Foolishly Eskil now claimed, and Arn nodded eagerly in agreement, that their father had said they were allowed to join Svarte during the watch, as long as they kept quiet as mice. Svarte had his doubts, but he didn't dare ask Herr Magnus if it was really true that the master's children would have tried to trick him. When the weather was good, Eskil and Arn took to sneaking out at night with thick sheepskins under their arms to meet Svarte, who had two crossbows loaded. Since Svarte had said too much at home, Kol came out as well. Three boys with sparkling eyes and impatiently pounding hearts sat next to Svarte and waited, trying not to rustle in the hay, as they kept an eye on the white snowfield and the offal heap that was visited every night by foxes.
Finally one night when the moon had already waned to half, but the weather was clear and calm and very cold, the wolves came. Svarte and the boys could hear their cautious steps on the crust of snow long before they could spy them with their eyes. Svarte made excited gestures for the boys to keep absolutely still. In his fervor he drew a hand across his throat to emphasize the serious punishment that would befall them otherwise, and saw at once Eskil and Arn open their eyes wide in surprise. They had never in their lives been threatened by a thrall, not even in jest. But they nodded eagerly and held up their small index and middle fingers pressed together in a sign that they swore not to make the slightest sound.
Svarte moved unbearably slowly as he drew both crossbows without the least rustle, click, or creak. Then he laid one at the ready and cautiously raised the other into position, poised to shoot.
But the wolves were wary. Now they looked like black shadows out there on the snow. It took a while before they came closer, and Svarte had to lower his crossbow so his arms wouldn't tire. Finally the first wolf came forward, nibbled a little meat, and quickly vanished out of shooting range, pursued by the other wolves. Out of sight they could be heard snarling as they fought over the food. Then they calmed down and came forward one by one, and soon they stood there eating, gulping down the meat with growls and muffled gurgling sounds. The boys found the tension almost intolerable and couldn't understand why Svarte was taking so long.
He again motioned them to sit absolutely still, more polite in his gestures this time; then he raised one crossbow and took careful aim. The instant he loosed the shot he reached for the second crossbow, slung it into position, aimed hastily, and shot again. Down in the snow a pitiful whimpering was heard.
As soon as the boys heard Svarte move, they dared to shout with joy, and then they pushed forward, scrambling to get the best view. Below them lay a wolf kicking in the snow. Svarte gazed in silence over their heads. Then he told them that now it wasn't safe for small boys; one of the wolves had limped off, injured. They either had to go home or else stay up here in safety while he went down to check on what had happened. They promised at once to stay where they were.
When Svarte reached the scene of the shooting, he stopped, leaning forward to examine the snow a short distance away. He wasn't worried about the wolf that had now stopped kicking and lay dead. Then he discovered the trail of blood and began heavily trudging off through the deep snow.
The boys sat for a long time listening in silence; they were starting to feel very cold. Finally a howl that turned their marrow to ice was heard in the dark, followed by gurgling growls that sounded like when the wolves were devouring the meat. Eskil, Arn, and Kol now sat pale and quiet and scared, waiting. But then they pricked up their ears and heard, first faintly and then more clearly, Svarte's heavy, plodding footsteps and panting.
"Father is carrying the second wolf on his back, that's why he's walking so heavily," Kol explained with poorly feigned confidence. Eskil and Arn nodded in awe.
By Paulsmas, the winter was half gone, the bear had turned in its den, and just as much snow would fall afterward as before. Magnus had ordered the road cleared down to Forshem church so that he and his immediate family could attend mass for the first time in far too long.
The weather was pleasant, with sunshine and no wind, and the temperature was just warm enough for a few drips to fall from the roof, so the sleigh ride was comfortable on the newly blazed path. Magnus could hear how the boys, well ensconced in their grandfather's huge wolf-skin pelt, were shouting and laughing in the back of the sleigh as it lurched in the tracks. He urged on his two powerful sorrel horses to run faster, because he enjoyed hearing happy little boys squeal. He also allowed himself this diversion because he had a sense of foreboding, although he couldn't say why. But he had left half his retainers back home, something that the men grumbled about because after the long winter months in isolation at Arnäs they would have liked the chance to swagger a bit for whoever was on the church green. It was there their hearts lay, rather than inside the church listening to God's word like Christian folk.
When the sleigh party from Arnäs drove up onto the church green, what Magnus saw reinforced his premonitions. People were standing about in small groups, talking in low voices, and they hadn't mixed together as was the custom; each group stood near their own clan, and many of the men were wearing chain mail underneath their cloaks, garb that was worn only in uneasy times. The church would be full, because all the neighbors from the south and all those from the west and Husaby had come. But from the east there were no other neighbors beside his own stewards, and they stood off by themselves, huddling together as if they had not yet learned how to behave like free men. Normally Magnus would have sought them out and spoken with them about the weather in a loud voice, but now was not the time for such solicitude. When Sigrid and the boys climbed down from the sleigh he left all care of the horses to his house thralls and strode with his family over to the most favor ably disposed neighbors, the Pål clan from Husaby, to find out what had happened.
King Sverker had been assassinated on his way to the morning service on Christmas Day at Tollstad church, and he had already been buried next to his wife Ulvhild in Alvastra. The outlaw who did it was known, King Sverker's own steward and stableman from Husaby. The fellow had already fled, presumably to Denmark.
But the big question was not who had wielded the sword, but who had stood behind it. Some thought that it must be Erik Jedvardsson, who was now up in Östra Aros with the Swedes, and who according to rumor had already been elected king of the Swedes at Mora Stones. Others thought that the instigator had to be sought in Denmark, that it was Magnus Henriksen who was now laying claim to the royal crown.
In Linköping, Karl Sverkersson had proclaimed himself king and called a landsting to confirm the fact. So now the question was who would be elected king of Western Götaland: Karl Sverkersson or Erik Jedvardsson. But the matter would not likely be resolved quietly or peacefully.