresh.
To Arn’s disappointment, Folke jarl and Magnus M?nesk?ld were both in favour of going to battle as soon as possible in order to save the harvest. Perhaps they had been struck by pride after the fortunate victory at Lena two and a half years before.
Not even Arn’s objection that they should wait for reinforcements from the Norwegians – who this time had sent a message with a promise to come in force to help – would make the thickheaded Swedes show patience. As usual, they would rather die at once.
It was decided that the entire army would be shipped across Lake V?ttern as soon as possible so they could head south and meet the Danes near the same blessed place as last time.
With a heavy heart Arn rode to Forsvik to summon every man who could sit on a horse with a weapon, or load carts with meat, weapons, and shields, or send messages that they should all gather near Lena.
To Cecilia’s dismay he took with him the sixteen-year-old Birger Magnusson as his confanonier, the one who would ride next to Arn with their new emblem, a blue banner with the Folkung lion on one half and the three Erik crowns on the other. On his own shield Arn had ordered a red Templar cross to be painted next to the gold Folkung lion, just as Birger Brosa had had a Frankish lily and his son Magnus M?nesk?ld had a half moon. To Cecilia he said that young Birger would be safer as his flag-bearer than anywhere else, for Arn’s obligation this time was not to fight without fear, but to keep himself alive until the battle was won. There were far too many in the kingdom who were eager to die quickly.
For eight days Arn and his Forsvikers succeeded in delaying the final battle by constantly attacking the Danish army. But when there was less than a day’s ride left before reaching the place south of Lena called Gestilren, where Swedes, Folkungs, and Eriks and the newly arrived Norwegians under Harald ?ysteinsson awaited, Arn decided that there was no point in being cautious any longer. Now the Forsvikers needed to start attacking the group of Hospitaller knights in the centre of the enemy army; they had assiduously avoided doing so until now. It could not be done without significant losses on their part, but the Forsvikers were the only ones who had the slightest chance against the Hospitallers. Now that the final battle was approaching, although foolishly early, every Forsviker had to do his part.
Arn had put himself at risk by issuing this command. Because how could he keep himself in safety when they were going into battle? He changed over to heavy armour with a new horse and decided that he would lead two squadrons straight in among the red surcoats after the light cavalry had attacked with their crossbows.
The Forsvikers were in a good position inside a forest on a hill, and they prayed as they waited. It was tense and quiet among them; the only sound was an occasional snort of a horse or clinking of a stirrup. Down below, looking through the beech trunks, they could see the Danish army struggling forward with the sun in their eyes, unconcerned and chatting as though they had gratefully relaxed after being left in peace for two whole days. For Arn had been very precise about selecting the right place and angle of sunlight for the attack.
He prayed to God for forgiveness because he was now going into battle against his own brothers the Hospitallers. He tried to excuse himself by saying that there was no other choice when they came as foes to seize his kingdom and kill those near and dear to him. For once Arn did not pray for his own life, since he found it presumptuous just before an attack on his dear Christian brothers. Then he sent off Sir Bengt and Sir Sune in a wide arc down the hill so that they would come in at an angle with the sun at their backs. He hoped they would kick up so much dust from the dry ground that the enemy would not know before it was too late what was happening on the other side as fast blue-clad riders descended upon the army.
Deus vult, he thought involuntarily as he raised his arm and ordered all the men forward at an easy trot. When they emerged from the woods they took up formation so that they rode close together without leaving the slightest gap, riding knee to knee. Then they sped up to a brisk trot.
Arn kept his eye on the last of the light Forsvikers riding down below who were causing an astonishing commotion and great fear among the Hospitallers. They did not even change formation into their normal defence.
Then he yelled his signal to charge, which was repeated by all those near him, and in the next moment they were all thundering forward with lances lowered straight in among the red-and-white-clad knights, who fell without resisting, hardly managing to defend themselves at all. The Forsvikers came out on the other side without having lost a single man, and when Arn saw this he turned his entire force and charged back through the red knights at full force. After that the chaos was too great to perform a third attack.
They were missing only two men when they regrouped by the waiting light squadrons. Arn observed the great confusion that prevailed in that part of the army which had seemed to him invincible. Almost a hundred Hospitaller knights had now been killed or wounded. What he saw was impossible, and his mind stood still for a moment. If the Forsvikers with a single attack had vanquished so many Hospitaller knights, it was a miracle from God. But he didn’t believe that God would smite His own most faithful fighters with such a punishment, nor did he believe that God was constantly intervening in the petty struggles of humanity here on earth.
The Danes had employed a stratagem of war, he realized. They had falsely dressed themselves in red surcoats with a white cross so they would look like Hospitallers and thus sent fear into the hearts of the enemy. And they had almost succeeded.
Without a word Arn left his bloody lance with the closest man, took his confanonier Birger Magnusson with him, and rode down towards the Danes. He stopped an arrow-shot away and held up both hands in the sign that he wanted to parley. At once six men dressed in red and white rode up to him.
At first he addressed them politely in Frankish, of which they understood not a word. Then he switched to their own language and asked that the two bodies they had left behind be delivered to them, since they were dear kinsmen who had fallen. The Danes replied that this could not be done without something in return. Arn said that for his part he considered that honour demanded that both sides conduct such business without gain. Then the Danes relented. He asked them about their clothing, and they explained that it had been given to them by God during a crusade in the east, and that the white cross on the red field was now the emblem of the kingdom of Denmark.

At Gestilren there were several high hills, and there Arn had positioned both his heavy cavalry and his longbowmen, since he didn’t believe it would work again to keep all his longbows at the same place; few Danes would ride into that trap for a second time. Down on the plain stood the entire Folkung heavy cavalry under the leadership of Folke jarl and Magnus M?nesk?ld, and behind them all the crossbowmen, who in turn blocked the way of the already impatient Swedes. Farthest back stood five hundred Norwegian archers that Harald ?ysteinsson had brought from his home region.
It was an absurd arrangement with everyone standing in everyone else’s way. But as if by God’s Providence it was now close to dusk, and the battle would have to wait until the next day. They had the night before them to alter things, in the event it was possible to make the Swedes and the stubborn high-born kinsmen understand that the positioning of the troops in the new type of warfare was more important than courage in the breast.
It was a long night with much argument and troublesome moving about in the dark. But the next morning at dawn, as the Danish army began to be visible through the mist, they were at least better arrayed than the night before.
Arn sat on his horse next to King Erik atop the highest hill along with the entire heavy section of the Forsviker cavalry and two squadrons of light cavalry to protect the king or remove him from danger. For Arn and his heavy riders there was only one task. They had to kill Sverker Karlsson.
Sune Folkesson, who was the one person in the world who most wanted to take the life of the former King Sverker, had requested to ride heavy and next to Arn, who was his master and teacher. Arn could not refuse him this request; he had attempted to put together this group containing only the best and the eldest of the Forsvikers.
From up on their hill they could look out over the entire battlefield. If the Danes sent off their cavalry toward the Eastern Goths and the Swedish foot-soldiers, this time they would have the black clouds of arrows from the longbows falling on them from each side. The Eastern Goths themselves would not attack before they saw a blue flag raised from the king’s position. That was what they had finally agreed on.
The battle looked to be starting well. The Danes had discovered that this time too they were superior in the number of heavy horsemen. If they could break through the lines of the Eastern Goths, they would have a clear field to mow down all the foot-soldiers from Svealand.
The temptation was too much for them, and they made ready to attack in just that manner. Arn bowed his head and thanked God.
But when the Danes came in their attack, Folke jarl and Magnus M?nesk?ld did not wait for the blue signal from up on the king’s hill, but went on the attack themselves. So the first wave of Folkungs rode into the same rain of arrows as the enemy. The middle of the battlefield was transformed in a few moments to a mass of the dying and wounded. Then the Swedes could hold back no longer but began running toward the battle so that they arrived gasping and worn out. From up on his hill Arn and King Erik watched powerlessly as everything was about to slip out of their hands. There was a moment of salvation from Harald ?ysteinsson and his Norwegians, who on the other side of the valley began to run up the line of battle to get into position so that they would be sure that their arrows fell only among the Danes.
The entire Forsviker light cavalry stood outside the battle, because the plan had been for them to attack to the rear of the Danes. But there they had a much too large and concerted force against them, since the Danish army had not advanced far enough into the trap. Arn sent riders to bring the Forsvikers as quickly as possible to the middle of the battle with the command to attack at will.
Everything was about to be lost. For in a protracted, unorganized battle, the side with the most men would win. Arn said farewell to King Erik, left Birger Magnusson with the double Folkung and Erik flag on the hill with the king, and led all his heavy cavalry in a wide arc upwards and back.
They reached a position where they could see where Sverker Karlsson and his massed standards were located, at a safe distance from the battle itself. There was no longer any reason to wait, and any hesitation would only serve to allow the enemy more time to prepare.
They rode out of the woods in disarray, but quickly fell into formation in a line as they trotted forward toward the heart of the enemy. They sped up to a full gallop and lowered their lances when they had only a few breaths left before they engaged. Next to Arn rode Sune Folkesson; they had both spied Sverker Karlsson’s emblem, the black griffin with the golden crown, and headed straight for it.
The Forsvikers smashed straight through the first lines of Sverker’s defenders, but by then most had lost both their speed and their lance, or had broken it and had to draw their swords or war hammers and start hacking their way toward Sverker. They made slower and slower progress, and several of them fell on the way.
But it was too late to turn back. Arn fought his way forward in a frenzy, discovering that his sword had grown heavier in recent years. Then he flung away his shield, shifted his sword to his left hand, and pulled out his long war hammer with his right. He killed four men with his war hammer and two with his sword before he reached Sverker. At the same time Sverker was parrying blows from Sune Folkesson, thus exposing the back of his neck to Arn, who swiftly slew him with his war hammer.
As Sverker fell from his horse there was a sudden silence among the Danes and Sverkers who were still in the saddle. The battle ceased, and everyone looked around. Half of all the Forsvikers had fallen, but still they were more numerous than the Danes, who were slowly rallying around Archbishop Valerius and his emblem.
Only now did Arn discover that he was bleeding in several places, and that he had a broken lance-tip sticking into his waist on the left side. He felt no pain but pulled out the lance and tossed it to the ground. Then he lowered his head for a moment to catch his breath. He calmly got down from his horse, went over to the dead Sverker and hacked off his head. Picking up a lance he slipped Sverker’s head and shield with the royal emblem onto it, before with some effort remounting his horse. Sir Sune fetched Arn’s shield and handed it to him. The Danes around Archbishop Valerius had stopped fighting, nor did Arn have any intention of continuing the battle with them.
With the remainder of his heavy Forsvikers he then rode slowly back to the battle itself, with Sverker’s head and shield raised up before him on the lance. He stopped a short distance from the fighting and waited until the first shouts of victorious intoxication mixed with cries of horror began to stream toward him. The battle stopped at once.
During the stillness and silence that descended on the battlefield, Harald ?ysteinsson’s Norwegian archers were able to come closer, as did all the crossbowmen from the Folkung side who had not yet accomplished much. The light Forsviker cavalry which seemed to have suffered few losses quickly gathered into new battle groups of four or by squadron.
If the battle were now to continue, it would be just as bloody as the last time.
Then King Erik rode down from his hill, surrounded by Forsviker riders, and headed out to the middle of the battlefield. There he proclaimed in a loud voice that he would pardon all those who now surrendered.
It took only a few hours to reach an agreement. Some of Sverker’s kinsmen, those among his standard-bearers who were still alive, were given a royal letter of safe passage to take his body for burial to the Sverker clan’s church at Alvastra cloister. The Danish army was permitted to stay long enough to bury their dead before they returned home. It was late July, and the heat made it essential to take care of all such tasks quickly.
The victory was great but very costly. Among the Folkungs who could not hold themselves back from attacking too early, almost all were dead, and half of them had fallen to arrows that came from their own side. Many Folkungs died at Gestilren, including Magnus M?nesk?ld and Folke jarl. Only half of the Swedes who had come to the battle returned home.
But King Erik’s realm was saved, and he decided that the new kingdom’s emblem for all time and eternity would be the three Erik crowns and the Folkung lion.

Vreta cloister had been built on a hill out on the plain of Eastern G?taland, with an unobstructed view in all directions. Everyone at the cloister, including Abbess Cecilia Blanca, who was King Sverker’s sister, the nuns, the lay sisters, the novices, and the twenty Sverker retainers who were sent as protection, knew that the war would be decided soon. More than one of the cloister’s residents sought a reason to go up in the bell tower or onto the walls to gaze out over the wide plain where the grain which would soon be ripe was waving as far as the eye could see. Helena Sverkersdotter was the most anxious of them all, and she was the one who saw them first.
In the distance a group of riders was approaching with the blue mantles fluttering behind them like sails. There were sixteen men and they rode faster than anyone was used to seeing, despite coming from far away. For Vreta was truly no Folkung region.
The twenty Sverker retainers did what they had sworn to do, riding in full armour toward the sixteen Folkungs, and they were slain to the last man.
When the brief battle was over the Folkungs walked their horses toward the cloister, where all the gates had been closed and where many terrified eyes watched them from the walls.
A small side door was opened and out ran the maiden Helena towards the foremost of the Folkungs, whose horse stood a few paces in front of the others. Sir Sune was bleeding from several wounds, because he had come straight from Gestilren. But he felt absolutely no pain.
When the maiden Helena, gasping and stumbling, reached Sir Sune, he unfurled a blue mantle to wrap around her.
Then he lifted her up in the saddle before him and all the Folkungs rode off without haste, for it was a long way to Sir Sune’s fortress of ?lgar?s.
There she bore him four daughters, and the song of Sune and Helena and the cloister abduction at Vreta lived on forever.

Arn Magnusson’s wound in the side which he had received from the lance of an unknown warrior was the death of him. If his physician friends Ibrahim and Yussuf had still been at Forsvik, where he was taken, he might have lived.
He died slowly, and Cecilia sat with him during the days and nights as his life ebbed away. Alde sat at his bedside almost as often.
What troubled him about death was not the pain, because he’d had much worse pain from other wounds. But he said that he would miss all the days of peace and quiet that now awaited everyone. He could have sat under Cecilia’s apple trees and among her red and white roses with her hand in his and watched Alde find her happiness, which she herself would be allowed to determine.
No Swedish judge’s son would be chosen for her unless she wanted him. On that her mother and father were agreed without even needing to discuss the matter, since they were both unusual people who believed strongly in love.
Young Birger Magnusson came to say farewell to his grandfather who had taught him everything about war and power. His face was red with weeping at losing within such a short time both his father and grandfather, but there was more talk about the future than about sorrow. Arn made Birger promise never to rule the land from such a remote location as N?s, but to build a new city where Lake M?laren ran out into the Eastern Sea. That would require most of all the support of the Swedes, and if no one else offered to help, then they could simply call the new kingdom Svea Rige, or Sweden.
Birger swore to do as his grandfather willed, and on his deathbed Arn handed him his sword and told him its secret and what the foreign symbols meant.
A thousand people followed the esteemed marshal to his grave at Varnhem. Only one of them had the right to wear a sword inside the church at the funeral mass, and that was the young Birger Magnusson. For his sword had been blessed, and it was the sword of a Templar knight.
In the cloister church at Varnhem, Birger swore before God to live as he had been taught by his beloved grandfather. He would build the new city and call the kingdom of the three lands by one name: Sverige.
History remembers him by the name of Birger jarl.