It was a sombre farewell, and many friends who had worked hard together for five years wept openly when the travellers went aboard the riverboats that would take them to Lake Vänern and then on bigger ships to the Göta River. It was a relief for all when the farewell was done and the riverboats disappeared around the first bend on the way out onto Lake Viken. Arn and Cecilia were both glad that so many of the foreigners had chosen to stay, for their work and skills were invaluable. It was still difficult to get the apprentices among the freedmen to do the tasks that took many years to learn well.

Arn had a heavy heart when he returned from Lödöse a week later. The most difficult had been parting with old Ibrahim and Yussuf, and the turcopoles Ali and Mansour; the art of those physicians could never be replaced at Forsvik. And even though the young men who had been in service longest had developed commendable skill on horseback, especially when compared to other men in the North, it would be a long time before they could ride like such Syrian warriors as Ali and Mansour. For them, weapons and horsemanship were their daily bread.

But contracts were contracts and had to be upheld. It was a consolation that half of the Saracens had chosen to stay, and Arn had to consider how much had been accomplished to secure the peace during those five years.

And yet he was not in the best of moods when he sat at the table eating and Gure came to him with two workshop lads that he didn’t recognize. At first he doubted the explanation they managed to stammer forth. He didn’t remember promising that they could be apprenticed at Forsvik. They were not Folkungs, and it was evident from far off that they were thrall boys or the son of a freedman. First he asked them sternly where they got these dreams from and whether they knew it was a grave sin to tell a lie. But then they recounted how he had come to Askeberga the first time, how they had called to him in the doorway, and how he had spoken with them in the barnyard. Then he finally remembered the incident. It made him thoughtful, and he pondered silently for a good while before he made his decision. Sigge and Orm waited with great anguish; Gure was clearly surprised.

‘Gure, take these boys to Sigfrid Erlingsson,’ he said at last. ‘Say that they shall start in the youngest group of tenderfeet, and see to it that they receive clothing and weapons in due time.’

‘But master, these boys are in no way Folkungs,’ Gure objected.

‘I know that,’ said Arn. ‘They are only sons of a freedman. But we had an agreement, and a Folkung must always honour his word.’

Gure shrugged and took Sigge and Orm with him. They both looked as if they wanted to yell and jump for joy; only with great difficulty did they manage to restrain themselves.

Arn sat at the table for a long while, his plate of food half eaten. He was asking himself a very strange question that had never occurred to him before. Could a person only be born a Folkung, or could he become one? Certainly not everyone born a Folkung was superior, while all others were inferior.

The Rule of the Knights Templar said that only a man whose father bore a coat of arms could be admitted as a brother in the order. Others would have to be content to be sergeants. On more than one occasion he had seen knight-brothers who would have made better sergeants, and vice versa.

And what rule said that you couldn’t make good men into Folkungs, just as you could inject new blood into a breed of horse? By breeding the heavy, powerful Gothic horses with the fast, agile Arabian horses they were about to develop a new breed that would be more suited to heavy cavalry. That was the next big venture they were going to start at Forsvik. It was a matter of combining the best of the Arabian and the Gothic breeds, just as they worked with different layers of iron and steel when making swords at Forsvik. Why not make Folkungs the same way?

Although he did have to see to it that those two lads were rebaptized, if they had ever been baptized at all. No Folkung horsemen could be called Sigge and Orm.

Sverker Karlsson arrived at Näs, travelling with a stately retinue of a hundred horsemen from Denmark, intending to move in with his people. He had waited with his journey until the end of the year when the ice lay thick and solid on Lake Vättern.

After the New Year he summoned all the prominent men among the Folkungs, Eriks and Swedes to the king’s Näs to elect him after he took his oath. Three days of feasting would follow.

Never had so many red mantles been seen at Näs, not even during the reign of King Karl Sverkersson. It was not merely the Sverker colour, for also among the Danes red was most common. Erik jarl, who had been at Näs when the Sverkers arrived, whispered in disgust to Arn that it looked like a river of blood had come running across the ice.

Birger Brosa, his brother Folke, and Erik jarl were the only worldly men in the king’s new council who were not Danes or Sverkers. Eskil had been forced to give up his seat on the council when Sverker declared that such serious matters as the trade of the kingdom must be left in the hands of more knowledgeable Danes. For marshal he appointed his friend Ebbe Sunesson, who was related to the Folkungs at Arnäs, since his kinsman Konrad was married to Arn and Eskil’s half-sister Kristina. Sverker thought that this kinship was like a bridge between the Danes and the Folkungs.

Archbishop Petrus beamed like a sun and praised God over and over because finally, in His infinite wisdom and justice, He had brought home the son of the murdered King Karl to the crown of the Goths and Swedes. With that, God’s will was done, Petrus assured them.

But Sverker would not be allowed to wear the crown before he swore in front of the whole council and the royal tingof notables to uphold the law and justice with the help of God. He also had to swear that he renounced all claim to the crown for his kinsmen, since Erik jarl was the one next in line for the crown. And after Erik jarl followed his younger brothers Jon, Joar, and Knut, who would now live in the realm with all the rights pertaining to sons of the king.

Archbishop Petrus, who administered the oath, had in several places attempted to skip one thing and another but was immediately reprimanded by both the Swedes and Goths. Only when everything was truly legal did the tingof the whole kingdom swear its allegiance to King Sverker for as long as he lived – and as long as he kept his vow.

During the three days of feasting, the Danes showed how a royal feast was conducted out in the great world, with jousting between knights who rode at each other with lance and shield. Only the Danes took part in these games, since the new masters took it for granted that no man up in backward Western Götaland or Svealand could fight on horseback. And judging by the many admiring and astonished expressions that King Sverker could observe among his new subjects, these knightly arts, which had already been long established in Denmark, were something no one had ever seen up here in the North.

Arn watched closely, keeping his face expressionless as he observed the actions of the Danish knights. Some were not half bad, others were as lax as he had expected. None of them would have passed muster even as sergeants in the Order of Knights Templar, but on Nordic battlefields they would be hard to combat. If they were going to overcome these Danes out on the open field, it would require another few years of training at Forsvik. But their lead was no bigger than that.

During the feast days King Sverker and his marshal Ebbe Sunesson spent their time mostly in the great hall surrounded by Danish courtiers, summoning the important men in the kingdom one by one for discussions. Birger Brosa made the introductions. King Sverker was always careful to be friendly and to treat Folkungs and Eriks like his own Sverker kinsmen.