‘Well spoken, my dear brother,’ said Eskil, smacking his lips in jest as he took his mouth from his tankard as if it held the sweetest wine. ‘You choose your words well, and perhaps you will find use for that gift when you have to wheedle the bunch of bishops in the king’s council. But keep in mind that I am your brother and that we always stood close to each other, and God grant that we may remain so. With me you need never wheedle, but speak as only you can to the one who is your brother!’
Arn raised his tankard in assent.
Eskil then gave a brief account, explaining that so much still remained to be said after so many years that if they did it properly it would take all night. But after the evening’s banquet was over they would not be so pressed for time.
Eskil related that he had only one son, Torgils, who was seventeen years old and now rode as a young apprentice in the king’s guards. He also had two daughters, Beata and Sigrid, who both had married well in Svealand into Queen Blanca’s family but had not yet borne any sons. Eskil himself had no reason to complain. God had stood by him. He sat on the king’s council and was responsible for all trade abroad. He could speak the language of Lübeck, and he had sailed there twice to conclude agreements with Henrik the Lion of Saxony. From the land of the Swedes and Goths they sailed with iron, wool, hides, and butter, but above all with dried fish that was caught and prepared in Norway. From Lübeck the ship took on cargo of steel, spices, and fabrics, as well as spun thread of gold and silver, and silver coins which were payment for the dried fish. It was no small treasure that was imported into the country through this trade, and Eskil’s share was significant, since he was the sole trader of this dried fish between Norway, both Eastern and Western Götaland, Svealand, and Lübeck. Now Arnäs was surely more than twice as rich as when Arn had left.
Eskil grew excited when he talked about his business affairs. He was used to his listeners tiring quickly, wanting to change the subject. But now that he was allowed to boast longer than usual without interruption, he was both glad and amazed that his brother seemed so interested, as if he understood all about trade. He was almost suspicious of Arn’s attentiveness, so he asked some questions to see whether his brother was really following along and not just sitting and daydreaming about something else while he expertly feigned an interest.
But Arn remembered how one time – when they had ridden to the ting of all Goths that ended so unhappily for the champion of the Sverkers’ side but so happily for the Folkungs – they had spoken about this very idea of exporting the dried fish from the Lofoten Islands in Norway in large quantities. And now it had become a reality.
Arn thought this was very good news. Just as he considered it very wise to take payment for the dried fish in pure silver and not in things that only had value for the vain. But he asked himself how good a trade it was to transport iron to Lübeck and steel the other direction, instead of making steel out of the iron they had in their possession.
Eskil was pleased by his brother’s unexpected good sense, which he had not displayed back when he set off for the Holy Land, even though they both had inherited their wits from their mother Sigrid. But now Eskil’s ale was gone, and once again he went over to the arrow loop to yell for more, while behind his back Arn poured half of his own ale into the tankard of his thirstier brother.
This time a house thrall had been waiting down by the door to the tower with fresh ale, so two new tankards arrived as swiftly as the wind.
When they resumed their drinking, Eskil’s half-full tankard had been replaced without him noticing, and Arn felt youthfully pleased at having avoided discovery. By then they had lost the thread of everything that was left to tell. Each saw the other’s predicament and both tried to get in the first word.
‘Our father and Erika Joarsdotter—’ said Eskil.
‘You are well aware that I intend to celebrate a bridal ale with Cecilia,’ said Arn at the same time.
‘That’s not for you to decide!’ snapped Eskil, but regretted it at once and threw out his hand as if trying to wipe away his words.
‘Why not?’ Arn asked softly.
Eskil sighed. There was no way to avoid his brother’s question, no matter how much he wanted to postpone it along with much else until the following day.
‘When you came home – and may God bless your homecoming which is of immeasurable joy to us all – the game board was changed completely,’ replied Eskil quickly and more gently, as if he were speaking about the trading of dried fish. ‘The clan ting will decide, but if I know our Birger Brosa rightly, he will say that you must go to the bridal bed with Ingrid Ylva. She’s the daughter of Sune Sik and so has Karl Sverkersson as her grandfather – King Karl, that is.’
‘Am I supposed to drink the bridal ale with a woman whose uncle I helped to murder?’ Arn exclaimed.
‘That is indeed a good thought. Wounds and feuds must be healed for the sake of peace, and it is better done with the bridal bed than with the sword. That is our thinking. In peacetime a man’s vow is stronger than his sword. So it must be Ingrid Ylva.’
‘And if in that case I should prefer a man’s sword?’
‘I don’t think anyone wants to exchange blows with you, and I don’t think you wish to come to blows either. Your son Magnus is also old enough to marry, just as Ingrid is. It must be one of you, but it also depends on how much silver is required. No, don’t worry about that matter, my brother; the “morning gift” will be taken care of by us from Arnäs.’
‘I can take care of the morning gift myself. I had not intended anything immoderate, only the Forsvik estate, as was once agreed at the betrothal feast for Cecilia and myself. One must honour one’s agreements,’ said Arn quickly and in a low voice, but without revealing what he felt, although his brother would surely understand.
‘If you ask me for Forsvik, I can hardly say no. On a first evening like this, I cannot say no to anything you may want from me,’ Eskil continued in the same tone of voice, as if they were two businessmen talking. ‘But I still want to ask you to wait with such a request until after our first day and evening together after so many years.’
Arn did not answer, but seemed to be pondering the matter. Then he got up and took out three keys which he carried on a leather thong around his neck. He went over to the three very heavy chests that were the first to be carried into the tower from his caravan. When he unlocked them one by one, a bright golden glow spread through the room, although the rays of the sun were visible only at the bottom of the western arrow loop.
Eskil stood up slowly and went around the table with his ale tankard in his hand. To Arn’s pleasure and surprise he did not look covetous when he gazed at the gold.
‘Do you know how much there is?’ asked Eskil, as if he were still talking about dried fish.
‘No, not in our mode of reckoning,’ said Arn. ‘It’s about thirty thousand besants, or gold dinars, calculated in the Frankish manner. It might be three thousand marks in our currency.’
‘And it was not ill-gotten?’
‘No, it was not.’
‘You could buy all of Denmark.’
‘That’s not my intention. I have better things to buy.’
Arn slowly closed the three chests, locked them, and tossed the three keys across the table so that they slid to a stop just in front of Eskil’s place. Then he went slowly back to his stool and gestured for his brother to sit down again. Eskil did so in meditative silence.
‘I have three chests and three thoughts,’ said Arn when they had raised their tankards high. ‘My three thoughts are simple. As with everything else, I will tell you more about it when we have more time. But first I want to build a church of stone in Forshem, and with the most beautiful images that can be worked in stone in all of Western Götaland. Then, or rather at the same time, since all the stone must come