PART II.
It was still the gray of the morning, when, in the upper hall of Helsingborg[[20]] Castle, young Duke Waldemar and his drost walked backwards and forwards on the bare paved floor. Their mantles, soaked with sea-water, lay upon a bench.
"It was a stiff breeze, gracious sir," observed Sir Abildgaard, rubbing his hands; "and it was fortunate we had the algrev with us: drunk as he was, however, he has set us on dry land, like a brave fellow."
"The rude, wild sea-bear!" exclaimed the duke: "he had nearly ruined everything. At sea, he is invaluable; but he shall never more set foot on land by my side. It seems, however, that he was sober when we landed, and understood my meaning."
"He offered no objections, and he owned that he rued his folly. It is well we did not break with him: he is a fellow that may still be put to use."
"Was the daring Niels Breakpeace with him? for, at present, it is as well to have him also as a reserve; but we must not have the fellow here with us."
"Not a soul landed your highness. I strictly repeated your injunction, that they should sail immediately. I assisted the algrev to spell the marsk's letter, as well as that of the Norwegian king, and he has sworn to be at Stockholm within eight days, with thirty transports to convey troops."
"Good--very good!" said the duke, thoughtfully. "Were we only well over the Scanian border, if need there be, it shall and must succeed. When King Magnus hears our weighty plans, he must concur with them, and afford us his aid. This betrothment of children, and all their other miserable arts, shall not save them. But why, do they tarry?"
The morning light began to increase; and as the large hall, on the western side of the castle, looked out upon the sea, they saw, from the balcony, the Count of Tönsberg's rover, in which they had arrived, run out of the haven with a brisk side-wind.
"See, there goes the algrev," said Sir Abildgaard: "he must certainly feel it hard to run from a Danish coast without booty. But how is this? A sloop, with blue sails, lies at the jetty. We saw it not when we landed; and it is not a Scanian."
"Gudsdöd!" exclaimed the duke, "it is a royal sloop, from Orekrog. But it cannot have come in pursuit of us, unless Sir Lavé has been frightened, and allowed that infernal drost to slip loose. Where is the castellan? Did you instruct him not to say who we are, and that he should straightway send us an escort as royal ambassadors?"
"Yes, sir; and there is no obstacle in the way. When the guards and servants heard your name, they made the utmost haste. The castellan had not risen, but he will be here instantly."
"There is no time to lose," said the duke, with uneasiness. "If we have not the escort immediately, we must set off without it. Are the horses ready, and at hand?"
"They stand saddled by the castle-stairs, sir. But, list! They are coming!"
They now heard a bustle in the castle, and the sound of armed men running to and fro. The large hall, on the eastern side, looked over the castle-yard. There, too, they heard a noise, and went anxiously to the window.
"They are closing the castle-gates!" exclaimed Sir Abildgaard; "and the court-yard is full of armed men."
"Gudsdöd! What means this? Are we betrayed?" exclaimed the duke. "Come, Tuko: there must be an outlet here. We must away."
Four large doors opened from the hall. Two of these they found barred. They went to the third, which was not locked, and hastily opened it; but on the outside stood six armed men, with the Danish arms upon their helmets.
"No one can pass out here!" exclaimed a gruff voice.
Astonished, they hastened to the fourth door; but, before they reached it, it was opened, and Drost Peter stood before them, along with Sir Rimaardson and Sir Thorstenson, and accompanied by a middle-aged gentleman, in the dress of a Danish knight, with a baton in his hand. This was the governor of Helsingborg. Twelve men-at-arms followed him.
"Your arms, gentlemen, in the king's name," said Drost Peter, calmly: "you are our prisoners."
"What! How is this?" cried the duke, stamping on the paved floor. "Who dares to take Duke Waldemar prisoner?"
"I, Drost Peter Hessel, and these Danish knights, in the name of our king and master."
"I know you not. You have no power over a duke of the royal blood, and a free royal vassal."
"You know the king's hand and seal, illustrious sir," replied Drost Peter, handing him his warrant.
The duke perused it, with anger-flashing eyes. "This is illegal," he cried: "it is contrary to the laws and statutes of the kingdom. I have not been accused at any Herred-Ting or Land-Ting,[[21]] and I formally protest against this proceeding, as arbitrary and unjust. You are my witness, governor, that I declare this warrant null and void, and I shall answer to my country for destroying it." So saying, he tore the royal warrant, and cast it on the ground. "As the king's kinsman, and Duke of South Jutland, I now command you," he continued, in a lordly tone of authority, "that you immediately take prisoners these audacious persons, who dare to misuse the royal authority in this lawless manner."
The castellan looked doubtfully, now at the duke, now at Drost Peter, as if uncertain how to act. Thorstenson struck his sword angrily against the pavement, and Rimaardson was on the point of speaking, when Drost Peter anticipated him.
"Whether this proceeding be just or not," he commenced, "and whether the king is warranted in ordering this illustrious gentleman to be made prisoner, before he has been accused at a Land-Ting, is not now the question: that, the king must himself answer. My authority is the royal warrant you have seen: it cannot be destroyed; and, in virtue thereof, I demand that the king's will may be obeyed without delay or hesitation. If you will not deliver up your weapons willingly, gentlemen, I shall be obliged to resort to force."
Drost Peter's calm and decided manner embarrassed the duke, and overcame every doubt of the castellan.
"For the present, you must submit to necessity, illustrious duke," said this grave personage, courteously, at the same time stooping, and picking up the royal warrant. "Perhaps this is a mistake; in which case you must be set at liberty, and will have your grounds of prosecution against this gentleman for his abuse of the royal authority. At this moment he is fully empowered, and must be obeyed."
The duke clenched his teeth, and, with averted eyes, handed Drost Peter his sword. Sir Abildgaard followed his lord's example; and not another word was uttered by the exasperated state-prisoners. To the castellan's polite inquiry, whether they wished to take any refreshment, the duke indignantly shook his head. A strong guard of soldiers having surrounded the captives, Drost Peter and his companions courteously saluted the governor, who returned to the drost the torn warrant, and accompanied them to the jetty.
Before the sun was yet up, Drost Peter had departed for Zealand with his important prisoners. The rebellious landsknechts from Flynderborg were handed over to the castellan of Helsingborg, who sent them, carefully bound, in another vessel to Orekrog.
Claus Skirmen had now enough to attend to; and, although he regarded his master with proud satisfaction, he carefully avoided any of those haughty airs by which the feelings of the duke and his drost might be wounded. As for Thorstenson and Rimaardson, the moment they found themselves alone with Drost Peter at the rudder, they shook him heartily by the hand, and extolled his good fortune.
"Yet, after all, it is provoking to be engaged on any hazardous adventure with you," grumbled Thorstenson; "for before I have had an opportunity of using my good sword, you have achieved all that is required by a few words, with your sword in its sheath."
"We may yet need your good sword quite soon enough," replied Drost Peter, in a suppressed voice: "we have ventured upon a greater piece of daring than any one perhaps may trow."
The discourse of the grave knights was extremely brief, and their princely captive deigned them not a word. With suppressed bitterness, he resigned himself to his fate; and, by the side of his fellow-prisoner, paced the deck as proudly as if he had been master of the ship. At length he appeared even gay and indifferent; but Drost Peter frequently noted in his countenance an expression of vindictive hope, which rendered him in the highest degree thoughtful and earnest.
The vigilant drost took the helm himself; and when he again saw the dark towers of Flynderborg, he cast a melancholy glance towards the little turret-window from which he had seen the light twinkling on the previous evening; but the window was now closed, and seemed to be screened inside by a dark tapestry. The entire mighty fortress, which at the present moment he did not care to visit, lay half enveloped in the mist of the calm spring morning, and seemed to him dark and enigmatical as his own future, and undefined as his unhappy country's fate.
It was soon known throughout the whole kingdom that Duke Waldemar and his drost had been sent prisoners to Sjöborg. This bold step on the part of the king and his active ministers struck the discontented nobles with astonishment, and it now seemed as if even the most daring vassals had lost courage to defy the kingly power, or to meditate dangerous enterprises against the crown and kingdom. A great number of the most powerful Danish nobles, as well as many foreign princes, sought to accommodate, in an amicable manner, the dangerous differences between the king and the duke, and to obtain the misguided nobleman's release from prison; but one month passed by after another, without any arrangement being effected.
The king, as usual, passed the summer in moving about the kingdom, and spent the winter at Ribehuus. The drost, it was said, was in high favour; but it was doubted whether the terms that he and the stern old Sir John deemed necessary for the security of the crown, in reference to the liberation of the duke, would be submitted to by the proud young prince, so long as he could depend upon his powerful connections, both within the kingdom and abroad.
It was one of the latter days of March, 1286. The captive duke and his knightly companion, Drost Tuko Abildgaard, sat opposite each other, at a chess-table, in a gloomy turret-chamber in Sjöborg Castle, where they had now spent three beautiful months of summer, and more than six of autumn and winter. They were strictly guarded, but without harshness, and with every respect and distinction that such notable state-prisoners could desire. They lacked none of the necessaries and comforts that could be obtained in this retired spot, or that could be granted them without danger of aiding them to escape, or enabling them to hold intercourse with their friends and adherents.
Each of the prisoners had his own apartment; but, as it was not forbidden them to be in each other's company, their apartments communicated by a door, which they used at pleasure. The narrow chambers were kept clean and airy, and as warm as the prisoners themselves desired. The rooms were, further, provided with all suitable furniture for their convenience, besides various kinds of chess-boards, and a few old manuscript chronicles. Some volumes of homilies, and other edifying writings, were also to be found; together with a lyre, a David's harp, and many similar things, to lighten their captivity and beguile the time. But lights and writing-materials were both denied them; and they saw not a soul except the deaf turnkey, (who never spoke a word when he waited upon them,) and the stern castellan, Poul Hvit himself.
The latter visited them daily, at uncertain hours, and never left their side during the time they were permitted to take exercise in the open air, under his charge, in the court-yard of the castle. Every day, well-cooked food was brought them, on silver dishes, and the rarest fruits of the season at all times graced their lonely board. To the handle of their silver wine-flagon, a fresh nosegay was very frequently attached, even in the severest winter months; but who it was that showed them this friendly mark of attention, they had never been able to discover.
Further, to give their uniform life a little variety, they feigned to be alternately each other's guests, and on this day Drost Tuko Abildgaard was host. The dinner-table was cleared, but the wine-flagon and two goblets still remained.
"Gaily, now, my noble guest," said the mannerly knight: "if you are tired of mating me, leave the stupid pieces alone, and let us rather drink a cup together. The wine is excellent. Had we only a couple of pretty lively little damsels to bear us company, our imprisonment would not seem to me, after all, so great a calamity. Who knows from what fair hand these lovely flowers are constantly brought us, and whether one of us may not have fallen on good fortune here, among the weaving-damsels and pantry-maids."
"Thou hast a happy mind, Tuko," replied the duke; "and I do not envy thee it. So long as thou lackest not wine and giddy girls, I believe thou couldst be happy in purgatory itself. But yet there was a time, Tuko, when thou sharedst my proud dreams," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, and pushing the chess-pieces to one side: "even in the midst of our most thoughtless follies, thou didst not forget that thou wert the friend of an injured prince, and labouredst with him for the attainment of the greatest object man can desire. Thou wert initiated into the great secret of my life: with me, thou proudly soaredst above the ignorant mass and the despicable puppets we played with, whenever thou thoughtest what thou, too, couldst perform when Duke Waldemar was in possession of his great ancestor's glorious crown."
"Think not that I have now forgotten it, noble sir," replied the knight. "But of what use is it to fret yourself pale and lean, between these thick walls, where we cannot take a single step towards our object?"
"We can do battle here, Tuko. In that narrow room I have, perhaps, already made a more important progress than if I had stood free, in the midst of a noisy and juggling court. Read, in the chronicles, of the greatest men, and thou shalt find that they buried themselves in deserts and lonely dens, to prove themselves and their own powers in secret, before they entered upon the career destined to astonish after generations, and be remembered through long centuries. When thou hast been sleeping here, dreaming of trifles and handsome maidens, many a night have I been awake in my den, there. The wide and mighty world of thought has been laid open before me in my prison, and the great spirits of departed times have been near me."
"The rood shield us, noble sir! If you have become a ghost-seer, I wonder not that you are so pale and thin. Reveries, and night-watchings of this kind, must lay waste your strength, and carry you even a step farther. What have you thought of, then? and what are the fruits of these perilous struggles? To me, you look as grave and solemn as a clerk spent with fasting; and, indeed, I scarcely know you."
"But thou and the world shall learn to know me," said the duke. "Now, for the first time, I know myself--now know I, that I have been a light-brained fool. Miserable, insolent boyishness it was, when I would deny my tyrant's right of guardianship, and quarrel with my powerful oppressor about petty islands and paltry mint privileges, when I had his crown in view. Stupid, immeasurably stupid, it was, when I suffered myself to be misled by thee and other thoughtless persons, into making a claim to the kingdom, before I was certain that I was the people's spiritual lord."
"I understand you not, noble sir. A spiritual dominion you cannot claim: that must be left to the pope and clergy. But you are right: to strike the sceptre from the hand of a tyrant, guarded by strong and blindfolded slaves, you certainly required a marshal's baton and an army. It was, undeniably, an error, to betray your aims unseasonably, and thus put arms into the hands of opponents before you were sufficiently accoutred yourself."
"That was my least mistake, Tuko, and that I have sufficiently atoned for within these walls. My greatest error was, that I fancied actual dominion was to be obtained over a people, ere they had freely chosen and done homage to me as their lord; and that a crown could be won, like a castle or a piece of land, by daring heroism and foreign armies, so long as the people I desired to rule had yet a spark of strength and spirit; and I did not first conquer the souls whose lord and king I should wish, in reality, to be."
"These are vagaries, noble sir, the consequences of prison air, unseasonable night-watchings, and want of exercise. What think you the great ignorant masses of the people care about their ruler's inner worth and being? He who has the power and authority, is obeyed by the crowd: the ruler who has the largest army, and can swing the longest sword over the heads of the people, they readily acknowledge as their king and heart-beloved father, if only he does not impose higher taxes than his predecessors, and maintains something like law and justice in the country."
"Nay, Tuko, nay," resumed the pale and earnest duke, with warmth; "this imprudent contempt for the lives and spirit of a people has misled the greatest ruling spirits in the world. The mere external dominion, which has not its roots in the deepest heart of the people, and is not bound up with the popular mind and true renown, is worthless and despicable, did it even extend over the whole universe. It is a throne raised on the breath of pride, on the mists and vapours of a miserable vanity. It is dissipated by a blast of wind; and the first free and energetic spirit who stands up among a people so oppressed, and misgoverned by mere rude brute force, has might enough to overthrow such a monarch and his soulless hosts."
"You surprise me, noble sir. Whence have you all this new wisdom? I should almost fancy you have had revelations in your wisdom-den, and have been used to converse with spirits; or some similar folly."
"Come, thou shalt see my spirits," said the duke, rising: "I shall show thee that I am not the first who has thought earnestly, within these walls, on the condition of a people and their ruler."
"Sjöborg has held many statesmen of importance," said the knight; "but I doubt whether any of them has imparted a new thought to you. The most notable I remember, that occupied this state-prison, was the mad Bishop Waldemar, who struggled for the sixth Canute and Waldemar Seier's life and crown, and finished his days, a crazy saint, in Lockum Cloister."
"It is possible that he became crazy at last," replied the duke; "but what made others crazy, may perhaps make us wise. You have guessed aright, Tuko. I have my sleeping-chamber in the prison-cell where that unfortunate bishop, of royal descent and royal mind, sat chained to a block, and gave vent to his indignation by cursing the world and mankind. But that he also had his lucid moments, and saw clearer into the world and its blind rulers than perhaps any one dreamt of, I shall show you memorials that perhaps no human eye save mine has before seen."
They had now entered the duke's narrow prison-cell, which looked upon the castle-yard by a grated window, eighteen ells from the ground. Here was still a block, with a rusty iron ring and a heavy chain, made fast to the wall. By the side of the chain lay a large, torn-up paving stone, which appeared to have been used for barricading the door from within. The castellan would have removed these painful relics of former occupants of the cell; but the duke had expressly desired to retain them, when he heard of what powerful kinsman they were memorials.
On the dingy walls were many scratches, like runes and oriental characters. To these the duke pointed; but it was beginning to grow dark, and it was impossible to discern any of the words distinctly: the interpretation of the inscriptions appeared also to demand a degree of learning which neither Sir Abildgaard nor his princely master was possessed of.
"If this is the book of wisdom you have read in of a night, noble sir," said the gay young knight, "you must have become profoundly learned in a hurry, and must certainly have borrowed a pair of eyes from some of the friendly owls or cats that now and then pay you their dutiful respects through the grating. In this nook, even in broad daylight, I should not be able to tell an X from a U, were I ever so clear-eyed."
"You have guessed better than you imagine, Tuko. The bird of wisdom himself has, with his fire-eyes, been a light to my bewildered path." So saying, the duke opened a chest, which, otherwise, served him to keep shoes in. "Look here," he said, taking out a large tame owl, with beautiful flaxen-coloured feathers, and a pair of uncommonly bright eyes.
"Fie, sir!" cried the knight, springing back. "It is the dismal screech-owl, which people call the dead man's bird. What do you with it? It is not worth having for a guest, and the devil may have touched it. Have you never heard that there is always sure to be a death in the house where it perches?"
"The pest may come to Sjöborg for me, as soon as we are well out of it," said the duke; "but, as you perceive, the dead man's bird and I are at present good friends. One night, as I lay awake with troubled thoughts, I saw these eyes glaring upon me from the ledge on the wall. I started, and it seemed to me as if the fiend were standing, staring me through the soul with glowing eyes, in the silent, mysterious night. I sprang up, and discovered my mistake. But while I approached to seize my unbidden night-guest, he turned his shining eyes towards the wall: a gleam of moonshine entered at the same instant; and, whether it was the light of the bird's eyes, or the moonshine, that illumined the wall, I know not, but I perceived there a dim inscription, which I could not then read. I took care to mark the spot; and, having placed my prisoner in the box here, I went to sleep. Next morning, however, betimes I examined the wall and the writing. When the morning sun shines in, it can be easily read. It is in Latin, and it cost me much trouble to understand it. You know we did not make great progress with the complaisant clerk who was to make us book-learned."
"What made you of the characters, then, illustrious sir?" inquired Tuko. "But do throw that hideous death-bird out of the grating. It glares upon us, as if it would burn our eyes out, in exchange for the wisdom it has taught you."
"Nay: this wise bird shall now be my companion in weal or woe," said the duke, patting the bird kindly, and replacing it in the box. "If it forebodes death, it must be the death of our enemies."
"But what did you read, sir?" inquired Sir Abildgaard, eagerly.
"I read many horrible words I shall not repeat, but which have often made my hair stand on end. A sentence, however, stood there, which has told me why I am come hither, and what I have to do in this miserable world. 'Thou who dreamedst of a crown and awokest in chains,' it runs, 'lay hold of that sceptre which constrains spirits, and thy crown shall be bright as the sun!"
"This is the nimbus which already played in the brain of the crazy bishop," observed Sir Abildgaard; "or it is the black art and magical incantations he brooded over. Be not thus disquieted, noble sir, and suffer not the madness of becoming a saint to infect you. I dare be sworn that neither you nor I carry it to this extremity."
"I do not so understand it," replied the duke, whilst his eyes glistened. "I interpret these words in a secular sense, and as containing no folly, but, on the contrary, deep and sound policy. I do not abandon my bold life's-plan: that I shall never relinquish, so long as there is a drop of Waldemar Seier's blood in my heart. How? is the only question. The means and power I no longer seek for in foreign princes and armies, nor in an unworthy conspiracy with rebellious subjects. They would fail as much in their loyalty to me afterwards, as they had failed towards my predecessor. I shall not hinder or oppose an enterprise which may probably be advantageous to me; but I have learned to despise it. The hand that would bear a sceptre without trembling, must be unstained with the blood of kindred. The forehead which the crown would not burn, must not bear a secret Cain's-mark under its splendour."
"There we have it!" interrupted Tuko. "You will be a saint, then. Good: but there is a medium in all things, gracious sir. On the other hand, if you are at all aware of what is to be undertaken, and what you already know--"
"I shall know nothing that I need have the slightest occasion to blush for before the knights and princes of Europe," continued the duke; "and what I do know, Tuko--yes, that I shall forget, and bury in my deepest heart as a phrenzied dream. I shall not bear the crown as my unfortunate, bewildered grandfather bore it, to be murdered by rebellious subjects, after a brief period of splendour. If conspirators will play into my hands, let them. I did not invoke the storm. Our only concern now is, to allow time, and gain confidence. I shall renounce Alsen--yea, even my ducal crown: more they cannot well demand for my freedom. The undermined throne may yet fall without me; but none shall again raise it, save a Waldemar. I shall show the people that I do not bear the name of Waldemar in vain, and that I can vanquish myself. By submitting to injustice, I shall win hearts like castles. First, I shall seize the invisible sceptre that constrains spirits; and then the crown will be offered me, by a fortunate change in the Ting. Therefore, Tuko, 'tis not an ærial crown, nor a saint's halo, but a crown that shall sit fast on this brow, and shine through centuries, like that of the great Waldemars'."
"Now, indeed, I begin to understand you, gracious sir," replied Sir Abildgaard, opening his eyes. "The storm that breaks down the rotten stem, bears with it the boughs and shoots, you think, and without you needing to risk your neck for it. I, too, begin to get clear-eyed, and to entertain a respect for your good friend in the box. Come, noble sir, let us drink a rousing cup, like our old heathen ancestors, to this noble conclusion. Hail to your wisdom-bird, my prince and master! When you come to your kingdom, we shall take the lion from your shield, and put the sagacious bird in its stead."
The duke followed his lively friend to the festive board, and was, once more, the jovial-spirited youth. His pale cheeks became flushed, and his somewhat sunken eyes sparkled with lofty and daring expectations. In the meantime it had become dark; but, ere long, the moon shone through the iron grating, and lighted their little drinking-table. Sir Abildgaard sang merry songs, in which the duke joined with wild glee, frequently emptying his goblet the meanwhile. In the midst of their merriment, the door was opened, and a grave, stalwart man, in a pelt doublet and shaggy cap, entered, with a light in his hand.
"Heyday, Poul Hvit! our acute friend, deep skilled in knowledge of mankind--our cautious host. Your health!" cried Sir Abildgaard, in frolicsome mood: "everything is in the best order, you see."
"Your health, my good friend," said the duke; and the half-intoxicated prisoners gaily emptied their goblets to the health of the castellan.
"I thank you for the honour you show me, my illustrious young gentlemen," said the quiet and serious Poul Hvit, bowing politely, at the same time doffing his cap, and examining them closely, with a self-satisfied look. "I am glad you relish the wine, and do not take the world, with its unstable fortunes, more to heart than is worth. I know the world and men," he added, nodding with self-assurance: "it is always a good sign when state-prisoners are merry. I am, besides, the bearer of a message which I think will be welcome to you," he continued, letting the light fall on their flushed faces, and seeming to study their appearance carefully. "To-morrow, betimes, when you are less merry, and more disposed for serious business, a person will have the honour of bringing you a proposal for an agreement with the king, my master. If, as I hope, you accede to it, I may soon have the pleasure of opening this door for you altogether. Meantime, I wish you a good night, and quietness."
He then bowed, and departed: the heavy door was closed with a loud noise, and the prisoners again sat alone in the moonlight. The castellan's announcement brought the young gentlemen at once to their senses, and they remained long in consultation as to what terms they could accept or refuse. At length they retired to rest, in anxious doubt whether the following morning would bring them freedom, or more rigorous and prolonged imprisonment.
The castellan returned to the ancient knights' hall, which, in his time, was furnished and in good condition, and the place where he received guests of distinction. A fire was burning cheerfully in the great chimney, and in the middle of the hall stood a richly spread supper-table, with a brazen candlestick of three branches. A young gentleman, apparently a knight, walked up and down the hall with rapid strides. It was Drost Peter Hessel. Claus Skirmen stood by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth.
"Now, my good Poul Hvit," said the drost, advancing towards the well-pleased castellan, "what say your prisoners? Will they see me to-night, or in the morning?"
"It is a pleasure to see the prisoners," replied the castellan: "they do not mope and moan like hapless criminals; and you may trow, sir drost, for all their bewilderment, that there are good honest hearts in them. They have made so merry with the wine flagon, noble sir, that it is out of the question to think of talking with them, to-night, on any subject of importance. In their present state they would, perhaps, subscribe to every proposal; but that, I know, neither you nor my master the king would wish to be done. Man is a finite being, let me tell you; and, when we men are not entirely sober, we cannot behave like free and rational creatures: so said my worthy schoolmaster of Horsens."
"We understand each other," replied the drost; "only when they have recovered their senses, shall they hear my proposition: for this is a grave matter, which they shall have time and opportunity to consider. In the morning, then. Can I sleep in the castle here, to-night?"
"Of course, sir drost: I have already made arrangements for that. We are all mortal; and, whilst the soul is active in good deeds, the body must not lack rest and refreshment. Be seated, then; and, if you will permit it, there is also room for your squire here. The ploughing ox should not be muzzled, and the man--yes, a man is still a man," he added, hastily, as no more profound observation occurred to him.
Drost Peter smiled at the castellan's awkwardly finished sentence, and sat down to table. Skirmen stationed himself discreetly behind his chair, and blushed when the courteous castellan directed him to take a vacant seat by the drost's side.
"Be seated, Skirmen," said Drost Peter, kindly: "we are not at court here."
Skirmen obeyed, and seated himself on a corner of the chair. He maintained, as he was wont, a modest silence when his elders were speaking, and gave close heed to his master's wants and wishes.
"So, your important prisoners, my good Poul Hvit, submit to their fate without rage or bitterness?" said the drost. "I am glad to hear it; for, notwithstanding their sad infatuation, there are excellent, ay, almost great qualities, in both of them. It is from painful necessity that we have been obliged to deprive them so long of their freedom; but I know you have not made their imprisonment harsher than is necessary."
"I have punctually followed your orders, sir drost; and--I think I know a little bit of the world, and of man kind. Prisoners that are well treated, seldom even dream of making their escape. We shall see now if loneliness has brought them to reflection: if they are stubborn, and you wish them to be treated with greater severity, it shall be done. I am only an humble servant, and what is commanded me, I perform, without respect of persons. 'Man,'--said the never-to-be-forgotten schoolmaster of Horsens--God bless his soul!--'man cannot always endure prosperous days.'"
A stout, double-chinned cook now entered, and placed a dish upon the table. Drost Peter observed him, and started, but was silent until he had left the room.
"Have you had this cook any considerable time, my good Poul Hvit?" he then inquired; "and are you sure of his fidelity?"
"He has served me since the end of May, last year," replied the castellan; "and I should be a bad judge of mankind if I could doubt his fidelity: he does his business, and troubles himself about nothing else in the world. He is always chatting and singing in the kitchen, and never says a serious word. If I had only such people about me, I could sleep soundly, even had I kings and kaisers to take charge of. I trow, as I have said, I know a little of the world and mankind, sir drost. But have you any grounds for doubting my cook's fidelity, noble sir?"
"Not exactly so," answered the drost; "but have an eye upon him. It was, perhaps, an accident; but I saw him, shortly before the Dane-court, in Henner Friser's inn at Melfert, in a company of travellers that did not quite consist of the best friends of the crown and realm."
"It must have been a mere accident, noble sir," replied the castellan, with calm self-satisfaction. "I know my men, and nobody shall so easily palm a wax-nose upon me. Cook Morten cares little about state affairs, I know; and he is a merry, good-natured carl, in whom I find much amusement. He is also gardener to the castle; and I have availed myself of him to prove the disposition of the prisoners, and to augment my knowledge of mankind. I gave him private orders to supply the prisoners with flowers. They are not aware from whom the civility comes, and I have observed that it serves to amuse the young gentlemen, and put love-whimsies into their heads. Folks who can think on such fooleries arc not likely to be dangerous to the crown and kingdom, I fancy. The plump Morten never sees them; but he is ready to laugh himself to death when he hears them singing amorous ditties to the fair hand that binds up their nosegays."
Drost Peter smiled, but shook his head, and would have dissuaded the castellan from this mode of studying the characters of his prisoners.
In the meanwhile, cook Morten had again entered the hall; and immediately afterwards the door-keeper announced the arrival of an ecclesiastic, with greetings and a message from the Abbot of Esrom.
"Let him come in," said the castellan. "Have you any objection, sir drost? It is probably one of the abbot's friends, who wishes to transact business with me respecting some lands. But it is a singular time o'night to come at," he added, doubtfully.
Drost Peter replied by a polite bow, and appeared to be thinking of other matters. The door was opened, and a respectable clerical personage entered. They rose to greet him; but he retreated a step, in surprise, on recognising Drost Peter. The drost was equally astonished; but the castellan did not notice their mutual surprise, and received his new guest with polite attention, and an interest that betrayed the importance of the business this visit concerned.
"A friend, probably, of the worthy Abbot Magnus," said he. "Be pleased to come nearer. What we have to treat of, this true friend of the king, Drost Peter Hessel, will bear witness to, more especially as, at this late hour, I dare not receive any stranger into the castle. There are people present who know the world and mankind, let me say; and stringent regulations here are necessary. May I presume to ask my worthy sir his name?"
"Sir Drost Peter Hessel knows me," answered the ecclesiastic, with a haughty air, and drawing nearer. "To the learned world, the name of Magister Janus Roskildensis is enough; to laymen, I am known by the name of Dean Jens Grand. Are you the castellan, Poul Hvit?"
"At your service, worthy sir."
"Good. What I have to say to you every one may hear. I have come from Esrom Cloister; and, as I was to pass this way, I have undertaken, in the name of the abbot and convent, to bring you the deed of conveyance for certain lands in Grimstop, and to settle the matter to your wishes; but if you have any doubts or objections about receiving me, the business can be deferred, and I immediately set off again on my journey."
"God forbid! Do not so far wrong me, sir. You are heartily welcome," exclaimed Poul Hvit, hastily. "Think not ill of my cautiousness. We are all men, and one must look to himself in these times. It often happens that wolves come here in sheep's clothing, and I ought to know whom I receive. Since the drost knows you, I may bid you welcome without the least hesitation. I should be but a poor discerner of mankind, if I did not see that you are a learned servant of the Lord's, and a trusty friend of the worthy Abbot Magnus. If you have the deed with you, we can arrange the matter to-morrow. Be my guest in the meantime, worthy sir, and embrace the present opportunity. Be pleased to take a seat with us." So saying, he brought a seat for this addition to the company.
Drost Peter was reserved, and sparing of words, and the dean did not find himself altogether in his element. Skirmen, on his entrance, had arisen, and taken his place behind his master's chair. The castellan alone was exceedingly good-humoured, and strove industriously to animate the conversation. He touched upon every affair and circumstance which, at that period, engaged the public attention. The Norse war, and the piracies of Count Mindre-Alf of Tönsberg on the Danish coast, he discoursed of with a zeal that proved him a man of a true and patriotic mind. He had a family in Horsens, and related minutely what this town had suffered from the remorseless freebooter's attacks.
"The Count of Tönsberg is certainly our foe," commenced Master Grand; "but he is a brave and famous foe, whom no one should accuse of being a rover and freebooter. He is certainly not one of your dainty lords, who take the eyes of ladies at a tournament; but at the present day we have not a doughtier knight: he is the greatest sea-hero of our times, and may soon expect to be elevated to a jarl."
"But when, on his own account, he ravages and plunders our coasts with barbarity, and the greatest lust of rapine," replied Drost Peter, "he does little honour to chivalry. He is a common vulgar riever, however bold and powerful he may be, even though he be of royal descent, and aspires to the name of jarl. We Danish laymen, far less our teachers of Christianity, have no reason to honour him with a nobler name."
Master Grand was silent, and endeavoured to conceal his anger; and the castellan again resumed the conversation. He strongly censured Count Jacob of Halland for having received the honour of knighthood from the Norwegian king, in a time of war. Drost Peter supported him, and thought highly of the honest castellan; but Master Grand could no longer suppress his indignation.
"It is well," said he, jeeringly, "that the merits of the deserving men of Denmark are recognised by a foreign prince, when they are suspected and wronged at home. It is magnanimous of the Norwegian king thus to distinguish an esteemed enemy; and I cannot blame the noble Count Jacob for accepting an honour so well merited."
"Pardon me, sir dean," said Drost Peter, calmly: "a true Dane never receives a mark of honour from the enemy of his country. It is impossible, however, as a friend of your country, that you can seriously defend such conduct."
"To be a reasonable and Christian friend of my country," said Master Grand, bitterly, "I have no occasion to turn my cloak to the court-wind, like a favoured courtier. In my station, thank God, no one need conceal the truth, or defend baseness, to fulfil the duties of his office. With God's holy word and the canon-law before my eyes, I am not afraid to say plainly, before the mightiest favourite of the king and queen, that I only love and esteem my earthly country in so far as the divine laws of my heavenly country are esteemed and maintained in it. If you would have proof of this, sir drost, obtain me permission to preach a single fast-sermon before the king and queen, with all their courtly flatterers; and you shall then hear that I am the man to hold up the mirror of truth before the mighty of this world, in such wise that many a cheek shall crimson if there is yet a remnant of honour or conscience in the court of Denmark."
"Such a corrective sermon, reverend sir," answered Drost Peter, with energy, "might certainly be preached often enough among lay persons, as well as learned. I could wish, however, that you would, with the same impartiality, introduce such conversation wherever, on your pious way, you meet with princely personages and royal vassals, who, in the sins and errors of their liege lord, seek justification for their own crimes."
Master Grand was again silent. The castellan looked at his discordant guests with surprise, and hastily broke off a conversation, whose bitter issue he could see no grounds for. He then abruptly inquired whether either of the honoured gentlemen, in the course of their journey, had seen the newly-rebuilt church? and, as this was answered with a brief "nay," he inquired if either of them knew where the deposed Swedish king was residing, and whether it was true that he had deserted his queen for a certain famous Lady Kristine?
"It is but too true," replied the dean, zealously, appearing to seize upon the occasion to give vent to his anger: "there, again, we have a proof of the ungodliness of our times, and of the sin-pest that is spread abroad from our great ones. It is no wonder the Lord visits such princes in anger, and shows the mighty rulers of the world that there is a Judge over us all, who is not to be mocked, and who, from the skies, laughs in derision when the lofty ones of the earth swell and burst with pride. It is a comforting and elevating thought," he added, with an air of pride, "that the Mighty One, who holds the universe in his hand, can as easily cast down kings and princes, and their favourites, as he can raise the poor and meek of spirit."
The castellan had devoutly folded his hands, as at a sermon. "Ah, indeed!" he sighed, "we are all mortal: might and rank are indeed transitory."
"Many of the misfortunes of our times are certainly well-merited, reverend sir," remarked Drost Peter, with considerable warmth, and a keen look at the dean, "when sinful men presume to call down and carry out the chastisements of the Lord. The unfortunate king you have mentioned I shall not defend; but if people can justly dethrone their kings because they are not what they ought to be, then can no throne and no kingdom exist, until pure angels are sent from heaven to govern us."
"That is not requisite," replied the dean, swelling with the air and authority of a pope. "So long as the Lord's vicegerent sits in St. Peter's holy chair, and as long as he and the servants of the word are regarded as the messengers of the truth among the people, so long no nation need be doubtful how great a worldly burden they may bear with patience, or how great a sinner the Lord will endure among his anointed. Unless you are an arch-heretic, sir drost, you cannot possibly deny this."
Drost Peter did not answer; and cook Morten, who had just set a choice dish before the ecclesiastic, appeared, by his roguish smile, to enjoy the manner in which the bold dean had silenced the drost.
Without betraying the slightest anger, Drost Peter turned again to the triumphant dignitary. "As a knight, I have sworn to offer my life for the faith, as well as for my lawful king," he said, with an expression of deep earnestness; "and I am not afraid of being doomed, as a heretic, to stake and brand, if even I am of opinion that a lawfully-crowned and anointed sovereign cannot be hurled from his throne by the mightiest anathemas of the Vatican and of Lund. That our Danish kings, at least, have been of the same mind, your own kinsman, Archbishop Erlandsen, among others, experienced. I would not advise any prelate in Denmark to follow so dangerous an example. This prison, reverend sir, might at least remind you that even an archbishop's crook is unable to undo these doors, when they have been locked by command of a king of Denmark."
So saying, Drost Peter arose, and begged of the astonished castellan that he might be shown to his sleeping apartment. Master Grand, with a haughty mien, also arose, and expressed the same wish.
They saluted each other, coldly and silently; and the castellan himself, with a three-branched candlestick, conducted Drost Peter. Skirmen followed his master, with his mantle and sword.
Cook Morten, on a sign from the castellan, led the ecclesiastic to a chamber, by the side of the knights' hall. It was narrow and gloomy, and the door, which was standing ajar, opened only outwards. A strong gust of wind had nearly extinguished the light. A reclining chair, a stool and table, composed the whole of the furniture, and iron bars were fixed in the walls, across the small window.
When Master Grand entered this chamber, he started, and looked anxiously around him. "What means this?" he inquired; "do you show me to a prison-cell for a bed-chamber?"
"For that you must give us absolution, your reverence," replied Morten, at the same time placing the flickering light on the stone table, and, with a long pole, closing the shutter of the little, round, grated window, which was placed high in the wall. "There, now it is rather more snug," he continued. "Nobody, in general, passes the night here, except a bewildered owl. There is only one guest-apartment in the castle, where the inmate is master of the door; and that room the drost occupies. For unexpected guests, we have only this little mean apartment. It is said to have been a torture-room in former days; and here must have hung all kinds of horrid instruments, to torture obstinate criminals into an acknowledgment of their guilt. It is still dismal-looking enough, you perceive. But it is a pity I cannot show you the ingenious old machines for torturing. I know you are a great admirer of suchlike learned trumpery."
The proud dean became pale, and an involuntary shudder crept over him. "My good friend," said he to the cook, "methinks we should be known to each other. Cook Morten, from Ry? Is it not so?"
"At your service, reverend sir. That you could have room in your learned brain for the image of my poor but tolerably ample person, I should not have expected; but so long as my head has leave to sit between my shoulders, and my throat is not tightened so that I cannot drink and sing a merry song with it, so long shall I not forget your brave and learned reverence."
"Speak seriously, Morten. What mean you by this conversation?"
"We are quite snug here," continued the fat cook; "and you are just the man of God to whom I can, without danger, confide my sins. I may tell you, then, that when you saved my flask-case from being thrown overboard, on crossing the Little Belt, you freed me, at the same time, from a confounded itching about the neck, on account of certain letters that lay concealed under the flasks. I had consented to take them, out of pure obligingness and virtue, for a good friend, who, I am afraid, the devil will some day get hold of. What these love-letters contained, I know not, and it does not concern me; but this I know, that had they been fished up, or seen by any mother's son, I had been certain of an elevation that would have been confoundedly unsuited to my health. Hence I have vowed to the blessed Virgin and the holy Martin, to serve you in turn, whenever I can; and now, if you have anything to command, I shall stand on tiptoe for you with all my heart and strength."
Master Grand started. "So, so, my son," said he boldly, and calmly drawing breath again; "have you been employed as a letter-pigeon in these disturbed times? Your cheerfulness bears witness that, otherwise, you have a good conscience; and, for the sake of your honest countenance, I give you absolution for what you sinned in at that time. To whom brought you the letters, my son?"
"To one of your shrivelings and good friends, your reverence," replied Morten, with a smile; "but I do not exactly feel the necessity of confessing to you yet: therefore, if you will impose any penance on me in consequence, say it."
"Good, my son--good. I wish not to know; but it was an illegal transaction, and might have cost you dear. To atone for it, you can perhaps convey a word of comfort, in mine and the Church's service, to a bewildered soul, that needs my counsels, within these walls; or, what I would prefer, help me to a private interview."
"My heart! readily, your reverence. But are you jesting? You do not look upon me in the same light as do the weak children of the world?"
"That is not in my nature, Morten. I have renounced the vain follies that thou in thy worldliness thinkest of. In my sacred station, pure Christian love alone should guide our most secret as well as our most open steps. The young duke, who lies imprisoned here, is inexperienced, thou knowest; and has been misguided into foolish conduct, that may make him in the highest degree miserable, if he does not turn and repent. Regard for his soul's salvation has moved me to come hither, to speak with him, if possible, or to have conveyed to him a good counsel in writing."
"If you would converse with him, pious sir, you must change yourself into an owl or a flitter-mouse."
"But if a conversation is impossible, can you get me merely two words with him, before he speaks with Drost Hessel to-morrow?"
"If you mean two words, but no more, I think it can be managed," replied the cook, with a crafty air, after a moment's consideration; "but I must see the two words, and even give them voice and wings. If you cannot trust me, your reverence, then can neither I nor the holy Martin help you. If you are afraid the walls may hear, just whisper the words in my ear. Who knows but that they may also turn and save my sinful soul; and thus you would be killing two birds with one stone, pious sir."
"Hair-brained mocker that thou art!" said the dean, gravely, and regarding him with a searching look; after which, he bent himself leisurely, and whispered a few words in his ear.
"Good," exclaimed Morten. "Ah, by St. Martin! I can fancy that I am made pious on the instant, and that I already begin to entertain scruples. Had it been a paction with the Evil One that the talk had been about, what then, your reverence? But you are a pious man of God: I know it well; and your high-born penitent shall certainly receive your good counsel tomorrow, on a fasting heart."
"Once more--if the young duke is not free by sunset to-morrow, I must speak with him."
"That will be difficult, your reverence. How many nights do you intend doing us the honour of studying antiquity's barbarities in this torture-room?"
Master Grand once more looked uneasily around him. "Lay the stool across the threshold, my son, and let the door stand ajar," he said: "locked in I shall not be. I remain no longer here than is necessary; but I must contrive to protract my stay until the day after to-morrow."
"Ah, then, in that case we may hit upon a plan," observed the cook, moving the stool. "I know you do not lack courage. If you only mean to preach a penitential sermon to the illustrious prisoner, one or other of the saints must point your way. An angel in your form, on a celestial ladder, or, for want of that, on a fire-ladder, would certainly be highly edifying to a bewildered soul. Now, good night, your reverence. Tomorrow, betimes, I shall bring your ale-posset. There is no joke in that; and so you may sleep soundly. I must hasten away, and sing in the kitchen, or the castellan will begin to doubt me."
With these words, the jolly cook was already out of the door, and sang so lustily, that the knights' hall rang again:--
"O, it was lanky Berner Rise,
Grew so tall that none could find him:
He was mad, and never wise;
Not a man could hold or bind him.
But the wood stands all in flowers."
Next morning, when Duke Waldemar awoke, a silver cup of warm ale was already on the table by his bedside. He arose hastily, and dressed himself. As soon as he had done so, he raised the silver cup to his lips, as usual, by the handle; but set it down again with surprise, on observing in his hand a summer-fool[[22]] that had come off, and which appeared to have been loosely attached to the handle.
"Who wants to make a fool of me here?" said he, angrily, throwing the flower on the table; but, at the same instant, he perceived a little slip of parchment, which stuck out from its beautiful chalice. He seized the tiny flower-letter, and read the single word, "Subscribe." He gazed for some time on the mysterious billet, and fell into deep thought.
"What means this?" he exclaimed, at length, as if awoke from a dream. "Who sends me this mysterious advice? Is it friend or foe? Subscribe! That is easily said: but if it concerns my honour--if it concerns my heart and soul, and the great aim of my life, I would rather subscribe my own death-warrant than the terms I may expect to-day." He gazed, once more, upon the slip, and sank into a reverie.
"Already in the council-chamber, noble sir?" exclaimed his lively fellow-prisoner, who now entered. "If I am not mistaken, you have had a morning visit from your wise and entertaining spirit. Methinks you were just now talking with some one--perhaps with your good friend in the chest?"
"Nay, Tuko," replied the duke; "but watchful spirits are near us. It is not the dead bishop alone who speaks to me from these walls: living beings also take an interest in my fate, and would control my will ere I know it myself. See what I found in this flower." He handed him the flower and the scrap of parchment.
"A summer-fool! That you must beware of, noble sir, if it comes not from a pretty little hand, who will only joke in disguise, to make its winter-fool happy in earnest. Subscribe! Short and good advice, i'faith, in the tone of a dominant mistress. Had it been in German, I know whom I should have guessed."
"So, so! think you my unseen protecting spirit is German? Say, whom mean you?"
"Eh! whom other should I mean than the Duke of Saxony's little saintly daughter, who was more concerned about your faith and salvation than your ducal crown and all your proud expectations. You still wear, in secret, her invisible chains."
"Sophia--the good, pious child?" exclaimed the duke, raising his hands to his brow. "Do you believe she still thinks of me and my fate? Nay, Tuko; that I cannot desire: it would unpleasantly vex me. The last half year has erased that wonderful image from my heart: I have had more important matter to think of than the little daughter of a duke, and her pious, circumscribed religion. I have, happily, torn myself from that foolishness. I cannot now suffer myself to be dazzled or impeded by a pair of loving saintly eyes, that have their home in a convent or on an altar-table. Speak no more of her, Tuko. You know it only serves to grieve me; and, truth to say, since our plans drew us to the high Dane-court, I have blushed for myself when I thought of her. But you are right," he continued, with emotion: "these chaste and lovely flowers, that for almost an entire year have so kindly and gently reminded us of spring and summer, and of life's calm joys, in our prison--they might well have reminded me of her; and this white and innocent spring-flower, that has now found a voice, and begs of me to accede and subscribe----Ha! subscribe an agreement that may perhaps render me a pious slave to my own conscience, to the day of my death--and then----There was a time when such thraldom appeared to me real liberty." He was silent, and again relapsed into deep thought.
"That was a sad time, sir," resumed Tuko, hastily: "they had nearly converted you into a hang-the-head. I also say, subscribe, whatever the deuce it may be. Freedom cannot be purchased too dearly. But be not therefore the slave of a pen's stroke. The pretty little enthusiast will, at last, transform you into a quiet complaisant duke of South Jutland, who, in this life, will never think of being anything more, but, renouncing all his daring schemes, take to himself a quiet and pious wife, say good-night to this world's fleeting dreams of sovereignty, and sleep soundly in a Sleswick castle, like a true and loyal Danish vassal. That must be a charming life, sir! What we have here suffered, we shall not think of taking revenge for. Fie! that were ignoble and unchristian: we must kiss the rod like good children, and be gentle and amiable. And what a beautifully peaceful life! Your highest office will be to protect the goslings from the fox, or to strike down, with your own illustrious hand, a savoury roe for the frugal ducal table, where the pious house-mother sits, with folded hands, while the well-behaved amiable children say grace."
"Ha, nay, Tuko!" exclaimed the duke, vehemently, waking up as from a dream: "I shall show thee that Waldemar Seier was mine ancestor. He, too, sat once in prison; but he forgot not vengeance until he was old and gray; and, in misfortune, he forgot not his crown and his royal dignity!"
At that instant, a knocking was heard at the prison-door, and the conversation was broken off. In obedience to their request, the polite castellan now entered, and inquired whether it was convenient for the illustrious duke to receive Drost Hessel?
"Drost Hessel?" repeated the duke, with bitter indignation--"well, let him enter;" and he seated himself, proudly and calmly, by the table, whilst Sir Abildgaard took upon himself the office of a respectful servant, and stationed himself, with a cunning smile, behind the chair of his princely master.
The castellan bowed respectfully, and retired; and immediately after, Drost Peter entered. He made his salutation courteously and gravely.
The duke half rose from his seat, and sat down again. "What has Drost Hessel to submit to the Duke of South Jutland?" said he, in a calm voice, but with suppressed indignation.
"Illustrious sir," began Drost Peter, "my master, the king, listening to the representations of your friends, has resolved to offer you reconciliation and freedom, if you will subscribe and confirm the terms which I have, in the king's name, to lay before you." So saying, he drew forth a large parchment-deed, and, with a polite inclination, handed it to the duke.
"Read it for me, my drost," said the duke, carelessly handing the deed to Sir Abildgaard, and leaning back on his chair with an air of indifference.
Sir Abildgaard stepped firmly before his lord, and read. The deed had been prepared by the chancellor in Danish, and in the usual stiff and pedantic style of such documents. Drost Peter remained standing at a respectful distance, and closely observing the duke's manner. The duke did not appear to notice him, but gazed, gloomily and thoughtfully, on the dingy prison-wall, covered with writing.
The introduction to the agreement recited the names of the duke's friends who had procured it, and among these he seemed particularly interested to find the Duke of Saxony, of whose daughter he had just been talking. The name of the good-natured Count Gerhard of Holstein seemed also to surprise him; the more so, perhaps, as he remembered that he had endeavoured to turn this brave gentleman into ridicule, at the Dane-court of Nyborg. The introduction ran as follows:--
"To all who see or hear read the present letter: Herman, by the grace of God, Bishop of Schwerin; Johannes, Duke of Saxony; Gerhard, Johannes, and Adolph, Counts of Holstein; Helmold, Claus, Counts of Schwerin; Geert, Count of Hoya; Johannes and Henrik, Counts of Meeklinburg; eternal health with God. That all may be witness, that on account of Duke Waldemar of Sleswick, it was humbly desired by us, that we might be permitted to promise for him, that he should hold to the articles of the under-written letter, which is a deed of agreement between King Erik of Denmark and him."
"Who has requested these good lords to promise, on my behalf, that which I do not yet know?" asked the duke. "But this may be merely the usual form. To the point, then."
Sir Abildgaard now read the agreement itself, which, in the duke's name, began as follows:--
"Waldemar, by God's grace, Duke of South Jutland, eternal health with God. It is the glory and honour of princes, that they hear and grant the prayers of their petitioners; and thus, by augmenting the loyalty and affection of their subjects, they augment and strengthen the ruler's name, honour, and title--"
"This is Drost Hessel's pretty thought, and Master Martin's pretty style," said the duke, interrupting the reading, with an air of mockery. "But continue, drost."
"Therefore shall it be made manifest to all," continued Sir Abildgaard, with a suppressed smile, and in an humble tone, "that we were led, by youthful inexperience and childish counsel, to claim that, respecting Alsen, which belongs to the crown, contrary to the injunction of our lord, King Erik; wherein we acknowledge to have done wrong, as it appeared to us, and others our friends, that the laws of our country were too stringent and severe: wherefore, the before-mentioned king, after our humble supplication, his prelates' and other trusty men's counsel, hath remitted us all blame and crime, which we have imprudently committed against him."
Then followed everything relating to the dispute concerning Alsen, the mint privileges, and the king's right to wage war for South Jutland: at all which the duke smiled carelessly, and seemed to think it scarcely worth his attention; although, at the same time, he gave the closest heed to every word. But his assumed indifference was changed into evident uneasiness, as Sir Abildgaard read--"We promise, therefore, that we shall never plot or contrive the king's death or imprisonment, nor counsel or demand that he should be deprived of his lands, towns, cities, or fortresses; nor league, conspire, or practise aught against him or the kingdom; nor instigate, or take part with, any one in crimen læsæ majestatis; but shall show him all honour, subjection, reverence, and fealty. And if we do anything against him, or if it can be proved against us, according to the laws and usages of the country, that we have secretly done so, then shall all our fief and estates thereby become forfeited, so that our lord and king, of his own authority, may seize them for the use of the crown, and do therewith, as a lasting possession, as to his grace may seem fit; also, that he may punish us in the body, or spare us, as his grace may pronounce."
Here Sir Abildgaard paused, and regarded his master with astonishment. But the duke's uneasiness had disappeared, and a proud defiance sparkled in his eyes, whilst he raised his head haughtily and boldly.
"Now know I both your word and spirit, Drost Hessel," he said. "To this extent you gladly carry the point, when a blinded king gives you authority."
Drost Peter gravely shook his head, and was silent.
"Continue," said the duke; and Sir Abildgaard proceeded:--
"We consent, moreover, that the prelates of Denmark may proclaim the ban of the Church against us, without previous warning, if it so happens, (which God forbid,) that we do anything contrary to the tenor of the foregoing." Sir Abildgaard again paused, and observed his lord with an inquiring look.
"Exactly so," said the duke; "do not forget the holy letters of excommunication: they may be required. Is there anything further?"
Sir Abildgaard now read a few articles relating to the obligations of the duke to stand by the king in his wars, and to attend the assemblies of the estates; which he appeared to care little about. But it farther recited--"We shall not maintain outlawed people. Item, for this our imprisonment we shall not wage war against the king, his sons, or any one, within or without the kingdom, or cause any evil, on account thereof, to any person, but hold them free and blameless. We shall not make any covenant or alliance with any person whatsoever, from whom his majesty and the realm may suffer damage; and if we have already made any such alliance, shall renounce the same."
Lastly, to the duke's great astonishment, it thus proceeded--"And, that there should not be any doubt concerning what is now promised, we have, by a solemn oath upon the holy Gospels, sworn and pledged ourselves that we shall adhere to all that is above written, without fraud or guile; renouncing every exception, device, force, threat, aid of secular or spiritual jurisdiction, law, or custom, whereby the foresaid letter may be infringed."
The duke became pale. He did not hear the conclusion, which contained the names of the bishops and princes who had witnessed the articles, and had attached their seals thereto; and he appeared to regain his self-possession only as he heard the last words--"And we shall seal this at the first opportunity."
"Yes, truly, as soon as the opportunity occurs," exclaimed he, with the utmost bitterness, and rising from his seat. "And such is the agreement you dare to bring me, Drost Hessel? And you fancied that I was coward and fool enough to sign and seal it? You have a worthy pattern for this precious document, in black Count Henry's devilish paction with the captured King Waldemar. But I shall not tread in my great ancestor's footsteps, and purchase my freedom so dearly. If you think to compel me, try. If you have chains with you, out with them! Call your hangman, and see if I shall shrink, or debase myself."
"You mistake me grievously, highborn sir," said Drost Peter, with wounded feelings. "Think not that I am pleased to see a noble-born gentleman, like yourself, in this prison. Believe, least of all, that I am so base-hearted that I would see your free will constrained by unworthy means. Not from hatred or revenge, but for the security of the crown and kingdom, are you bereft of freedom. The moment you give up the unwarrantable and sufficiently evident objects that have rendered your imprisonment here necessary, you again stand free, in the exalted station whereto you were born and bred. You will retain, without abatement, all your legal privileges as Duke of South Jutland, and, all will be forgotten. The moment you subscribe this covenant, the castellan has orders to open these prison-doors, and to conduct you, with safe escort, to my master the king; and, as soon as you have publicly acknowledged your subscription, before the estates of the realm, and confirmed it with your seal and oath, you can retire, unmolested, to your dukedom; and neither my master the king, nor any other right-minded man in Denmark, will in future doubt your fidelity towards your king and country."
So saying, Drost Peter laid his silver style upon the table, together with the parchment, which Sir Abildgaard had delivered back to him.
The duke, however, stood unmoved, and gazed upon the wall, without deigning the king's messenger a word or look.
"My lord," continued Drost Peter, "take counsel, now, with the all-knowing God and your own conscience. I leave the agreement in your hands: you may destroy or subscribe it, as you think best. Till the sun goes down, I may await your determination; and, in twenty-four hours, the doors of your prison stand open on these terms. The moment you have subscribed, pull the bell-string there, and your prison will be opened. Meantime I leave you, with the hope that you will consider your temporal, as you would your eternal welfare. Mistake not, in this matter, either my master the king, or myself. The all-knowing God and all holy men are my witnesses, that nothing is here done out of hatred of yourself. I dare witness before God, at the last day, that I have only dealt towards you according to my oath, and my duty to the crown and kingdom." So saying, Drost Peter bowed, and hastily left the turret-chamber, not without emotion, and a strong feeling of melancholy interest in the imprisoned duke.
The prison-door was again closed and locked. On the table lay the important parchment, and by its side the silver style, which Drost Peter had left for the purpose of signing.
Sir Abildgaard regarded his master with a disturbed and inquiring look. The duke was pacing the floor with agitated steps: his eyes rolled wildly, and his cheeks were flashed with anger.
"Never, never shall I subscribe this hellish paction!" he exclaimed, "if I must sit here till the day of my death. If I subscribe, with a solemn oath, what stands here, I must either renounce the great object of my life, or become a perjurer and a nidding to all the world. Nay, nay, never shall this be so! I will show them that Duke Waldemar does not value his miserable dukedom higher than his honour and free unconstrained will. I will not foully and basely sell them my soul and my will's freedom, to breathe the air in a larger prison, like a debased, mean-spirited slave. Now, Tuko, now is the time to think seriously of escape, and to burst these walls by craft or violence, or any other possible mode. Let me once stand free, beyond this infernal prison--beyond the bounds of Denmark, and I shall no longer hesitate about what, in my sickly humour, I was well nigh on the point of relinquishing. I shall then shake the dust from my feet, and never more place them on Danish ground until I stand here at the head of an army that shall overthrow the tyrant's throne, crushing beneath it him and all his wretched advisers."
"Were only the first step taken," replied the knight, with a shrug--"were we once our own masters, I should heartily admire your lofty thoughts and brave conclusions; but so long as your great adviser can only speak to you from these walls, and cannot, as a potent spirit should, blow them away like cobwebs, so long, gracious sir, are all your heroic schemes but castles in the air--mere beautiful dreams, which but poorly compensate the loss of a free joyous life and Sleswick's ducal crown."
"How, Tuko! Wouldst thou not despise me were I to subscribe this agreement?"
"Far be such a thought from me, sir. It is a foolish bird that will not fly when the cage is open. See: there lies the crowbar, that, without witchcraft, can break these walls. The good drost has left you here his silver style: a single stroke on the parchment with this enchanter's wand, and our prison is open; the fair, wide world lies before us; we withdraw from this unfortunate country, till we can say thanks to the King of Denmark for this last good turn. We shall find a welcome with the Duke of Saxony, and how will not the fair Princess Sophia be rejoiced--"
"Hold, tempter, hold!" exclaimed the duke, advancing towards him. "Is this thy constancy, Tuko? this thy inspiration for my lofty, distant aim? What matters it that the bird is free, when its wings are clipped for life? If thou art weary of sharing my lot, I can easily set thee free. Swear thyself to the foul fiend, and go! I shall remain."
"You mistake me, my noble duke," replied Tuko, seriously. "I have shared your captivity, and been happy, even to this hour. I shall furthermore share it, without complaining, as long as you please. The main point I have not lost sight of. You have yourself discovered how you can reach it without moving a hand; and your conscience can be easily reconciled to your freedom. Will you hear me?"
"Nay, nay--not one word will I hear. Leave me now, Tuko: to-morrow thou shalt know my determination. This concerns myself, and my whole future life, and I will myself cast the die that is to decide it. Neither thou nor any other man shall guide my will in this matter."
Sir Abildgaard was silent, and retired to his own cell. The duke closed the intermediate door, and barred it with the stone. He then threw himself upon his chair, and indulged in gloomy thought. Thus he sat, motionless, the whole day, and without allowing any one to enter, or partaking of any refreshment. In the fortress, all was quiet as usual. Before the sun went down, his cogitations were disturbed for a moment by the sound of horses' feet in the castle-court. It was Drost Peter and his squire leaving the castle. The duke rose, and went to the grating. His hand was clenched convulsively, when he saw, in the rays of the setting sun, the young drost, free and vigorous, managing his brown steed. The princely prisoner heaved a deep sigh, closed the shutter before the grating, and, turning into the darkest nook of his cell, he threw himself upon his unmade bed.
The inside shutter of the iron grating, which the prisoner could open or shut at pleasure, was provided with a thin plate of horn, through which the daylight could scarcely penetrate. This shutter he usually allowed to remain open, unless the night was very cold, and the wind blew in that direction; for it had frequently happened to him, when it was closed, that he had started at midnight from a dreamy sleep, and fancied himself buried alive in the old chapel of his ancestors. But, now, life and every gleam of light and cheerfulness had become hateful to him; and, with a sort of spiteful pleasure, he had deprived himself of the scanty glimmer of daylight that still remained.
"Come forth, my brother in misfortune, and teach me to look into the night of my futurity with thy glowing eyes," he muttered. "Let them call thee death's-bird, and corpse-bird, as they will: thou still seest clearly, when we and others are blind; and if thou shouldst now screech of death and misfortune, so much the better! that song now pleaseth me best."
Whilst, with subdued voice, he thus gave expression to his gloomy thoughts, he opened the box, and took out the great night-bird, which perched itself familiarly upon his arm, and allowed itself to be caressed. The duke leant back on his pallet, and continued absorbed in moody reveries. The stillness of death reigned throughout the castle.
By the faint light through the pane of horn, the prisoner was aware that the moon was shining. He at length closed his eyes, and fell into a slumber, without having first, as usual, shut up the owl. He wist not that he had been asleep, when the same fearful idea, that had before awoke him at midnight, again overwhelmed him: he fancied that he lay in his coffin, in the tomb of his fathers, and, in a kind of agony, half rose on his couch. He was not yet fully awake, when a frightful screech completely aroused him from his dream: he opened his eyes, and, in a ledge of the wall, near the mysterious inscriptions, he again saw the glowing eyes of the corpse-bird. It again screamed, and far more hideously than it was wont, at the same time staring at the dim light through the horn of the closed shutter. The duke looked in the same direction, and, to his astonishment, fancied he caught a glimpse of a face, half concealed in a hat, before the grating. A singular terror seized him, and he remained motionless, half erect, in bed. He now heard a gentle tap on the shutter, and sprang up.
"Who is there?" he cried. "If you are human, speak!"
The knocking at the shutter became a little louder, and a low, mysterious voice whispered--"Open, Duke Waldemar: a good friend would speak with you."
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed: "a man? a good friend? Ha! be thou the Evil One himself, I fear not."
He hastily opened the shutter. A human countenance, sufficiently palpable, met his eyes at the grating, but so thoroughly shaded, the moon falling only on the outlines, that it was impossible for him to perceive a single feature.
"You know me not, Duke Waldemar?" said the unexpected night-guest. "I risk my life, perhaps, to speak with you. You must subscribe, or all is lost."
"Grand! Master Grand!" exclaimed the duke, astonished. "Are you a wizard, and can fly? What stand you on?"
"A storming-ladder," replied the daring ecclesiastic. "Cook Morten steadies it, and keeps watch. The time is precious, fair duke--subscribe!"
"From you, then, pious sir, came the good advice this morning. But I do not thus, even were both heaven and hell to shout--subscribe! Shall I forswear every thought of my high vocation--shall I forswear even vengeance? For what, then, have I dared so much? For what have I sustained so much? I will not subscribe. If you would free me, let it be by craft or force, and I am yours: I will then place myself openly at the head of the conspiracy, and it shall succeed or perish."
"In this way all would be lost, sir. Nothing can be undertaken until you are legally free and secure. Your imprisonment binds up every hand; but subscribe, and all are as free as your own. If you do not wish to abide by your oath, the holy father can relieve you from it, as he did your ancestor. If you wish to keep it, it is well: you can stand aloof, and still be the head. The marsk and his friends will act alone--of that you need know nothing--and the vacant place becomes yours. You understand, sir? You can keep your oath, and, with a sound conscience, come forward when the time arrives. Then, with law and justice, you can seize the minor's sceptre; and when you have won the people's hearts, and shown that you are worthy of the crown, it will fall of its own accord upon your head; whilst you will have broken neither oath nor bond."
"Ha! is it you, yourself, sagacious Master Grand? or is it the dead bishop, who has lent you voice and form to teach me wisdom? You are right: thus may I grasp the sceptre that constrains spirits, and win the crown that shines pure as the sun. Now, know I what I will. You are not the first who has taught me this. You have only told me how. Good: I subscribe. From the hour I have subscribed, I know nothing, and will know nothing, of your projects. Do what you will and defend it as best you can. I go my own way; and when we meet at the goal--then--then first I know you, and dare name you my friend. You understand me, Grand?"
"I understand you, sir. It is certain, then, that you subscribe, and withdraw from this place to-morrow. At the Dane-court of Nyborg, you can confirm the agreement, and calmly await what shall come to pass."
This secret conversation was here interrupted by a sudden uproar in the court-yard of the castle.
"I have him, master--I have him, the crafty clerk!" cried the voice of cook Morten; "he shall not escape now. I guessed at once what he bore on his shield, and helped him up the storming-ladder myself. Shall I now pull it down, and let him break his neck? or will you have him alive?"
"I am betrayed!" exclaimed Master Grand, with alarm: "the infernal cook has betrayed me. Now for it." He descended the ladder, and was immediately surrounded by ten house-carls bearing torches, in the midst of whom stood the castellan, half-dressed, with a large sword in his hand.
"Can I believe my own eyes, sir dean?" cried the honest Poul Hvit. "Have you come hither to baffle my vigilance, and to assist an important state-prisoner to escape?"
"Hear me, worthy Poul Hvit," replied Master Grand, with a bold, authoritative voice, "and you shall not mistake a servant of the Lord, who, in this secret and unusual way, has been on the service of his Heavenly King. That it was not my intention to liberate your prisoner, contrary to the laws of the country, you can satisfy yourself by searching my clothes and the prison. I have neither file nor other tool about me, with which it were possible to open the grating or assist the prisoner to escape."
The castellan seemed perplexed and undecided.
"I demand this search for my own honour's sake," continued Master Grand, throwing aside his cloak, and turning out his pockets. "If you are now convinced of my innocence in this respect, you may with reason demand to know my intentions in making this night visit. I was aware that admission to the prisoner was denied me; but I knew, at the same time, that a powerful word from God, spoken at the right time, might effect much in a bewildered sinner's heart. The haughty young duke, as you know, would not subscribe the agreement with the king, and relinquish his rebellious projects; but I have now so spoken to him, with the mighty power of God's word, that he has repented, and has penitently acknowledged his great sin. He has consented to subscribe the agreement, and will henceforth become the king's faithful subject. This have I done, and this is my offence. If you see reason to make me answerable for this Christian undertaking, I am then your prisoner. But if, as I presume, you are a god-fearing man, uniting respect for my station and sacred office with strict fidelity to your king, you will only suffer me to remain guarded here, until you have searched the prison, and satisfied yourself of the truth of my statement; when you will allow me to depart, in the peace of the Lord, within an hour."
"Guard him!" said the castellan, as he went hastily to the tower with a light. He opened the prison-door, and found all right in the first apartment, occupied by Sir Abildgaard. At his request, the duke opened his barred door. The castellan entered, and, without saying a word, examined the grating narrowly. He then placed the light on the table, and observed the duke attentively. "Tell me, highborn sir," he inquired, "is it truth, that Dean Grand has spoken with you, and that you have considered, and will subscribe the agreement?"
"It is the truth," replied the duke, taking up the silver style: "it shall be done instantly. See, here stands my name." He handed the castellan the document, and threw himself, thoughtfully, on his chair.
"Now I congratulate you on your restoration to freedom, and your country in having a true man restored to it," said the castellan, gladly. "I did not deceive myself, then: I know the world and mankind; and I well saw, from your nature and manner, that you were a noble young gentleman, who had only transgressed from the thoughtlessness of youth. Rest now, if it so please you, on your good and pious resolution, until it is day; and then, noble sir, I shall bring you with honour from your prison, and conduct you myself to my king and master."
"Good," said the duke. "But go now, and do not suffer the worthy Master Grand to experience any inconvenience. He only preached me a night-sermon, which, as you have seen, has converted me."
The castellan bowed, and retired. Sir Abildgaard, who had overheard what had just taken place, hastened to his master with lively satisfaction, to receive a full explanation of the reasons which had so unexpectedly decided him to subscribe.
In the meanwhile, Master Grand stood amidst the wondering house-carls, who, agreeably to the castellan's orders, guarded him closely, but with a reverence that, by his authoritative air, he knew how to obtain. Cook Morten stood, smiling, by the storming-ladder, and seemed to find amusement in the night's adventure. Master Grand directed towards him an upbraiding and disdainful look, without saying a word.
"I thought at least he would have slipped down," said the cook to the house-carls. "I had never before seen a worthy dean upon a storming-ladder, and could not resist the temptation; but I would have shunned the dangerous joke, had I not known that you and the castellan were in the neighbourhood. It will now be seen whether I have done the pious gentleman an ill turn. Nobody can find fault with me, for having taken him for a crafty cheat. Who else in the world is so zealous in the cure of souls, that he puts his neck in jeopardy to save a single couple? It was fortunate for the learned clerk that you came; for I was just on the point of drawing the ladder from under him, and then his reverence might have hung suspended by his hands on the iron bars, like a cat on a bird-cage, till I had brought you."
"Wretched, faithless soul!" exclaimed Master Grand, vehemently. "I told you that my intentions were pious and god-fearing, and yet you could conceive the idea of depriving a servant of the Lord of his life!"
"I shall answer for that to my master, and his grace our most precious king," replied Morten: "here, we have no respect of persons. We lock up princes and great lords, when we have instructions to regard them as rascals. I place the most guilty on the spit, when I have orders to regard them as capons; and, if even the pope or kaiser wills to creep through the window to them, I shall answer for it before all Christendom, if I suffer them to break their high and holy necks."
Cook Morten was becoming noisy, and the castellan, who had now returned from the prison, on hearing these insolent words, ordered him to moderate his zeal, and to talk with more reverence to the pious worthy sir dean, who was entirely innocent, and had, at the same time, done a deed for which every brave Dane ought to thank him.
"I believe I know the world and mankind tolerably well," said he, with a self-satisfied air, to Master Grand; "and I am rejoiced, your reverence, that I was not mistaken in my good opinion of you. That your intentions towards the king and country are good, I am now satisfied, albeit you spoke hard words, yesterday evening, against the sins and errors of the great. As a faithful man of God, you had a right to do so; but, Herregud! we are all human, and even the most virtuous among us may be suspected, and have appearances against him. That I have myself just experienced, pious sir. You are now free to depart, at what instant you please, but I shall be delighted if you will be my guest until it is day. Night is no man's friend; and, though you are a pious servant of the Lord, you might still go astray."
"I fear not that," replied Master Grand: "I have nothing further to do here, if you are satisfied with the deed of conveyance, my good, honest Poul Hvit?"
"Entirely so, pious sir. Bear Abbot Magnus my respectful salutations; and, since it must be so, God be with you!"
At the castellan's order, Master Grand's palfrey was immediately led out. The lofty ecclesiastic saluted the castellan with calm dignity, and gave the token of benediction, with three fingers, to the respectful house-carls; whereupon, attended by a lay-brother who acted in the capacity of his groom, he quitted Sjöborg in the quiet moonlight night.
A few hours after, and when the sun had risen, Duke Waldemar and his drost, accompanied by Poul Hvit and twelve armed troopers, rode from the castle-gates of Sjöborg, and took the road to Korsöer, in order to cross over to Nyborg, where the king and his Best Men were residing, and where the agreement, under seal and oath, was required to be ratified by the Dane-court, before the duke and his drost could obtain their full liberty.
After an unusually severe winter, during which the Baltic had been frozen over, spring once more, with rapid steps, extended her lovely and flowery reign over the favoured plains of Denmark. In the middle of May, the beech-woods were in leaf; and, notwithstanding the miserable condition of the people, and the private discords that divided so many hearts, to those who were unacquainted with its disjointed internal condition, the country seemed a peaceful and happy paradise.
On one of the finest days of spring, a company of travellers on horseback, consisting of two distinguished knights and two ladies, together with an ecclesiastic of eminence, and accompanied by a young squire, two grooms, and two waiting-maids, rode in through the gate of Flynderborg Castle, near Orekrog. On the castle-stairs stood the commandant, Sir Lavé Little, uncovered, to receive his honoured guests with due respect. The tall Lady Ingé stood by her father's side.
Whilst the knights assisted their ladies to dismount, and conducted them up the stairs, the corpulent ecclesiastic remained quietly seated on his palfrey, reading a Latin inscription over the doorway: he was the chancellor of the kingdom, the learned Master Martinus de Dacia. The short, gray-haired, but still hale and nimble knight, who first ascended the castle-stairs, with a tall, middle-aged lady upon his arm, was Counsellor Sir John Little, with his wife, Fru Ingefried. His daughter Cecilia was accompanied by a young, knightly gentleman, in whose tall form Jomfru[[23]] Ingé, with blushing cheeks, immediately recognised Drost Peter Hessel.
Not without a certain degree of embarrassment and secret uneasiness did Sir Lavé receive his guests. Despite his extreme politeness, he appeared to scan, with much anxiety, his old kinsman's looks. Having saluted Drost Peter with repulsive coldness, Sir Lavé seemed to regard the learned chancellor, who had at length reached the top of the stairs with a shy, suspicious glance; but when the learned gentleman at once commenced his inquiries respecting the age of the castle and its antiquities, Sir Lavé appeared somewhat more at ease, and referred him to his daughter, who, as he said, knew better about such odd kind of things than any one else in the castle.
"You must live here like a little king, my good Lavé," observed Sir John, looking round the large arched hall, which occupied the whole breadth of the wing, and from which two large doors opened into the castle-garden, commanding a most beautiful view over the Sound.
"Yes, indeed, sir counsellor: the castle is royal enough, and your presence gives it its proper lustre," replied Sir Lavé, in a submissive tone, which showed at once the dependent relation in which he stood to his renowned kinsman, whose preponderance, both in rank and intellect, he only too oppressively felt.
"You are too polite, cousin," replied Sir John. "Lustre, you know well enough, is not my affair. But if the castle is as strong as it is fair and pleasant, I should like to be governor of it in time of war. Have you been here before, Drost Peter?"
"In my childhood I was often in these halls, and I here regain the memory of my dearest, fairest years," replied Drost Peter, with a glance at Jomfra Ingé, whom he had yet only silently saluted, and who appeared to be entirely busied with Fru Ingefried and Lady Cecilia. Her eyes now met his, and he observed, with pleasure, that this remembrance did not appear indifferent to her.
"Have you not been here since?" inquired Sir John; but Drost Peter did not hear him.
"You are under a spell, I think. Have you been here since, Peter Hessel?" he repeated.
"Last year," answered Drost Peter, somewhat embarrassed, "in the course of my unpleasant duty respecting Duke Waldemar's arrest."
At these words Sir Lavé turned, highly uneasy, towards the old counsellor, and overwhelmed him with half a score of questions at once, principally about court news, and indifferent matters.
"I do not trouble myself concerning such fooleries," replied Sir John, gravely, looking at his uneasy kinsman with a sharp, inquiring glance; "but the best and most important news is already well known to you, cousin--that, since the king has regained a faithful subject in Duke Waldemar, we may now hope for peace and unity in the country. We may therefore reasonably expect that every Danish knight who may have been mistaken, but who still means honestly towards his country, will follow the young duke's example, and sincerely forswear every thought of turbulent resistance and rebellious defiance to the laws of the kingdom. In some instances a strict inquiry may perhaps be deemed necessary," he added; "but I hope that many adherents of the audacious Marsk Andersen are not to be found in the country."
Sir Lavé had become deadly pale; and on the stern Sir John's countenance appeared a mingled expression of anger and deep sorrow, which, however, immediately disappeared, as he turned playfully to Jomfru Ingé, with reference to one of her childhood's heroines, proud Dotté, whose history was represented on the old wrought tapestry of the hall.
"Do you still hold by this proud damsel?" he inquired, pointing to the picture, representing a lady chained, on board a ship, with a little anchor in her hand. "Can you still sing about her cheese-anchors, with which she would have kept the whole of Harald Hardrada's fleet from Denmark?"[[24]]
"Do you still remember that, my noble kinsman?" asked Lady Ingé blushing. "When I sang that song by your side, and defended Dotté against your jokes, I was still a child, and you laughed at my zeal: but I must still defend her, my noble kinsman. Had the men of Denmark, in her time, been as brave as she calculated upon, they would have found steel enough to defend her cheese-anchors, and not have suffered the Norwegian pirate-king to carry off a Danish maiden in chains, on account of a bold word. Somewhat of haughtiness, and of childish defiance towards a superior power, there certainly was in the whole jest," she continued, with warmth; "but a little innocent boasting was still a sign that she had good faith in Danish manhood and fidelity. Had she been your daughter, I am certain that you would have gladly paid a double ransom for her freedom."
"That may well be," replied Sir John, patting his brave kinswoman on the cheek. "Right, proud Ingelil![[25]] Thou art thy brave mother's daughter. The girl is right in some things," he continued, turning to the learned chancellor: "she is better acquainted with these ancient heroes than I am. This Harald Hardrada was little better than a bold, skilful pirate: a lofty, kingly soul, he never had. His doings in Denmark and Myklegaard redounded not to his honour; and I look upon the daring Jarl Mindre-Alf, of our own times, as his worthy representative."
"In mind and deed, abundance of similar representatives might be mentioned, with sanguinary, heathenish souls in Christian bodies," replied Master Martin.
"Jarl Mindre-Alf!" repeated Jomfru Ingé, starting: "the coarse, rude algrev--the little, fierce, brutish sea-rover--is he a jarl?[[26]] I thought he was only Count of Tönsberg."
"He is a mighty jarl, and, next to King Erik the Priesthater, and Duke Hakon, the greatest man in Norway," answered Sir John. "But thou art right, child: he is a coarse, rude carl, and more like a beast than a man. Thou hast never seen him, hast thou?"
"I have heard more of him than I could have desired," she replied, hastily, avoiding the question, which occasioned her father great anguish.
Drost Peter still hoped that Sir Lavé, notwithstanding his present palpable embarrassment, had been more imprudent than guilty on the occasion of the suspicious visit to which this accidental allusion had just been made. In order, therefore, to rid him of this uneasiness, and to relieve him from every fear of being called upon to answer for that transaction, the drost turned, with perfect good nature, to Lady Ingé's father, and informed him that the real object of the present journey, which gave him an opportunity of revisiting so dear a spot, was an embassy to the Swedish court of Stockholm; and that Sir John was, at the same time, taking his family to their summer residence, Tommerup Guard, in Scania.
This explanation instantly brightened up Sir Lavé's features. He seemed at once to comprehend the drost's good-natured intention in this communication, and held out his hand to him with unrestrained emotion. "You are welcome to me, sir drost," he said, with a trembling voice, and drawing him aside to the open garden-door. "What has occurred between us concerns nobody," he continued, anxiously, descending the garden-steps with him. He cast back a look towards the saloon, and perceiving old Sir John in lively conversation with the chancellor and the ladies, he drew Drost Peter hastily into a by-path in the garden. "A word in confidence, Drost Hessel," he continued, in a fatherly tone, that reminded the drost of his childhood: "what occurred when you were last here, might be misinterpreted in a manner dangerous to my honour and rank; but I have sufficient confidence in your integrity to rest assured that you will not abuse the advantage which circumstances gave you over me, to ruin and destroy me. Will you give me your word of honour thereupon?"
"By my knightly honour!" answered Drost Peter, much affected, and giving him his hand. "God be praised, I have never deemed myself bound to come forward as your accuser; and Heaven forbid that I should ever be obliged to do so."
"Good," exclaimed Sir Lavé, reassured: "I only desired to know that I was safe in your hands as regards the past; and for that, your honour is now my pledge: the future, I shall myself take care of. Our old relationship is now dissolved, and a new one cannot be formed between us. We two can now be as if dead to one another."
He turned to depart; but Drost Peter retained him. "Hear me, Sir Lavé," he exclaimed, warmly. "I have also an important word to say to you. I do not regard that relationship as dissolved, which I first learned to prize highly at the moment it appeared to be torn asunder. That which estranges you from me, binds me to your house and noble race still more firmly, and with a bond that no earthly power can dissolve. It is the same bond that unites Denmark's crown and Denmark's hearts together. In this, your noble-hearted daughter shares my views, and that, too, with an ardour and animation that have enchained my soul irrevocably with her's, spite of every opposing or doubtful circumstance. I have not spoken a word to her but what you have yourself heard, and what I now with certainty know I feel for her. Whether she entertains the same feelings towards me, I dare not yet say; but I have a great and fond hope, which I will not relinquish while I live, unless she herself, which God forbid! should rob me of it."
"Every word of this is now superfluous, sir drost," interrupted Sir Lavé, coldly and strangely. "For me, you may hope and feel what you will. My will, as her father, you know. Your connections and principles render me, and every open-minded Dane, common heretics in your eyes; and, for the future, I can never think of any union with you. Let us mutually esteem each other's hearts and good intentions, however dissimilar, in other respects, we may be in our views," he added, with less coldness: "let us not, as professors of a different political faith, condemn one another for the sake of our opinions. So, let us bid each other a peaceful farewell--for ever!" With these words, and with averted face, he extended his hand to Drost Peter.
"This, then, is the last time you give me your hand, Sir Lavé?" exclaimed Drost Peter, with subdued grief. "Oh, that I could hold fast by this hand, and drag you from the uncertain, tortuous path on which you falter--"
"Unhand me, man! and be silent!" whispered Sir Lavé, looking uneasily about him. "Would you bring me to misfortune by your discourse? My way is not your's; but I had learnt to go alone, before you were born. Unhand me! We belong not to each other."
"Pity 'tis that you are right!" sighed Drost Peter, with secret horror, as he relinquished the cold, trembling hand.
Without again looking at him, Sir Lavé hastily returned to his other important guests; whilst Drost Peter, violently agitated, took his way along a gloomy arched walk in the garden.
In the garden-hall, to his great comfort, Sir Lavé found old Sir John still engaged in jocular conversation with Master Martinus; whilst Fru Ingefried and her daughter, in company with Lady Ingé, were about leaving it, to view the castle-garden.
"Drost Hessel is already outside, enjoying the beautiful prospect," said the commandant, bowing to the stranger ladies. "My daughter will conduct you to some of those remarkable spots where the clear waters and the green trees furnish abundant themes for the most passionate admirers of their country's beauties. I am not so fortunate as to appreciate these things myself."
The ladies smiled courteously at these careless remarks, and descended the garden-steps. Sir Lavé cast an inquiring look at the weathercock over the castle-gate, and then approached the two gentlemen, without disturbing their conversation.
"You astonish me, learned sir chancellor," said Sir John, laughing heartily. "Who could have believed that dry philosophy should be so amusing? And this is altogether your own discovery?"
"Certainly, sir counsellor," replied the learned chancellor, gravely, with a self-satisfied air: "it is the fruit of many a waking night's inquiries. I had already thought of it before I took degrees at Paris; but it first became quite clear to me in my peaceful otium at Antvorskov, and now it is taught in all the universities of Europe."
"And this is the famous Martinian mod--mod--what do you call it?"
"Modi significandi Martiniani," said the chancellor, correcting him. "It is a treasury of learning, and a fund of science, which I ought not to boast of; but I still hope, in all humility, that, with God and the Holy Virgin's aid, this important discovery in logic will preserve my name in the history of philosophy, and be remembered as long as solid learning and universities exist."
"Now, indeed, that I can understand," replied Sir John, with a suppressed smile. "Sooth to say, it must be learned and philosophic, for I will give you my head if I can understand a word of it. But what can a layman, and others like myself, know of such things?"
"How, sir counsellor!" exclaimed the chancellor, astonished, and wiping the perspiration from his bald forehead. "Is it not as clear and evident as God's daylight? and have I not taken pains to translate for you all the Greek and Latin terms, which are a great ornament in such matters, though, perhaps, dark to the uninitiated? Allow me, and I will again explain to you the whole system from the beginning. By modus significandi, is to be understood, in logic--"
"Nay, for heaven's sake--nay, best of chancellors!" interrupted Sir John, hastily; "plunge me no deeper into the science. I have every respect for it, and believe that it will immortalise you, among the learned, to the end of time; but, if I cannot become immortal by other means, my memory must perish, and I must be contented, in God's name, to do the best I can when living, and leave our Lord to care for the rest. Seriously speaking, sir chancellor: if a man cannot become wise and intelligent without all this vexatious trouble, and if I must twist and turn my thoughts by this method, before I can know whether they are wise or foolish--by the Lord's truth! I should be a hundred years old before I could master a single common thought, and should require the lifetime of three men before I could put an excellent thought into practice. Nay: I must make use of another method. When I know what I wish to say, I say it; and when I know what I wish and ought to do, I do it; and do not trouble myself whether the world stands or falls. There you have the whole of my system. It is not so learned as your's; but that you also follow it, in the main, you have given me excellent proof, for which I have every esteem and honour."
So saying, he shook the learned chancellor heartily by the hand, and cast a look towards Sir Lavé. "See, there stands my cousin, the commandant," he continued, gaily: "he is nearly five years younger than I, and can perhaps still learn something in the world. If you can bring him to see how we should think justly and reasonably, in these crazy times, it may not perhaps be out of the way. But I must out, and draw a breath of fresh air in the garden."
Surrendering Sir Lavé to the somewhat tiresome, philosophic chancellor, he made his exit hastily by the garden-door, and was soon plunged in serious thought in the arched walk.
On a green knoll, commanding a magnificent view over the Sound, Drost Peter stood, meanwhile, between Jomfru Ingé and Lady Cecilia, in lively conversation respecting those notable events of olden times, of which the traditions and supposed memorials were still preserved in this glorious region. Contrary to Jomfru Ingé's opinion, Drost Peter maintained that these events must be referred to other, and, to him, well-known spots in Jutland. The subject of their conversation was the great tragical legend of Hamlet. Fru Ingefried listened with interest, whilst the animated, patriotic Jomfru Ingé enlivened her description of these events by traditions and snatches of popular ballads, and pointed to every spot where, as a child, she had heard and believed that they must have happened. Fru Ingefried now perceived her husband by the end of the arched walk, and went to meet him; while Drost Peter and Jomfru Ingé continued to converse of Hamlet and his daring plans, the sagacity of which Drost Peter admired, but maintained that they still wanted truth, justice, and noble grandeur.
"This knavish cunning," he said--"this merely apparent love of truth, by means of which the real truth is concealed, when it is spoken ambiguously and figuratively--this crafty play with sound sense and madness, with jest and cruel earnest, is to me sufficiently detestable; but these features of the tradition, however un-Danish they may appear, are still founded on a remarkable peculiarity in the character of our people."
"What mean you, Drost Peter?" inquired Lady Ingé, with wounded pride. "Do you accuse yourself, and all of us, with a base proneness to craft and falsehood?"
"Understand me rightly, noble lady. The craft of Hamlet is, in the main, completely Danish, though I cannot prize it as in anywise great and noble. This kind of craft ever betrays itself in a respect for truth, even when it may not and dare not be spoken openly. Every period of disquiet and internal disturbance in Denmark will show us that, with the best and noblest of the people, our honesty, justice, and love of truth never entirely disappear, but reveal themselves where the mere semblance of truth is used as a cloak to deceit. The greatest deceiver and nidding amongst us will always blush to deny or disguise the truth openly: he is too proud to lie, even were it to save his life; and he will speak the truth even where it may endanger him, but so darkly and figuratively, that himself only and his friends can understand it, while his foes receive it in an opposite sense."
"Therein, perhaps, you maybe right," said Jomfru Ingé, gravely; "but a wish to wrest and distort the truth does not, in consequence, lie in the people's mode of thinking.
"Far be it from me to assert that it does," replied Drost Peter; "but I have observed that even the most upright of our commoners take a singular pleasure, whilst jesting, in striving to tack something on a person's sleeve, as they term it, strictly, however, without telling an untruth. In this consists a great portion of the craft and wit of our common people. It may be highly good-natured and innocent; but, in times like these, it is still a dangerous quality, which renders it extremely difficult to distinguish the true friends of the crown from its secret enemies."
"Nay, nay," exclaimed Jomfru Ingé, gladly; "in this you greatly err, Drost Peter. You know our brave and trusty countrymen better. I often see and converse with the poorest and humblest of them. They speak openly and impatiently of their burdens, and, in their language, do not spare the great and powerful. They are not afraid to utter the boldest truths, even as regards the king and his favourites; but, when I speak to them of the crown and kingdom, with the view of ascertaining their opinions respecting an illegally imposed king, you should see how readily they forget their own grievances, and how uprightly they express their devoted attachment to the ancient, legitimate, royal family. It is true that, when jesting, they often find great amusement in figurative language, and in befooling each other with old proverbs, and suchlike; but this good-natured sort of waggishness I rather admire, and certainly think there is nothing wrong in it."
"I do not blame that which is so natural to the people, and, in a manner, born with them," replied Drost Peter. "None of us are entirely free from it," he added. "We have both, perhaps, to-day, noble Jomfru Ingé, and even at this very hour, concealed what we know, and avoided the truth, to spare ourselves or others, without having said an untrue word."
Lady Ingé blushed. "Every one has a right to do so," she said, earnestly. "What I will not and ought not to say, no power on earth shall compel me to speak. If we could not be veracious and upright, without telling everything we know, there would be few honest men in existence. You shall judge between us, good Cecilia," she continued, turning playfully to her relation, who had hitherto been a silent listener. "Think you Drost Peter himself is so upright, that he would tell us truly, were we to ask him, which colour he esteems most highly?"
"We need not ask him that," replied Cecilia: "the colour you now wear in your hairband, is that worn by the drost--last year, at least."
Drost Peter blushed deeply. "I wore it last year, because it was the queen's colour," he replied. "I won the right to do so at the Helsingborg tourney. But for twelve months before last May I have not worn it; although it has, since then, become dearer to me than ever. I fancy I have known from my childhood that crimson band, with the small pearl-lilies, and it is the only band I would suffer to bind me prisoner; but were Jomfru Ingé even now to present me with it, I dare not openly wear it. The reason, too, must remain a secret."
Lady Ingé had hastily raised her hand to the crimson fillet, as if she would remove it; but, on hearing Drost Peter's latter words, she only secured it more firmly, and changed the conversation to another subject.
"Look at my handsome, watchful bird," she said, merrily. "Had Hamlet possessed him, he would certainly have known how to make use of him." As she said this, she patted a large tame fowl that had flown towards her, alarmed, as it appeared, by Claus Skirmen, who was in search of his master, to inform him, as he had been ordered, of the state of the wind.
Drost Peter paid no attention to his squire's announcement. He praised the noble bird, and looked at his mistress with a singularly blended sentiment of joy and melancholy, while many fond memories of childhood flitted across his soul, and mingled with his feelings of the present moment. It almost seemed to him as if he were in a dream, and that the knight's tall, fair daughter was again changed into the child-bride of former days.
In the meantime Sir John, with his wife, was leisurely approaching the knoll. He stopped, and gazed at the young man on the green strand-height. "A fine, brave, excellent young man," he said, pointing to Drost Peter; "he is quite another drost than Sir Abildgaard. Our Cecilia's interest in that subtle knight does not please me. The suspicions that have attached to him, since his imprisonment, ought to have cured her of her whimsy. Has she not determined yet?"
"Your silence has made her anxious," replied the mother, with concern; "and, without your consent, she gives him no decisive answer."
"She is free; but from me, she shall not hear a syllable on the matter. What I think of him, she well knows."
"Then she never becomes Drost Abildgaard's wife. God strengthen her!"
"Drost Peter takes his time," interrupted Sir John, hastily.
"His childhood's bride no longer hates him," replied Fru Ingefried; "he does not delay thus merely on account of the wind."
Sir John cast a look at the vane on the turret. "You are right," he observed: "we must away. If our good Drost Peter means to jest with us, he shall have the worst of it."
They were now close to the knoll.
"Drost Peter!" shouted Sir John, "the wind is fair, and we are ready to set sail. If you will with us, come quickly." Whereupon, the old gentleman hastily returned to the garden-hall, and the whole company followed him.
When Sir John entered the great hall, he found the learned chancellor alone, deeply engrossed in a small, neat manuscript.
"Up to the ears in study again?" said Sir John. "Is that your Logica?"
"Nay, nay, noble sir," exclaimed the learned chancellor, as his eyes sparkled with almost youthful liveliness. "See, here I have found some of the glorious old Danish ballads I heard in my childhood, besides many excellent national ones I never knew of. Your cousin, the commandant, must be a brave, patriotic-souled man, and well versed in our old legends and histories. There are some capital notes in the margin of the songs; and here, of a truth, pour living fountains from the people themselves.
"That is brave!" exclaimed Sir John, with singular interest: "that is more than I could have imagined of my good sir cousin, and I like him all the better. The ballads themselves may be pretty enough. I do not understand much of these wares; but, when they are sung, I listen to them willingly. One half of these ballads are fictions and fables, I doubt not; but their intention is good, and they must have been a brave Danish people who made them."
Jomfru Ingé, with the other ladies and Drost Peter, now entered.
"Ingelil, child," called Sir John to her, "when did thy father become so learned, and take such pleasure in old songs and ballads? Formerly, he could never endure them."
"It is not my father's--it is my own little song-book," replied Lady Ingé. "My blessed mother wrote many of them."
"And the glosses--the marginal notes?" inquired Master Martinus.
"Oh, nothing more than what I heard from my old spinning-women, and what I sometimes thought of myself."
At this discovery, Master Martinus seemed almost to blush at his zeal for a work that he had only women and unlettered lay-people to thank for; but his true attachment to the ancient ballads overcame this shock to his learned pride, and he grasped Jomfru Ingé's hand warmly, while he returned her the manuscript. "You have rejoiced my soul, noble lady," he said, much affected; "and I could almost, in exchange for this unlearned feminine manuscript, give you my own sufficiently well-known work, De Modis Significandi."
"Such an exchange the girl would not much desire," said Sir John, interrupting him. "But where is thy father, Ingelil? We must bid him farewell, and get on board immediately."
"I will seek him," answered Ingé, as she went hastily away.
"The commandant is in his closet, in conversation with a good friend," said Master Martin: "I had forgotten him, over the book. He is travelling in great haste."
"Do you know this good friend?" inquired Sir John, with apparent indifference.
"I must relinquish this," replied the chancellor, in a half-absent manner, and still keeping his eye on the manuscript, which Lady Ingé had laid on the table. "He wore his visor down: it was a warlike figure."
"A masked warrior?" inquired Sir John, attentively.
"Probably, a coast-guardsman," answered the chancellor. "In a royal castle, one is always in a state of war. The commandant seems to be as cautious as he is vigilant; and I do not blame him, that, in these troublous times, he should avail himself of spies and disguised servitors."
Jomfru Ingé had now returned. She was deadly pale, and sought in vain to conceal her deep anguish and embarrassment. "My father," she said, with half-choked utterance--"my father will be here immediately."
Drost Peter, alarmed, advanced a step or two towards her, with an expression of deep concern; but he paused and was silent, as he suddenly guessed the cause of her perplexity.
"What ails thee, my child?" demanded Sir John, with an uneasy inquiring look. "Thou hast run too fast," he added, considerately, giving her time to answer.
"I am not quite well," she answered, as she supported herself by a chair. "He will come immediately: I have sent a message to him."
"He is engaged officially, I hear, and we will not disturb him. Salute him, and say we were in haste. God bless thee, child! Come, gentlemen."
Anger and deep sorrow were visible in the countenance of the old knight, and, as he regarded the pale Lady Ingé, a tear stole into his eye; but in another moment he was again calm, as usual. "See, here we have the vigilant sir commandant still," he said, in his customary lively tone, as Sir Lavé opened the door, and entered with a constrained but smiling countenance. "No excuses, cousin," added Sir John: "the king's service takes precedence of every other. We must, therefore, in all haste bid you farewell."
"Already, sir counsellor!" stammered Sir Lavé: "I thought the wind--"
"We have not the most favourable wind, if your weathercock may be depended on," replied the old gentleman; "but I fear a person would be misled, were he to depend upon that. I go by the king's yacht; and I know that vessel can make head against a contrary wind tolerably well. I understand a little of sailing, too; and we have, moreover, a good steersman in Drost Peter. Farewell."
These apparently indifferent words, which the old counsellor pronounced with a peculiar emphasis, had to Sir Lavé a serious and fearful signification, that deprived him of the power of utterance. He bowed civilly, though with embarrassment, as he followed his guests to the door. Old John once more gave his hand to Jomfru Ingé, with a warmth and heartiness unusual in him. Drost Peter bowed to her with a look that carried comfort to her soul; and Master Martinus again thanked her for the pleasure her songbook had yielded him. Fru Ingefried and Lady Cecilia, like the worthy chancellor, seemed to have no idea of the cause of her indisposition. The ladies, however, would not permit her to follow them to the door; and having embraced her with hearty affection, the mother, with kind solicitude, gave her all the domestic remedies she could think of, for sudden depression of spirits.
Scarcely had they left the door, before Lady Ingé burst into a flood of tears, and sank into a chair, with her hands before her eyes. She sat thus, immovable, for some minutes. When she took her hands from her eyes, her father stood before her.
"What is this? What means this conduct, child?" he inquired, in tones that sounded almost harshly. "Dear, best Ingé!" he added, with greater mildness, "compose yourself. What is the matter?"
"Father, father!" she exclaimed, eagerly, as she rose, "is the strange knight still in your closet?"
"What leads thee to trouble thyself about my official business?" inquired the father, perplexed: "I do not permit this interference in my affairs. Go to thy chamber, and make ready my travelling-wallet. I journey from hence in half an hour."
"Thou travellest, father? and leavest me behind alone? How long remainest thou away?"
"But a few days: it is on important business. When wert thou wont to be afraid of being alone? I shall provide for the safeguard of the castle during my absence. Thou canst therefore be calm."
"For thee, too, father? Nay, nay, I cannot maintain this painful silence: thou must know the truth, father. I tremble for thy secret schemes--I tremble for thy terrible friends--I am tortured by the most dreadful anguish for thy soul!"
"Art thou mad, girl?" exclaimed the uneasy father, exasperated, and stamping violently. "Hast thou, too, conspired against me? Is it not enough that my own tyrannical kinsman and his understrappers must torture me in my own house, and threaten me, covertly, with the despotic kingly power? Shall my own child be my betrayer? Must I not converse with a trusty friend in my closet, without being suspected and betrayed by my own? Get thee to thy apartment, child, and weep not; or, if thou must weep, let it be only in private. Guard thy tongue, also, that thou betrayest not thy father's life with thy childish nonsense. My affairs thou understandest not; and for my soul thou needest not care. I know what I dare do: my confessor is a man who better understands my salvation than thou and the conscientious Drost Peter. Do as I say, my good child, and be reasonable. I shall not have time, after this, to bid thee farewell. The gentleman I travel with is my friend, and a man I can depend upon. Farewell."
With these words he hastily departed. The unhappy daughter wept no longer: she appeared calm, almost to indifference, and proceeded to her chamber to execute her father's orders.
Scarcely had she finished packing her father's portmanteau, ere a trooper appeared, to take it to him. He was a tall, strange carl, in complete iron mail, and with a wild, audacious countenance.
"What is thy name, and who is thy master, countryman?" asked Lady Ingé, as she looked at him calmly and keenly.
"I need not conceal my honest name here," replied the man, with a Jutland accent: "people call me long Mat Jute. My master has a better name, but I dare not mention it on Zealand's ground. The three rogues who have just left, are not worthy to see his face. He never sets foot on shore here, without being cased in steel from top to toe; and whoever merely catches a glimpse of his eyes, through the bars of his helmet, is seized--with decency be it spoken--with the gripes, on the spot. But with your father it is quite another matter, fair jomfru: he is a brave man, I wot."
"Mat Jute!" repeated Jomfru Ingé: "my little maiden Elsie's sweetheart?"
"O yes, fair jomfru," smirked the man, stroking his beard: "a little sweethearting one must have, wherever he goes: it never binds him, and it is good for both man and beast. But there goes my master to the skiff. Farewell, fair jomfru." And seizing the tolerably heavy portmanteau by the thongs, with two of his fingers he swang it on his shoulder.
Lady Ingé went to the window. At the door stood Elsie, to bid farewell to her warlike sweetheart once more. He did not waste time, however, in a long and touching adieu, giving her only one hearty kiss in passing along the narrow passage, and then pushing her aside to overtake his master.
Lady Ingé stood as if rivetted to the window. She saw her father, closely wrapt in his travelling-cloak, cross the court-yard of the castle, by the side of a tan, stalwart knight, who, in a dark, tarnished steel harness, strode proudly towards the castle-gates. The castellan paused once or twice, as if he had forgotten something, or was undecided; but the strange knight seemed to give no heed to this. Near the entrance of the dark archway, the tall, giant-like figure stopped and turned round, and Lady Ingé now saw that his face was concealed by a black iron visor. He raised his mail-clad arm and beckoned. Sir Lavé still lingered a moment. The sword of the strange knight rang sharply against the stones at his feet, and again he beckoned, with an authoritative motion of his arm, like a general, and turned away. Sir Lavé hastily followed him, and both disappeared under the dark archway of the gate.
To Lady Ingé, it seemed as if her father was drawn into an abyss by the dreadful iron giant. "Merciful God! Stig Andersen himself!" she exclaimed, as, with a scream, she fell back, devoid of consciousness, on the floor.
When her recollection returned, she found herself in the arms of her waiting-maid; and little Elsie, with all her giddiness, was almost weeping over her dear jomfru's condition. But Lady Ingé soon recovered. A sudden thought seemed to inspire her with new strength and courage, and, rising hastily, she left her waiting-maids. Taking her bunch of keys, she proceeded to her father's private closet, at the door of which she stopped doubtfully, and searched uneasily among the keys; but, to her surprise, she found the closet door ajar. On examination, however, she found that it had been locked, but probably in such haste and agitation, that the iron staple, which should have held it, was broken. This accident seemed to relieve her from every doubt, and she stepped promptly over the threshold, and looked around her.
Her attention was first directed to a well-known cabinet in the wall, wherein her father kept his private letters. The steel knob, by which it could be opened, glistened in her eyes like a dangerous snake's head. She pressed the knob, the cabinet sprang open, and a bundle of papers and letters came to view, which she instantly recognised. Shortly before Duke Waldemar's visit, in the previous year, she had seen her father receive, with great anxiety, this well-known packet from a lively, fat carl, who had sung merry songs in the servants' hall, and assisted the maids in the kitchen. That these letters were of an important and dangerous character, was, to her, only too evident. Without stopping to examine them, she placed them in an iron box, wherein her father was accustomed to keep the royal toll-money, but which now stood, empty and unlocked, near the door. Having locked the box, and placed the key in her bosom, she sank down in a praying posture, and thus remained, for the rest of the day, in the lonely closet. As soon as it was dark, she dragged the heavy iron box down into the castle-garden, where, with great effort, she buried it in the knoll, near the Sound.
"God forgive me!" she sighed; "he is my father! I bury his infamy, and thus save his name and honour! But, away from me, the key to the horrible secret! It presses on my heart with the weight of a mountain."
As if seized with extreme horror, she took from her bosom the key of the box, and threw it with all her might into the deep Sound, that roared at the foot of the height. She then returned, quietly and thoughtfully, into the fortress.
In the southern part of the parish of Felballe, in the diocese of Aarhuus, stood the famous castle, Möllerup, close by a stream with a few water-mills, and near a dark wood of half a mile[[27]] in extent. It was a strongly-fortified place, in the heavy Gothic style of building, with thick walls of hewn stone, and a lofty square tower in the centre. The fortress was provided with earthen ramparts and wide ditches, both before and behind.
Here resided the celebrated Marsk Stig Andersen Hvide, with his family. He had himself erected and fortified this castle, whose lofty tower was visible, from a considerable distance, over the wood. On the flat summit of the tower, within the battlements, stood four iron-clad men, day and night, as sentinels, who constantly kept their looks fixed towards the four quarters, like the stone giants on Kolding Castle. The heavy drawbridge was already up, and over the arched gateway fluttered a large banner, adorned with the arms of the lord of the castle--a seven-rayed star on azure, under a helmet with two white wings.
On the ramparts stood large bliders, or wall-slings--a kind of wooden machine, by which immense stones were thrown. At great expense, the marsk had here collected numerous defensive machines, some of which had been made in Roskild, by German artificers. Here might be seen the fearful igel-cat[[28]] with oak-peg bristles on the back, used for crushing besiegers; here, also, was to be found the dangerous brynkiöl, of iron, with crooked steel spikes, and pointed iron claws, whose purpose was, when let down from the ramparts, to seize besiegers, and drag them up. Shot-waggons, for red-hot stones, stood ready for defence, night and day. Seven hundred men in armour guarded the fortress. The order and quietness that reigned within the walls denoted the strictest discipline. The grim, ironclad men moved about with a silence and regularity that fearfully indicated the dark temper which ruled in that fortress.
The powerful master of the castle was now absent, but his return was daily expected; and the place was filled with grave and quiet guests. Every night the drawbridge was lowered at a secret signal, and the gate opened for the admission of strangers, who came disguised in the gray cloaks of friars, or in knight's full armour. In the large riddersal, and in the lofty arched apartments, were daily assembled a great number of guests; and although the clatter of knives, and other table utensils, might be heard, there was no loud conversation, nor any sound of social glee. Among these guests no woman was to be seen; a remote wing of the castle being devoted to the female portion of its inhabitants, who there passed their hours in almost conventual separation from the more warlike community.
It was now the afternoon of the third day after Sir Lavé's departure from Flynderborg with the mailed knight, in whom, for the first time, and with so much terror, Lady Ingé had seen the powerful marsk. In the women's vaulted apartment of Möllerup sat the reserved lady of a knight, in a dark coloured dress, with her countenance concealed by a black head-dress.
Two little maidens, also in black, but without veils, sat on high stools by her side. They were both beautiful children, with light hair and blue eyes. One, who was almost a head taller than the other, and had her smooth, plaited locks tied up with a dark pearl-band, appeared to be about fourteen years old: her cheeks were so faintly coloured, and her skin was so clear and white, that she almost resembled a beautiful marble statue, miraculously endowed with life, but still only half belonging to the world of mortals. A deep, calm melancholy overspread her fair, earnest countenance: there was nothing painful and consuming, however, in its grief, which was softened by a pious and kindly expression, as if she had already overcome some awful sorrow, and had found her lost, youthful joys in the far-off mysterious world to which she appeared to belong. She sat, with a weaving-frame in her lap, working, with threads of silk and gold, a picture of the Virgin and Child, surrounded by a halo of worshiping angels.
The other little girl had yellow flaxen hair, which hung down her neck in ringlets. She did not appear more than nine years old, and had a merry and extremely lively, childish countenance, red rosy cheeks, and a pair of wild, playful eyes, which were never at rest, but constantly twinkling. She was rather handsome, but violent, impatient, and restless: scarcely remaining quiet for an instant on her stool; now throwing aside her work, and then taking it up again; with a thousand other antics, which she abandoned as rapidly as they were conceived.
"Still, Rikké!" said the veiled lady, without looking at the child, or uncovering her face. "Wilt thou into the nursery again?"
"Yes, willingly, mother: it is much more pleasant," exclaimed the little restless girl, running out.
The veiled lady heaved a deep sigh, and relapsed into her former silence. She was busied in rubbing spots of rust from a large broad battle-blade, which lay across her knees; but she appeared to direct her thoughts to her work with difficulty, and her hands often fell inertly on her knees.
"Mother," said the quiet, grave maiden with the gold embroidery, "I am thinking of what our Lord and Redeemer would say, if he still journeyed about the world, and were to come to us here."
"If the Just One stood amongst us, child, he would ask why justice slumbers so long."
"Ah, mother, think you not he would rather say as he said to the holy Peter, the night he was betrayed by the false Judas?"
"I have forgotten it," answered the mother. "Has Father Anton taught it you? What said he, then?"
"It stands in the holy text, dear mother." And she repeated, with folded hands, and in a singing tone, the passage in Matthew--"'Put up again thy sword into his place; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?'"
The mother was silent, and sank into a gloomy reverie. "Thou art a pious child, my Margarethé," she said, at length; "but thou art little like thy brave father. Thou art still too young to understand the cruel injustice and the monstrous scandal that befell his house. Thou canst not understand wherefore thy mother will not suffer any one in the world to look upon her face. There are stains, unmerited stains, that can only be washed out in a manner that is costly, and dangerous, and dreadful, but necessary as eternal justice. Thy mother has not quite forgotten the pious instructions of her childhood. Knowest thou what our righteous Lord and Judge said, when he foresaw the cruel injustice he should suffer?--'He who hath not a sword, let him sell his garment and buy one!'"
"Yea, right, right, my daughter Ingeborg!" was uttered by a broken, aged voice, from an obscure corner of the apartment: "so it stands written. It is God's own word. Buy me a sword for my garment: I need no garments. All the garments in the world will not hide our shame!"
The person who thus spoke now made his appearance--a little, bent, aged figure, greatly emaciated, who groped his way forward, for his red, half-shut eyes were without vision. His head, almost entirely bald, appeared all scratched and torn; and his coarse gray beard was in tufts, as if it had been half plucked out. His lean fingers were crooked, and provided with monstrous nails. His dress was of a new and fine black fur, but hung about him in tatters; and his wild, crazy expression clearly enough indicated that he had thus maltreated it himself, in his fits of madness.
"Ah, poor old grandfather!" exclaimed the little Margarethé: "he has got his hands loose, and has been tearing himself again."
"Call a couple of the house-carls, child," whispered the mother, hastily; "but with all quietness. Perhaps I, myself, can talk to him best."
The little Margarethé went hastily out, with her hands folded over her breast, as if praying.
"Quiet, quiet, father!" said the veiled lady, placing the sword under the table, and advancing leisurely towards him. "The time is not yet come; but it draws near: thou shalt yet, perhaps, before thou diest, hear thy daughter's voice without blushing. To see me and my scandal, thou art free."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the old man, wildly: "that freedom, old Pallé Little has taken himself; for that he has asked neither king nor pope. If thou wilt bind me again, my daughter, do so; but quickly, and touch not my claws, I advise thee! They will serve to tear out the tiger-heart and the blinking goats' eyes. Only promise me that you will yourself unbind me, and hand me my Toké's sword, when the time arrives."
"That I have already sworn and promised you, dearly and holily, my father. But you must also keep the promise you have given me, and ill-use neither yourself nor others in the meanwhile."
"Well, bind me, then, child, and lead me back to my owlet's hole. You spoke of a sword, my daughter, and I thought the time had come. It is long, long--it is now nine long winters. There is not much life left in me; but die I cannot, before it comes to pass: that knowest thou well."
"Unhappy father!" sighed the tall female form. She knelt; and, with her own wasted fingers, took up the crooked and trembling hands of the old man, which she kissed through her veil, and then bound loosely, behind his back, with a silk riband. "Now that thou art again bound, my father," she continued, rising, "let me lead thee back to thy corner of hope. Refuse not, father. The day of retribution is certain, and not far distant."
Quietly and silently the trembling old man followed her to his nook, where he sank, as if in a slumber.
The little Margarethé now returned with two servants, who remained standing by the door.
"Hold back! I require you not!" said the lady, giving them a signal to go. The servants bowed respectfully, and retired in silence.
"The dear Holy Virgin be praised! grandfather again sleeps calmly," said little Margarethé, sitting quietly down to her work.
The mother and daughter remained a long time in silence, and all was as still as death around them, until they heard the noise of horses in the courtyard.
"Listen! more strangers have come," said Margarethé: "there are still many of father's good friends to defend us." She went to the window. "It is father himself, and a strange gentleman," she exclaimed, hastily: "he dismounts on the great stone by the stairs. God be praised, he is come! I was almost afraid of so many strangers."
The unhappy house-mother heard this account, with emotions that betrayed a momentary gladness. She arose, but, without saying a word, again seated herself, with a deep sigh.
In the large riddersal of Möllerup, thirteen grave strangers awaited the arrival of the master of the castle. They were seated at a long oaken table, which stood in the middle of the hall, covered with black cloth. Eighteen chairs stood around the table. One of these chairs was higher than the rest, and covered with red velvet: it was vacant. That on the left side of it was also vacant; but on the right sat the heavy Count Jacob of Halland, with his legs stretched out, and drumming on the table with his fingers. Between him and his brother, Niels Hallandsfar, who resembled him in manner and disposition, sat the notable dean, Master Jens Grand, regarding, with a grave and scrutinising look, the assembled personages, most of whom were his kinsmen, and as proud as himself of belonging to the great family of the Absaloms. He appeared particularly gratified at seeing four knights, whose dark visages and haughty mien indicated displeasure and resoluteness for revenge. These were Sir Jacob Blaafod, Arved Bengtson, Peder Jacobsen, and Niels Knudson of Scania, who had all distinguished themselves, under Stig Andersen and Count Jacob, in the Swedish war, but had, along with their general, fallen into disgrace for their arbitrary proceedings in dethroning the previous Swedish king.
The dean had, opposite to him, a smart young gentleman, with a proud but lively and frivolous countenance: this was Duke Waldemar's drost, and fellow-prisoner in Sjöborg, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. Next to him sat a personage who had long been regarded as one of the king's true men--Chamberlain Ové Dyré: he, and the man by his side, Peder Porsé, had recently come to an open rupture with the king, on account of a debt which the latter would not acknowledge; and in consequence of this quarrel, they had taken refuge with King Magnus in Sweden.
All these gentlemen the dean seemed to observe with satisfaction. A noble old squire, Aagé Kaggé, who had long vainly expected the honour of knighthood from the king, the dean likewise appeared to regard with confidence and pleasure; but he cast a doubtful glance at the tall, overgrown person by his side, whose crafty countenance wore a smile of self-satisfaction, while he seemed to fancy himself a man of considerable importance in this secret council. This was the king's double-minded, cunning counsellor, Chamberlain Rané.
In the midst of the company, with an air of boorish pride, sat a short, coarse, splendidly dressed personage, with diamonds on the hilt of his dagger, and a gold chain about his animal-looking neck. His countenance was fierce, rough, and hideous, and he seemed to be tired of the long silence. This was the Norwegian freebooter chief, Jarl Mindre-Alf.
"Now, by Satan! how long will it be ere they get off their horses?" he at length growled forth, breaking the silence. "They must first in, and comfort the women, we shall find. I have ridden three beasts to death to be in time, and yet I have to wait. My time is precious, but here have I now been sitting for half an hour, like an empty barrel, without tasting either wet or dry. I have only three words to tell you from my good king, ye worthy gentlemen, but they are worth gold: if you keep me much longer, I must ride my own way, with the devil's help; and then, we shall see what comes of all your whispering and sour mouths."
"Highborn sir jarl," replied Master Grand, hastily, "after such a hurried journey, you must needs require a heart-strengthening, before you can think of more grave affairs. Please to follow me into the next apartment: there we shall find a magnificent gammon, and excellent old wine, which you have scarcely found a match for in any of our convents."
"Ha, I can understand that!" growled the heavy gentleman, rising "You are a man who understands both body and soul: you know what an honest sea-dog stands in need of, on the cursed land. A house without a host, or wine, or women, the devil may set foot into! Come, then. But it must only be a slight strengthener," he added, thoughtfully: "if I set myself regularly down to the drinking-board, you will scarcely get a word out of me concerning these vile land-crab affairs."
Master Grand took him hastily by the arm, and led him out of the riddersal.
"By St. Canute! I think I shall go too," said Count Jacob, rising: "my good comrade the marsk does not remember whom he has invited as guests."
"There he is! there is the marsk!" exclaimed one knight to another. Count Jacob remained standing, while all the others rose, and looked, with fixed attention, towards the door, which was thrown open for the powerful lord of the castle.
Proud and majestic, entered the well-known heroic figure, in his black harness and closed visor. He was accompanied by Sir Lavé Little, who looked anxiously around him, and appeared highly disquieted as his eye fell on Chamberlain Rané.
The marsk saluted the company in silence, and advanced to the table, where he placed himself on the left side of the vacant, velvet-covered chair. He then struck aside the visor of his helmet, and made a scrutinising and earnest survey of the company. On his stern, energetic, and commanding countenance was an expression of almost painful sadness, which singularly affected them all. "Be seated," he said, with a subdued voice: "my father-in-law and my wife are agreed in what we may determine; their seats may therefore remain empty. But I miss two important men."
At that instant, the door of the side apartment opened, and Master Grand led the pacified jarl into the hall. They both bowed in silence, and took their places. The lofty marsk alone remained standing.
"Secure the doors--we are all here," he said to the two at the further end of the table.
Squire Kaggé and Chamberlain Rané rose, and placed bars across both doors of the hall. They again took their seats, and there was an expectant silence, all eyes being fastened on the marsk.
"You all know wherefore we are again assembled, my trusty friends," began the grave marsk, in a deep, subdued voice, betraying powerfully suppressed indignation: "you all know what has rendered this castle, for the last nine years, a dismal and sorrowful abode. I declared it before the people of Denmark, and before all the world, in the hour when I denounced the King of Denmark in the Ting of Viborg, and swore to revenge my shame or to lose my life. I have not had my revenge, and Marsk Stig Andersen still lives. Had I delayed so long from base fear, and had I rather wished to be a braggart and perjurer than to risk my life for my honour, then might you all despise me--then might every drop of blood in my body suffuse these cheeks with shame, in presence of my friends and kinsmen. But see! I blush not: I am calm and cool, as beseems a man who can keep his revenge until his hair becomes gray, and suffer his thoughts to grow until they ripen. My own disdain I have hitherto borne for your sakes and for the sake of my country. I have had a greater and more important aim in view than merely to wipe out the stains on my own and my house's honour. The great hour of retribution has not yet arrived; but it approaches. No impatience--no precipitation, friends--and it shall surely come. I see no one present who has not been deeply wronged and injured by this same tyrant, whom I have denounced, and whose death and downfall I have sworn; but none of you have so much to revenge as I. So long, then, as Stig Andersen can brook delay, so long may you also."
Count Jacob exhibited some impatience, and seemed desirous to speak; but a look from the marsk immediately quieted him.
"It is for more than one man's revenge," he continued; "more than the weal and woe of our whole race together: it is for the deliverance of a degenerate, but still a noble, though cast-down and unhappy people. It is not enough that we overthrow the tyrant who contemns all law, both human and divine: he must fall, but the throne must stand. While we overthrow the nidding, we must not only secure ourselves and our privileges, but must, at the same time, secure a worthy ruler for the throne. We certainly hoped to have found him, and we hope so still; but his imprisonment put a stop to our grand designs, and his oath and renunciation have, for the present, deprived us of his participation in our council. We have him not amongst us--his elevated seat stands empty; but I see here, nevertheless, his chivalrous friend and fellow-prisoner; and I see, moreover, his confessor, the sagacious, worthy sir dean. Speak, noble sirs: what may we expect of the duke?"
"Everything--everything possible!" replied Drost Tuko Abildgaard, rising. "These are not the words of my prince and master, but my own. The oath binds his tongue; but I know his heart, and dare pledge my head, that now, as formerly, he is your friend and secret defender, and that, when the time comes, he will step forward and act with energy."
"I confirm this testimony," began Master Grand, solemnly, and rising with bold dignity. "Our secretly chosen David has selected me for his spokesman here. I have, with peril to my life, shown him the way to freedom, as you desired; and he is now serving our heaven-abandoned Saul till the hour of doom arrives. He is too conscientious to break his oath, and too magnanimous to demand a dispensation of it from the father of Christendom. He cannot, and will not, at present, take any open part in your great undertakings. He will and ought not to know anything that his friends may determine for the freedom of the country. But when the time arrives, to which, in calm self-denial, he looks forward--when the way and place stand open for him--he will come forward, with the aid of the Church and the Almighty, as he can and ought, and, with honour, crown the work. This, in his name and by his princely soul, I dare swear to you, faithfully and piously."
"'Tis well!" resumed Stig Andersen: "two such creditable witnesses we may rely upon. But the tyrant has bold and sagacious friends: a great portion of the blinded people remain inconceivably firm, both with him and his sons; and without certainty of powerful assistance from the noble Norwegian king, our undertaking would be foolishness. I see our trusty sworn friend, the bold Jarl Alf of Tönsberg, in the midst of us. The answer he brings from his king must determine us when to act."
"Now, then, by Beelzebub! comes my turn, at last, to say a word," muttered the pirate chief, who had long been impatiently rubbing the jewels on his dirk. "My king's answer is short and good, Marsk Andersen," he continued, aloud, rising leisurely, and standing with his legs apart, as if he had been on a ship in motion. "You are a man, every inch of you, says my king and master; and he is to you a faithful friend, whether in fair weather or foul. Your friends are also his; and he who offends you has to do with him. With your secret councils he will have nothing to do; but as a true and honest Norseman, he will openly defend you against every foe, and stand by you with a fleet when it is wanted. His land and kingdom are open to you and your friends, should mischance befall you; and I, his jarl and admiral, do not quit these coasts with my own seadogs, so long as you want help, and there is anything to take a hand in. In all this I am clear and ready. What you farther do here does not concern me. What comes in at the one ear, I shall let go out of the other. Talk is not my business; and you have had my oath once. But, sooth to say, you go on too quietly and sour-mouthed here. I cannot relish these secret councils and fine projects. I am good for nothing but the rude work of giving the order, and setting to, without more ado. In a word: I will burn all Denmark before your eyes, if that will help you. As for the rest, it matters not to me who is king of the country. So long as good booty is to be had, I am with you; and how I can hit, you well know. Let me now drink to your health, and waste no more time in talk. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly, sir jarl," answered the marsk. "Yet a word. Will you keep the promise you made to Duke Waldemar, concerning my wife's sister's son, Chamberlain Rané Jonsen, who is sitting there? On that condition he is our friend; and his assistance is of greater importance than you may suppose."
While the marsk uttered these words, Chamberlain Rané had risen, and approached the jarl.
"Is it thee who would be my son-in-law?" inquired the jarl, with a smile, and measuring him with a proud look. "Now this I must say, that thou dost not look exactly the kind of carl who should woo a jarl's daughter. I gave the duke the word in an honest guzzle, and I doubt if my daughter will say yea to it. But if you are as cunning a fellow as you have credit for, we can talk of it when the time comes: if the child don't refuse you, well, the sober jarl will answer for what the Count of Tönsberg promised when he was drunk."
"Farther my bold wishes do not extend, sir jarl," replied Rané. "When the terms on my side are fulfilled, I shall show you that I have not aimed higher than I can reach."
"Good: with the time comes the care!" muttered the jarl. "Show me first, by some able exploit, what thou art worth, and in exchange I will dub thee a knight with a stroke that shall crack thy puny collar-bone?"
"That is the word, sir jarl. You all hear this, gentlemen?" said Rané, looking boldly round the assembly. He then returned to his seat; whilst the freebooter, without giving farther heed to him, nodded to the others, and withdrew into the drinking-room. At the marsk's signal, all the rest resumed their seats, and there was a death stillness amongst them.
"We have held counsel long and often enough," resumed the marsk, mysteriously. "What shall and must happen, we all know. The time has now arrived when we ought to take the last resolute determination. But what is to be resolved in our souls at this hour, even these silent walls shall not hear. An approving or disapproving sign is sufficient, and we understand one another."
Thereupon he whispered a few words in Count Jacob's ear, who immediately answered by a grave nod. In the same manner the secret word was communicated from man to man. A long and deep silence prevailed during this proceeding. Several of the gentlemen considered long before they nodded, and among these was Sir Lavé Little. He, at length, made a motion with his head, which was understood to be a nod, but which more resembled an involuntary convulsive contraction of the muscles.
At last it came to Chamberlain Rané's turn. The marsk scrutinised him with a penetrating look, and Master Grand's eyes were fixed upon his countenance. The crafty chamberlain heard the whispered word, and he opened his eyes as if greatly astonished, whilst with secret pleasure he seemed to enjoy the triumph of beholding the general attention turned on him alone. He assumed a highly thoughtful air, and still delayed giving the decisive nod. It was necessary that all should be unanimous in a project which the meanest of the witnesses could betray and ruin. The chamberlain was the last, and, next to Squire Kaggé, the humblest in rank of all; but, as the king's familiar, he was an important man; and he seemed to feel with pride that a king's life, and perhaps the weal or woe of a whole nation, solely depended on a slight motion of his cunning head. Whilst he thus remained considering, and apparently undecided, three knocks were heard at the barred entrance-door. All started, and looked in that direction. At a signal from the marsk, Squire Aagé Kaggé opened it, and the gaze of all was turned with a degree of terror towards the open door, through which a tall veiled lady, dressed in black, entered, leading by the arm a blind, decrepid old man, whose hands were bound behind his back, and on whose sightless countenance appeared an expression of quiet, but horrid insanity. These two silent figures remained standing at the end of the table. All arose, and remained motionless as statues.
"Friends and kinsmen!" exclaimed the marsk, in a voice nearly suffocated with anger and sorrow--"descendants of the great race of Absalom! look upon my wife and her hapless father! Need I say more? Would you see the unmerited blush of shame through that veil, which, for nine years, has concealed, even from me, the face of my wife? Would you hear the mad, despairing shriek of her dishonoured father? Is there one amongst you who yet hesitates in coming to the conclusion that shall cast down the tyrant, and free our unhappy fatherland?" As he uttered these words, his keen glance rested on Chamberlain Rané, who also, for a moment, appeared surprised and affected.
Rané nodded.
"'Tis well!" continued the marsk: "you have all approved. Now, lay your hands on the holy Gospels, and swear!"
He gave Master Grand a signal, and the ecclesiastic drew forth a large book, bound in black velvet.
"It shall be truly done, so help us God and his Holy Word!" said the dean, slowly and solemnly, laying his own hand first upon the Gospels.
The book then passed from man to man. After a violent internal conflict, which was visible in every feature, Sir Lavé also laid his trembling hand upon the book, and stammered out the oath. When it came to Rané's turn, he repeated the same words audibly and distinctly; but his lips continued to move after he had pronounced the oath, although none could hear what he seemed to add to it secretly. Thereupon he laid his hand upon the book, without farther hesitation.
"Unbind me--unbind me, my daughter Ingeborg!" cried the crazy old man, suddenly waking up, as if from a dream. "I will swear and bind myself, so that the Almighty above shall hear it, and all the devils shall shake and tremble!"
"Still, still, father! Remember thy promise," whispered Fru Ingeborg; while the marsk gave her a sign to lead out the unhappy old man.
But before any one could prevent it, he had torn asunder his bands with almost inconceivable strength, and stretched forth his liberated arms with a wild and fearful burst of laughter. "For ever, for ever doomed to perdition may I be, if I be not the first," he shouted, striking the Gospels with his clenched hand: "if old Pallé is not the first who strikes, I shall wander on earth till doomsday!"
Master Grand had nearly lost his hold of the book. The marsk again beckoned, and two knights led the crazy old man from the hall. A profound silence followed, during which the dean had recovered himself, and now stood with the Holy Book in his hand, before Fru Ingeborg. She bowed her head affirmatively, and, in a voice that penetrated the souls of all who heard her, repeated the oath they had all sworn, while she bent her knee, and touched the book with her wasted hand. She remained without changing her posture, and, at the marsk's signal, all the others silently withdrew. Involuntarily, as it were, the gloomy master of the castle stretched forth his mailed arm towards his unhappy wife, but again let it fall by his side. He hastily pulled a bell-rope, when Fru Ingeborg's waiting-maidens entered, and carried their fainting lady to her own apartments.
What had taken place at Möllerup was a secret known only to the initiated. The disguised strangers left the castle, one by one, at different times, and generally by night, as they had come. Even in the immediate neighbourhood, no one seemed to have been aware of this secret gathering. In the castle itself no change took place. The four mailed watchers were still constantly to be seen on the tower. The drawbridge, as usual, was kept raised; and, notwithstanding its numerous garrison, everything was as quiet and still as if the fortress had been waste and deserted.
The contract with Duke Waldemar had set the royal mind at rest; and the council of the kingdom did not appear apprehensive of any danger. The king and queen passed the beautiful summer at Scanderborg Castle, surrounded by their whole court, and the most considerable people of the country. Old Sir John, Master Martinus, and Drost Peter, had returned from Stockholm with good tidings concerning the object of their mission.
The negociations opened with King Magnus chiefly referred to a closer alliance between the two royal houses, by means of a double marriage. The little Danish Princess Mereté, who had been betrothed to the Swedish crown-prince, was to be sent to the court of Stockholm during the following year, where her education, according to agreement, was to be completed. In the same way the little Swedish Princess Ingeborg was to be educated at the court of Denmark, if the request were made. Her betrothment to the Danish crown-prince was concluded by a written document, but the public announcement of this alliance was to be deferred for a few years.
With lively satisfaction, the Danish ambassadors had beheld the little Swedish princess, whom they hoped would one day be Denmark's future queen; and even old Sir John, who did not expect to live to see the time, could not speak of the pretty kindly child without particular animation, as if he expected in her another Dagmar, who would bring peace and blessings to Denmark. This prudent statesman, as well as Drost Peter, placed all his hopes of better times for Denmark in the hopeful heir to its throne and his descendants. Old Sir John often sought to be useful to the young prince; and, with all his esteem for Drost Peter, he frequently shook his head when he saw how the young chivalrous drost desired to educate the prince's feelings of honour and justice to a degree that appeared to him dangerous.
One day the old knight was present, with the queen's household, at Scanderborg, to witness the prince's exercises in arms, and observed how he sought to convert these sports and exercises into gay and costly imitations of the ordinary jousts and tournaments; the young king, as he was always called, dispensing royal gifts to the squires, and pronouncing sentence with excessive severity on every transgressor of the laws of chivalry, as applicable to the game. The old counsellor smiled, and seemed to participate in the pleasure evinced by the queen and Drost Peter on the occasion; but, when the game was ended, he called the drost to his private room.
"I am old," he said, seriously, "but I do not think I am niggardly or avaricious, although I may set greater store by outward fortune than you approve of. It is right that the prince should be liberal and magnanimous; but do not therefore teach our future king to be a spendthrift, and to despise the wealth of his people and their possessions, like the dust on which he treads. Take care that he has not more regard for knightly pomp and splendour than for substantial power, true achievements, and real greatness."
"God forbid!" said Drost Peter. "But, if the days of the great Waldemars are to be restored--"
"Good, good. I know what you would say," interrupted the old knight: "therefore, if you would make a Waldemar Seier of Prince Erik, take care that his love of honour is not mere empty love of glitter, and his love of justice untimely obstinacy. He is a youth that, with God's help, much may be made of. You have a great charge, Drost Peter: consider it well. The swiftest falcon never makes an eagle. It is dangerous to attempt to create God's work anew; and he is a fool who tries to add a cubit to his own or another's stature."
So saying, he warmly pressed the hand of his young friend, and left him. The drost found him, afterwards, as lively as usual; and it did not appear that he cared farther about giving his opinion in the matter. Sir John's warning, however, disposed the drost to very serious thoughts, and he could not deny that the sagacious old man was right in many of his views.
The learned Master Martinus, too, with the tenderest zeal, took upon himself, in his own fashion, the education of the prince; but he endeavoured in vain to form him into a philosopher, or to teach him his dry, logical Modos Significandi. The prince had great respect for the learned chancellor, but was never better pleased than when he could escape from his Latin.
At Scanderborg, the merry, lively heir-apparent was most happy when engaged in games of chivalry with his active squires and pages, among whom the little friendly Aagé Jonsen was his dearest comrade. When, at such times, Junker Christopher would spoil the game by some wanton boyish trick, or cause division among the pages, the little king was always umpire; and his strict impartiality rendered him as much beloved by the young pages, as disliked by his quarrelsome brother. When his daily exercise in arms was over, it often pleased Prince Erik to take diversion on the lake at Scanderborg, where his skilful tutor, Drost Peter, had also taught him to steer a boat easily and safely, even when the waters were roughest.
Drost Peter's active participation in the affairs of government, as well as his care for the important crown-prince, forbade him almost to think of himself and his private affairs of the heart. But frequently, when boating with his pupil on the Scanderborg lake till late in the evening, he would fall into deep thought, while steering the little vessel in the direction of the light from the ladies' apartment, that, from a lofty turret, looked out on the waters, like Jomfru Ingé's chamber at Flynderborg. He would often, on these occasions, sit for hours in a kind of reverie, and steer for the distant light, without observing what was taking place around him, until a lusty squall or an uneasy tossing of the boat brought him to his senses. At times, when in these reveries, he would suddenly start up and reproach himself with his forgetfulness, when the daring Prince Erik had made a hazardous alteration of the sails, and, by so doing, had embroiled himself in a violent dispute with Junker Christopherson.
The king's chief amusement was hunting, of which he was passionately fond, and for which he frequently neglected the most important state affairs. Chamberlain Rané was still his constant favourite. The crafty chamberlain was often absent on secret errands; but these appeared to have reference merely to the usual love affairs, or to miserable adventures of the basest description, which were generally pursued in connection with the king's frequent hunting expeditions.
The queen did not appear desirous of knowing anything concerning them. Since the last Dane-court at Nyborg, she had become singularly reserved and serious; and though she still affected the splendours of royalty, and showed herself with dignity at court festivals, she no longer took any part in the dancing, and withdrew herself more and more from the pleasures of the court. She seemed now to prefer the quiet, retired country life of the beautiful castle of Scanderborg, where she partly busied herself with useful occupations. Sometimes, when the king's absence embarrassed his advisers, the prudent queen would take his place in the council; and, on such occasions, all admired the delicacy with which she conducted the business, and avoided every appearance of assumption, while she sought to maintain the dignity of the throne, and to promote every plan that could alleviate the burdens of the people, or quench the still smouldering embers of sedition. With Drost Peter she conversed with favour and confidence, but with remarkable attention to the strictest forms of court. She never spoke to him except in the council, or in the presence of old Sir John, when she had anything of importance to say to him in reference to the prince's education.
Notwithstanding the increased admiration with which he now regarded the fair and prudent queen, he felt, in her presence, as if bereft of his usual freedom and liveliness. But his heart did not take the same warm share in this admiration, as when, acknowledged as her knight and distinguished favourite, he wore her colours. When he now beheld her in her scarlet robe, and with a diadem of rubies in her dark hair, he still, indeed, thought her beautiful and majestic; but the tall and noble Jomfru Ingé, with all her simplicity, was, in his eyes, far more dignified, and the crimson hair-band in her golden locks far more beautiful than the glittering diadem of the queen.
Notwithstanding the king's partiality to Rané, he always reposed the greatest confidence in Drost Peter, on whom he had bestowed many honourable proofs of his favour, especially since the drost's important and successful undertaking respecting the duke's imprisonment, and after the contract with that dangerous nobleman, who had ever since remained quietly at his castle in Sleswick. No royal letter of any importance was issued which was not signed and sealed by Drost Peter, Sir John, and the learned chancellor; whilst many important Ordinances were prepared by the drost alone; and he was justly regarded as one of the king's most influential and favoured men.
The king had often proposed to visit Drost Peter at his ancestral castle at Harrestrup, where deer-hunting, especially in autumn, was excellent. This visit of honour was fixed for the month of September, and the drost made sumptuous preparations for the reception of the king and his court. But, on account of one diversion or another, the visit was postponed from week to week. The month of October passed away; and the drost began to think that the king had either forgotten it altogether, or intended to defer it until the following autumn.
It was already the middle of November, but the autumn did not seem willing to give way to winter, and the many-coloured leaves had not yet all fallen in the woods. One morning, Drost Peter was surprised with a message from the king, brought by Chamberlain Rané, that his majesty would pay him a visit, next day, at Harrestrup, and amuse himself for eight days in hunting. Sudden resolves of this nature were not unusual on the part of the king, especially when they had reference to hunting expeditions, and were verbally announced by the chamberlain.
Although it was unpleasant for Drost Peter to receive Rané's announcement, delivered, as it was on the present occasion, in a somewhat authoritative manner, he still behaved courteously, and left Scanderborg without delay, to prepare everything to the king's wishes, and that he might, on the following day, receive him at his castle in person, with that respectful distinction which the forms of court-life demanded. He heard with pleasure that Sir John would accompany the king, and that Sir Rimaardson would remain at Scanderborg, as captain of the body-guard, with the queen and the young princes.
From Scanderborg to Harrestrup Castle, by the tortuous and uneven road, was a distance of above ten miles.[[29]] It was somewhat advanced in the morning when Drost Peter left the palace, attended merely by his squire, Claus Skirmen, who had a second horse with him to change on the way.
The drost rode so rapidly, and was so much engrossed in his own thoughts, that his squire several times began and broke off a conversation in which he could not bring his master to take the least interest. It was somewhat past noon when they caught sight of an eminence, of considerable height, at no great distance from Harrestrup, which, from the south and west, can be seen at a distance of four miles, and may be known by the blueish haze, arising from the adjacent morass, that almost invariably covers it.
"Seest thou Daugberg-Daas, Skirmen?" asked Drost Peter, pointing to the hill, as he drew up, and dismounted to change his horse. "Six miles have been got over quickly. We may easily reach Harrestrup before evening."
"We shall get to Harrestrup time enough," said Skirmen, as he sprang from his norback and brought his master the other horse. "Would that we may be only as fortunate in leaving it, sir!"
"How so, Skirmen? Thou art not wont to be so reflective. What has happened to thee? Thou seemest rather downcast."
"Nothing is the matter with me," replied Skirmen, holding the stirrup for his master, "if nothing is the matter with yourself, or, perhaps, with the king. You may believe me or not, as you choose--but all is not right. 'Tis true, indeed, they were so drunk that they could not see a fly on the wall; but a drunken man's jabber is not always to be despised. In our old ballads it is often said, that wisdom may be learnt in the song of birds, when it is understood. People, however, are not so wise now-a-days; yet still I think I can guess what the cock crowed this morning."
"Art thou crazed, Skirmen? I cannot understand a word of this."
"That, in sooth, is not my fault, stern sir," replied Skirmen, mounting his horse, and riding on by his master's side. "For five long hours you have not cared to listen to what I have been telling you, but have allowed me to speak to the wind. Trust me, something will come of this journey to Harrestrup. Did you not perceive how glad the crafty chamberlain was, when you rode off? Did you not mark how eagerly he repeated, that the king would meet you at home like a careful host, I and that you were not, on any account, to ride out to meet him to-morrow?"
"Ay, truly: but that is merely a curious whimsy of the king's."
"But none can better lead the king to your abode than yourself, sir. And is it not singular that you should be sent off beforehand, dancing to the chamberlain's pipe--you that are both a knight and a drost?"
"No childish vanities, Skirmen. I must obey the king's message, whoever brings it to me. I find nothing more remarkable in this than I have heretofore discovered in your sage suspicions respecting certain grayfriar monks, and hens, and Rypen burghers. If the king will visit me, it follows, as a matter of course, that I must be at home beforehand, to receive him becomingly. Sir John accompanies him, with his trusty jagers; and the country around here is perfectly quiet and secure."
"How know you that, sir? No one can tell where Niels Breakpeace is; and the algrev is constantly cruising on our coasts; to say nothing of the marsk, at Möllerup."
"He is a knight, and not a highwayman; and Niels Breakpeace is no general. A prudent robber will never rub against the king's arm; and no pirate will venture within the coast-guard. So long as Sir John and I are not afraid of highwaymen or rebels, you may make yourself quite easy, my good Skirmen."
"But have you not heard of the numerous grayfriar monks at Rypen?"
"Are you there again, with your monks? Why, there are plenty of them everywhere."
"But they are not wont to ride about in troops, and during the night; and if, as people say, they have swords and knights' harness under their gray cloaks, it is not on God's service that these good gentlemen have sneaked into monks' habits."
"Who told you this?" inquired Drost Peter, with more attention.
"The three men from Rypen, who yesterday desired to speak with the king--they whom the king told, through Chamberlain Rané, that he had something more to do than listen to their stupid quarrels: it was on that account they were so angry. When I met them at the tavern, in the evening, they were completely drunk; but this much I could gather from their conversation--that it was not for nothing they had seen three suns in the heavens--"
"Sheer twaddle, Skirmen! Drunken people can see as many suns in the heavens as there are stars."
"Many sober people have also seen the same, sir. It betides a great misfortune, they said, and they could reveal things of great importance to the king. But he must now take care of himself, since he was too proud to speak with honest burghers."
"Ay, this is the loyalty now-a-days," exclaimed Drost Peter, indignantly: "when a man is offended, he bids his king and country a good day. If you thought there was anything more than vile superstition and silly braggadocia in this ale-gossip, why did not you inform me immediately?"
"You were, with Sir John, in attendance upon the queen and the princes, sir; and I did not wish to raise a blind alarm, on the instant, about such loose talk. The Rypen burghers seemed as if they would take their ease for some days at the tavern, and this morning I was there betimes to meet them sober; but they had disappeared overnight, it was said, and no one knew what had become of them. I could not get speech of you this morning, on account of the chamberlain, and your many distinguished visitors; and ever since you mounted your horse, you have not listened to one word of all I have already told you--not even about the handsome cock with the necklace."
"Enough. To what does all this trifling tend? How can you imagine that I have leisure to think of your cock and his battles?"
"But what if it should be the same bird you so much admired at Flynderborg?"
"Flynderborg?" repeated Drost Peter, starting: "who talks of Flynderborg? Was it not at Scanderborg the marvellous cock was to be seen, that gained the victory over all the rest?"
"Truly, sir; but it came from Flynderborg, nevertheless: it is the selfsame bird respecting which you held such fair conversation with Lady Ingé, when she stroked his wings in the garden, on the hillock near the strand. I stood by, and ventured not to interrupt you. You had just been talking of Hamlet's cunning, with his charred wooden hooks,[[30]] and with the gad-fly and the straw; and Lady Ingé thought that her watchful bird had been a better sign of warning against treachery and danger."
"And this bird, you say, is now at Scanderborg?"
"There is no doubt that it is the same: I made the discovery this morning. You may remember the fowler from Zealand, who, one evening lately, forced his way to you into the palace, and wanted you to look at his hens? You closed the door against him, and thought him a simpleton. I, too, thought the man crazy, when he ran away, and let loose his best cock in the court of the palace. It first occurred to me this morning that the brave pugnacious bird was an old acquaintance. The falconer had caught him, for the sake of a crimson pearl-band he had about his neck. I procured the band, and certainly think I know it. You may, perhaps, know it yourself, sir." So saying, he drew forth a crimson riband, wrought with pearls in the form of a few white flowers.
With blushing cheeks Drost Peter recognised Lady Ingé's hair-band. "Let me have it," he said, eagerly; "it is mine." He pressed it closely to his lips, then concealed it in his bosom, and, setting spurs to his horse, rode on in the strangest frame of mind. He felt himself happy beyond measure, yet at the same time disquieted and uneasy.
But the joyful hope awakened in his breast by the possession of the band, did not long sustain him. The mysterious warning, and the summons to vigilance, associated with this fond memorial, had, to him, a signification that almost forbade him to think of himself and his affection. What the patriotic maiden intended to communicate to him, by this mysterious symbol, appeared to him to have reference to the crown and the royal house alone. He suddenly checked his horse, and reflected whether he ought not at once to ride back to Scanderborg, and accompany the king himself on the following day, or, rather, induce him to abandon the visit entirely. But when he considered how absurd such a course would appear to the king and his court, and the ridicule to which it might expose him, he relinquished the thought, with a smile at his own credulity.
Skirmen, in the meantime, had overtaken his master.
"Well, now," said the drost, "the cock may still be right. We shall be cautious; although, as the king travels with a considerable retinue, there is no rational ground for apprehending any impending danger. I shall, however, ride to meet him to-morrow, and follow him through the wood with my people. At Harrestrup he can be safer than at Scanderborg itself."
"I think with you," replied Skirmen: "at present, indeed, nothing farther can be done. But that there are night-birds in the moss, I certainly believe."
They now rode on thoughtfully, and in silence. The night was beginning to darken as they passed Daugberg Church, and they continued their course northwards towards the town, through a long valley between considerable heights, wherein deep pits had been formed by the important lime-stone quarries. The dark green, newly-sprung winter corn grew on the heights, between heaps of stones and half-fallen groups of trees. The sight of this wild, picturesque spot awoke many youthful memories in the mind of the drost, and dissipated his uneasy thoughts.
"Here have I often played at robbers in my childhood," he said: "little thought I, then, that I should now be riding here in this serious mood."
"Look, sir!" said Skirmen, riding close up to his master: "see you not something twinkling, and in motion, in that great gloomy pit?"
"Are you dreaming of robbers?" inquired the drost. "I see nothing."
"Now, also, do I see nothing," replied Skirmen; "but the pit is full seventy ells deep--it could conceal a whole band."
"The place is well suited for such fellows," observed the drost; "but hitherto, this spot has been secure enough. My brave warden Tygé is not to be trifled with. Do you see the old wheel on Daugberg-Daas? It still stands there, as a grave warning to rievers and highwaymen. The wood would better suit such gentry; but, there, old Henner Friser is on the outlook."
"Henner Friser!" repeated Skirmen, in astonishment: "is he here?"
"It is true, indeed. You should not have known it, Skirmen; but you can be silent. You may remember that he killed a royal squire in self-defence; and, to be out of the way of trouble on that account, he is attached to one of my hunting-seats."
"Which, sir? That of Finnerup?"
"Well, then, since you have guessed so much, he resides there. But you must be silent on the subject."
"I understand you, sir," replied Skirmen, highly delighted: "I shall take care not to bring the brave old man and the pretty little Aasé into trouble. But had they not better leave the hunting-seat for the next few days? How easily the king and his huntsmen might discover them! And, should that cursed coxcomb, Rané, meet them--"
"Skirmen," replied the drost, "you are more circumspect than I. To-morrow, betimes, you can ride over and warn them."
"Thanks, sir, thanks!" exclaimed Skirmen, jigging gaily in his saddle.
They now entered a little plantation of young beeches and poplars. Twilight descended, but they could still see the tall white trees.
"I scarcely know my little Kjælderriis again," said the drost: "see how proud my poplars are grown."
"However good a look-out Henner Friser may keep, there are still poachers enough here," said Skirmen. "I heard the twang of a steel-bow just now; and--do you not hear that rustling in the thicket there?"
"Nonsense, Skirmen. It is my poplars, rustling me a welcome," replied the drost, "or a startled roebuck among the leaves. The rascals, however, should not be admitted here," he added: "probably the fences are not in good condition."
They were soon out of the plantation, and then rode through a deep dale. The last glimmer of day still lighted up the brow of a considerable hill, which rose nobly from the valley. Harrestrup Castle lay before them, on the smooth and almost circular summit of the height. The castle was small, but so well fortified by nature that it required no artificial trenches; and its steep; lofty walls and buttresses seemed inaccessible to the most daring assailants. The entire castle appeared to consist of a single round tower, built of bricks and hewn stone. It was approached only by a steep and narrow pathway, which the tired horses had some trouble to ascend; the road, at every step, becoming narrower and steeper.
Drost Peter and his squire at length dismounted, and led their horses over the most difficult spot, between two steep gullies crossed by a small drawbridge. As usual in time of peace, the bridge was down. At length the travellers stood by the castle-gate, which was closed. High over Drost Peter's head, on the summit of the wall above the gate, waved a large banner, adorned with the armorial bearings of the master of the castle--three parallel descending bars, gules on a field d'or.
"You have brought the horn, Skirmen," said the drost: "blow a merry stave, that they may know we are here."
Skirmen carried a curved golden horn in a band over his shoulder. He set it to his lips, and blew the commencement of the air of the merry old ballad about Sir John, who took the bride from her loutish lover.
This signal was immediately answered from the tower by a brisk, youthful voice, which sang the burden to the well-known song:--
"Bind up your golden helmet--
Bind up, and follow Sir John."
"Is it you, stern sir?" then inquired the voice from the wall.
"Ay, truly. Open, Tygé," replied the drost; and the great iron-studded door was instantly opened, and Drost Peter was received, with hearty pleasure, by his bold young warden and a numerous band of house-carls, all active young men, and, as was the warden, armed with round steel caps and bright halberds. A number of grooms and torchbearers also pressed forward to see and salute their master.
Drost Peter shook hands with his warden, patted some of his house-carls on the shoulder, and nodded kindly to them all.
"Is everything in order?" he inquired. "To-morrow the king will be here."
"Came a kaiser himself here, sir," answered the warden, "you would not be ashamed of your house. Dorothy has had the waxlights placed, and the tables covered, these two months. The whole castle has been cleaned, and is as bright as are our halberds. The pantry is full of choice viands, and the cellar of prime ale and sweet wine. If the king should stay the whole winter, he will not have to lick his fingers."
"And the hunters, the hounds, and the falcons?" inquired the drost.
"They are fleet and well-trained. You shall get honour by them, sir."
"One thing more, Tygé. Is the neighbourhood secure? Are there no poachers in Kjælderriis, and no loose and suspicious people in Daugberg quarries?"
"Why should such an idea enter your thoughts, sir? Beggars and tinkers pass by here now and then: we give them bread and meat in God's name, and they touch not a rabbit in the woods, nor a feather in the hen-house. If the district were unsafe, we must have heard of it. No thief or robber may venture near Harrestrup Castle, so long as your banner hangs over the gate. Have you perceived anything, sir?"
"Not I. It was only a fancy that seized Skirmen on the road."
"What, Claus Skirmen!" exclaimed the lively warden; "when wert thou wont to have old women's fancies?"
"If you will trust me with half a score of house-carls, sir," said Skirmen, quickly and decidedly, to the drost, "I shall yet perhaps, before you go to bed, show your confident warden that I have not had old women's fancies."
"Well, if you have a desire to see a little about you, you may have ten carls, willingly. If you do not break your neck in the pits, you must be here again before midnight. The moon rises late: have you torches?"
"They are not required," said Skirmen: "the darker the better. On foot, we can find our way blindfolded. Take good care of my norback, lads. I shall have none of you with me but you, nimble John, and you, warder Soeren, and you--" And he thus selected ten of the most active house-carls, and hastened from the gate with them, whilst the grooms led the horses to the stable.
Drost Peter accompanied the castle-warden across the court, and up the stone steps, to the dwelling-house.
Before the young master of the castle partook of either rest or refreshment, he inspected the whole arrangements. He found everything in the best order, and prepared sumptuously to receive the king and his train. Drost Peter's old nurse, the careful Dorothy, with a broom and dish-cloth in her hand, bustled towards him from the kitchen, and, in her extreme joy, would have embraced him. She was not a little proud of having been entrusted with the entire management of the domestic affairs of the castle. She wept with joy at the proud thought that she should be hostess to the royal party; and it was to her an honour without parallel, to be reigning queen of the kitchen and pantry on so important an occasion--the crowning event of her life. She dragged her young master about with her everywhere, to show him all the choice arrangements she had made for the convenience of the king and his great lords, and was inexhaustible in explaining to him how she had prepared for every hour of the day, so long as the royal visit should last.
"Good, good, my dear Dorothy," said Drost Peter, at length, somewhat impatiently, and patting her kindly on the shoulder: "you have done everything excellently. I do not understand these matters, but I well know that you care for the honour of the house, as much as if you were my wife."
"Ah, dear young master," replied Dorothy, kissing his hand, "when shall I have the heart's joy of seeing you cared for and received by a pious and handsome young housewife in the castle here? You truly deserve that one of God's dear angels should come to you. God's blessing rests here, and, like the prosperous Joseph, you are, next to the king, the first man in the land; and, I dare be sworn, should Potiphar's wife tempt you--"
"Enough, enough, Dorothy," exclaimed Drost Peter, interrupting her, and blushing. "I do not doubt your good opinion of me."
"Ah!" continued Dorothy, "but what avail you honour and fortune, my dear young master, when you live in this way, like a lonely bird in the world. Trow me, fair sir, it is not good for man to be alone. So my blessed husband always said, God gladden his soul! He banged me well at times, the blessed creature, when he did not get warm hashed meat to supper--it was always a favourite dish of his--and every mortal has his weakness; but he was still a good sort of man, and as pious as an angel, after he had his supper. Ay, ay; everything in the world is transitory. My happy days have gone by; and now I have no greater joy than to see you comfortable, my dearest young master; and could I once see my good Peter Hessel married, and rock his children and his children's children in my arms, I should willingly close my old eyes, and bid this weary world good night."
So saying, she wiped a few tears from her withered cheeks with her kitchen-apron, without noticing warden Tygé's dry remark how much she would be beyond a hundred years of age before all her wishes were fulfilled.
"But come in now, my dear master, and take something to live upon," she added, going before him to open the door: "you are famishing, God help me, in your own house, and in the midst of all God's blessings." So saying, she ran back, and drew him with her into the clean, polished day-room, where she compelled him to sit down, while she busied herself about his refreshment.
Drost Peter had still much to say to his warden; and having at length prevailed on Dorothy to go to bed, he remained alone with Tygé in the apartment. He then made inquiries into the condition of his estates and his subordinates, during which some hours elapsed.
The warden had gone out to inspect his people, and had again returned.
"It is late, Tygé," said the drost, with a feeling of weariness: "what has become of Skirmen? It is time all were retired to rest. Before daybreak we must ride to meet the king, with our boldest swains. You have taken care that they hold themselves ready to start betimes?"
"The knechts are already as sound asleep as stones," replied the warden; "but this is not according to my way of management. Three of the carls who should have kept watch to-night, followed Skirmen, and their posts stand vacant. This is sad irregularity, sir drost: it has never happened to me before, and you must graciously excuse me. It is strange enough, sir, but we two are the only souls awake in the castle. Our house-carls are, at other times, brave and sober fellows; but, out of joy at your return, they have all looked a little too deep into the ale-can, and have tapped the German tun."
"What? have you German ale in the castle?" inquired the drost, much displeased. "That, you know, I have strictly forbidden: it is contrary to the king's orders, which I and my people ought to be the first to obey."
"I have said so, stern sir; but it was on Dorothy's account: she would not let me have either peace or quiet until I had brought her a couple of barrels from Viborg. Without German ale, she thought it would be impossible to entertain the king's people becomingly, even if the king had ten times forbidden it. If he himself and his people thought good of it, there would be no sin in it, she argued."
"'Tis like her," said the drost, smiling; "and it must be so for the present; but to-morrow, betimes, let every drop of it run down the drain, whether Dorothy be sour or mild."
"It shall be done, sir; but for the sake of peace in the house, had you not better inform her of it, yourself? What now is this?" he continued, listening: "I fancied I heard a creaking at the door of the riddersal. I thought Dorothy was sound asleep, but it would seem she is still bustling about. She is so zealous in her housewifery, that, at times, she gets up in the middle of the night, and dusts everything anew. It will be a God's blessing, however, if she does not get crazy with joy at all this magnificence. But, if you will allow me, sir, I will just see if it be her."
Taking one of the lights, he proceeded towards the door of the riddersal; but before he reached it, it was softly opened, and a wild, shaggy face peeped in, but instantly disappeared, and the door was immediately closed again.
Drost Peter quickly rose, and the young castle-warden stood, as if petrified, with the light in his hand, in the middle of the floor.
"Death and misfortune!" he whispered: "Skirmen has gone off with the court-warder, and has left the gate open. For a certainty, there are thieves or robbers in the house. Let me rouse the house-carls? One does not know how strong the rascals may muster. I shall go through the kitchen, and do not open this door until I return." And as he spoke, he hastily placed the bar on the door of the riddersal.
"Well, make haste!" said Drost Peter: "if I saw aright, it was the bull's face of Niels Breakpeace. So, then, Skirmen was right."
The warden went quickly away, and Drost Peter stood alone in the apartment. He had drawn his sword, and leant upon it to collect himself and listen. He heard many voices in the riddersal.
"Is he here--is he here? how many are there?" inquired a number of low voices in the same breath.
"There are only two men, and the cursed drost is one of them," uttered a deep gruff voice. "Come, fellows: he shall not lead us into mischance again!"
They attacked the door violently, but the bar held fast.
"They have secured the door; but we can easily snap the bar," said the same harsh voice. "Run against it, lads. Let us break open the door--it yields!"
The bar gave way with a frightful crash, the door flew open, and nine wild, sturdy fellows, with Niels Breakpeace at their head, rushed in, with short battle-axes and shining daggers in their hands. Drost Peter retreated a few steps, and placed himself with his back against the wall, in a position where he could defend himself for a time, and keep the rievers at bay with his long sword. He looked at the wild fellows sternly.
"Are you such vile niddings," he cried, "that ten of you must fight against one? I see at least one man amongst you who has received the honour of knighthood from Denmark's king; and so far as I know, the stroke has not yet been washed from his shoulder with boiling water. Stand forth, Sir Lavé Rimaardson! You are the only one of these fellows with whom I can worthily do single battle for life or death. If there is yet a spark of honour in you, advance!"
Niels Breakpeace and his comrades did not appear to notice this challenge, but pressed forward to overwhelm their single antagonist.
"Out of the way, rascals!" shouted a vehement youthful voice; and a handsome fellow, with a red feather in his cap, and a wild, audacious countenance, sprang forward. "Whoever dares to touch the drost, save I, I cut down on the spot," he continued: "one to one, and ten to Satan! Come, Drost Peter Hessel! This is the second time we have met since you made me an outlaw in Denmark. On Vaarby Bridge I had a hindrance: had my brother's blood not been a little thicker than the water of the stream, you should never have crossed the bridge. We stand now on a greater bridge--one that leads from earth to heaven, or--hell, as it may happen; for here must either you or I bid this fair and pleasant world good night!"
With these words, he threw aside his battle-axe and drew his sword, which was of the same length as Drost Peter's; and, that he might not have any advantage over his antagonist, who stood bareheaded before him, he cast his feathered cap on the floor.
"Well, if it is to be a regular cockfight, I am quite willing," growled Niels Breakpeace; "but if you don't make quick work of him, Sir Bigsnout, I shall."
The coarse robber chief and his comrades laughed, well pleased, and formed a close circle round the two antagonists. There then began a warm and serious combat, but conducted according to all the laws and usages of chivalry. Placing foot to foot, they swerved not a hair's breadth from their positions. Neither of them used the point of the sword, but hewed with the sharp edge, and aimed only at the head and breast, or between the four limbs, as it is termed. The single light on the table only partially illumined the apartment; and the clashing swords of the knights met so quickly, that a glimpse of them could scarcely be caught. Every instant threatened a mortal blow to one of them; but they both appeared equally skilled in their weapon, and neither of them could succeed in wounding his adversary, though, like constant lightning, their blades flashed over their heads.
"Shall I put an end to the game?" growled Niels Breakpeace, raising his broad battle-axe.
"By Satan! are you invulnerable?" shouted the robber-knight, springing impatiently towards his antagonist, and, contrary to the rules, with a daring and dangerous lunge. But at the same instant the sword fell from his grasp to the floor, together with the first three fingers of his right hand.
"Now, you shall never more swear falsely to your king and knighthood!" cried Drost Peter, enraged.
"Cut him down, the Satan!" shouted the furious robbers, pressing in upon the drost, who, with his back against the wall, defended himself desperately.
He had already received some wounds, and was bleeding freely, when the kitchen-door flew open, and warden Tygé rushed in, with half a dozen half-intoxicated house-carls. They came staggering forward to assist their master, and a sanguinary battle commenced with daggers and axes. The robbers had still a great advantage over the reeling house-carls, who could scarcely distinguish friend from foe. With wild shouts they tumbled among one another, and Drost Peter and Tygé alone fought with deliberation and security; but they were nearly overwhelmed, when a noise in the court and the sound of a horn were heard.
"Skirmen!" joyfully exclaimed Drost Peter and Tygé at the same time, and their blows fell with redoubled energy.
The robbers, taken by surprise, retreated with their crafty leader towards the entrance of the riddersal; but, in the next moment, the shattered door was entirely driven in, and Skirmen rushed to his master's aid with ten active house-carls, two of whom had some trouble in restraining the fury of three men, whom they guarded, bound, between them. After a short but desperate resistance, the powerful Niels Breakpeace and his comrades were disarmed and bound. They cursed and vociferated furiously; but, at the drost's command, they were immediately led off to the tower-prison.
Lavé Rimaardson still lay, with his hand mutilated, on the floor. The proud young robber had been for some moments without consciousness; and, when he now recovered his senses, he learnt what had happened, and found himself bound, and in the hands of his enemies. Drost Peter was about to bind up his wounded hand; but he instantly sprang up, tore away the bandage with his teeth, glared wildly around him, and would not suffer it to be dressed, cursing his limb, and conducting himself so furiously that it was requisite to use force with him. As soon as his hand was bandaged, his feet were set at liberty.
"Attend to him closely," said Drost Peter, as the warden was dragging him, struggling, from the door. "Give him the best prison, and good fare. A great man may yet be made of him; and although his life is now in the king's hands, I shall rejoice if he can be saved from the wheel."
"Drost Peter Hessel," exclaimed the young robber, pausing on the threshold, in an attitude of defiance, "I hate you to the death; but you are a brave fellow, and I should not be ashamed of falling by your hand. If you can save me from the wheel, do so. But not for my sake: I can die on a wheel, in the open air, as easily as on a wretched bed. But I have a brother--and I bear a noble name:--you understand me?"
He paused, and a convulsive motion of the muscles around his mouth betrayed feelings for which he instantly seemed to blush, as he strove to control them. "Bear in mind that I am your fair queen's kinsman, and, perhaps, a little allied to yourself," he added, with a bitter smile. "But think not that I am afraid of death; and expect no thanks from me, if you save my life!"
"Away--away with him!" cried Drost Peter, provoked by his coarse allusions, and the daring accusation couched in his words and haughty mien. "By a perjured and dishonoured knight, no honest man need feel affronted," he added, turning his back on the prisoner, as the warden thrust him out of the door.
"You are bleeding, sir," exclaimed Skirmen: "allow me to bandage you."
"All in good time," replied the drost. "I would first hear whether you deserve praise or censure. Did you withdraw the court-warder from the open gate, and suffer the robbers to slip in, in order that you might look after them?"
"If the gate was not locked after us, warden Tygé must answer for that, stern sir," replied Skirmen. "I did not trouble myself on that score. I led the carls to the great Daugberg lime-pit, and there found something of what we were in search: three unruly fellows we have fettered and brought with us, and as much gold and silver as we could drag. When we returned, we found the gate open, and instantly noticed the confusion. It was a God's blessing we returned in time."
"Thou art a smart youth, Skirmen," said Drost Peter, patting him on the shoulder; "I have seen thee fight like the best knight. The booty thou shalt bring to the king with thy own hands; and if he does not dub thee a knight, within a year and a day I will do it myself."
"Master! dear, good master!" cried Skirmen, with the utmost glee, and warmly kissing his master's hand: "if ever I deserve to be knighted, let it be by this hand! It will do me far more honour than such a king's--"
"Skirmen!" interrupted Drost Peter, sternly and gravely, "dost thou, too, dare to censure my king and master? Thou servest me at present: if, hereafter, thou shouldst be made a knight, thou wilt then serve the king and country; and no servant should despise his master."
"But can you in your own heart, then, noble sir drost--"
"I can be silent, where the heart cannot speak without making the tongue a traitor; and that is ever the case when it contemns majesty. Be thou now also silent, and bandage me. There was still hero-blood in the arm that gave me this wound," he added, sadly, as he bared his arm. "This wild Rimaardson fights well. God support his noble kinsman, when he learns what has happened here!"
Drost Peter, attended by his careful squire, then went to his bed-chamber, and everything was soon as quiet in Harrestrup Castle as if nothing had occurred.
Before daybreak next morning, Drost Peter, together with twelve smart house-carls, was already on horseback, and rode off to meet the king. The castle-warden and the remaining house-carls he left behind, to wash out the traces of the night's encounter, and to guard the prisoners, who were chained in the tower. Skirmen, with his master's permission, rode to the hunting-seat where Henner Friser and his granddaughter resided, to inform them of the king's arrival, and to attend to their security.
Drost Peter did not regard his wounds as of much consequence, and had not troubled himself about Skirmen's scruples, or his foster-mother Dorothy's inconvenient attentions. It was not until long after the conflict with the robbers was over, that the old lady awoke, and became aware of what had occurred, when, in her anxiety for her dear young master, she went and awoke him in the middle of his most refreshing sleep, to ascertain his actual condition; and, notwithstanding his order to the contrary, she kept watch at his door for the remainder of the night. In fact, it was not until she had seen him lively and active on horse back, that she found time to cross herself whilst lamenting over the sad havoc and confusion that pervaded her hitherto well-swept and polished apartment; and whilst she sought to remedy the disaster by the aid of brooms and scouring-cloths, she was doomed to the farther sorrow of beholding, on a fasting stomach, the pitiless Tygé tap the whole of the German ale into the sewer.
The sun had not yet risen when Drost Peter, with the twelve house-carls, rode by Daugberg quarries. He stopped to examine the spot, and inquired of the house-carl John, who had accompanied Skirmen, how they had managed to seize the three fellows, and to possess themselves of the immense booty.
"That I shall soon tell you, sir," replied the house-carl. "As we stood on this spot, we saw a light in yonder big hole. None of us had exactly a fancy to enter it; but the mad Skirmen outshamed us, and immediately crept into the mouth. We then took courage to follow him. The light must have been that of Satan himself, and we were certainly a hundred ells under ground before the steps ended. One could not see the other, and many of us came down on our faces on the confounded smooth limestone. We were, however, as still as mice, and I could hear porter Soeren breathing through his nose. Where Skirmen had got to, God only knows; but we suddenly heard a wild cry, and the noise and clash of weapons in the dark, a little way before us. We started forward after the sound, and I got hold of a long nose, and held fast; but to the nose there belonged a pair of sturdy fists, and I had a long struggle with the fellow before I got him on the ground. Porter Soeren had also his work to do with a fellow still stronger. One, Skirmen overpowered; and those who had not taken a robber, struggled with one another to their heart's content. At last Jasper Strongwind arrived with a lighted brand he had got hold of; and as soon as we saw how matters stood, and that we had got hold of all that were to be found, we bound them hand and foot, and resolved to empty the treasury; and then the job was done."
"The luck was better than the judgment," said Drost Peter; "but still, I must confess that Skirmen is a bold fellow. I should not like to imitate this adventure."
While they were yet speaking, a horseman, in a gray cloak, and mounted on a gray steed, overtook and passed them at full gallop. None of them had seen him on the way, and they therefore supposed that he had issued from one of the quarries.
"Light the torches, carls," cried Drost Peter, dismounting. "We must search these robbers' dens before we go farther."
They lighted some of the torches which they had brought with them to illuminate the road, if the king should arrive late; and, whilst six of the house-carls were left with the horses, Drost Peter, with the others, proceeded to search the suspicious pits and holes. From the first quarry which they examined, they brought several weapons, and two gray cloaks and hood-masks; the other pits they found empty, and without any traces of having been recently used as a retreat for robbers. For perfect security, however, Drost Peter left behind four carls, as a watch over them, and, in profound thought, rode forward with the others on the way to Scanderborg.
The king, according to his appointment, had left the palace early; for, however frequently he might change his mind on other matters, he was extremely punctual with regard to journeys of pleasure. Drost Peter met him half way from Harrestrup; and when he informed him of what had occurred there, and mentioned the large booty which had been taken from the robbers, the king appeared much gratified, and continued his journey without delaying. Old John Little, as well as Chamberlain Rané, and a number of huntsmen, who accompanied the king, seemed to listen to the drost's relation with some doubtfulness; while his sharp looks detected an uneasy expression in Rané's countenance. But when the drost informed them that he had himself searched the Daugberg quarries, and set a watch over them, the doubts of the old knight appeared to vanish, and he laughed, and jested gaily, but at the same time kept his eye, unobserved, on every look and gesture of the chamberlain.
It was past midday when the king and his train stopped at the celebrated lime-quarry, which he had previously determined to examine, and which he could not now pass without some attention. When he perceived the armed house-carls before the pits, he started, and inquired of the drost if they were his people, and with what view they kept watch there, since the robbers had been seized, and the caves searched.
"It is still possible that we have not discovered them all, sir king," replied the drost. "Perhaps, too, they belong to a confederacy which it were important to root out. So long as your grace remains at Harrestrup, I consider it my duty to watch these lurking-holes closely."
The house-carls, with lighted torches, stood by the entrance to the largest pit, when the king, dismounting, advanced a few steps and looked timidly into it.
"It is not worth wasting time upon," he exclaimed, suddenly, and proceeded to remount. "Whoever chooses may descend. Run thou, Rané: it was thou who had so much to tell me of this lime-quarry."
"It is certainly worth seeing, sir king," replied Rané, as he zealously prepared himself to descend, along with a number of huntsmen and falconers.
Old Sir John had also dismounted; and, taking a torch, he examined the pit with much interest, but without venturing down.
"It was a good capture, Drost Peter," observed the king, as they rode leisurely on: "they were a daring and dangerous band. This famous Niels Breakpeace shall not again escape; for, before sunset, they shall all be executed. We can thus sleep soundly to-night, and begin the chase early in the morning."
Drost Peter remained mute.
"Why are you silent?" continued the king. "Have they not been seized by yourself in the open commission of robbery? Such fellows deserve not a long trial."
"They arc all punishable with death," replied Drost Peter, "but it is still desirable that they were allowed time to shrive themselves, and look to the salvation of their sinful souls."
"The time will not permit," replied the king. "I shall not sleep under the same roof with robbers and murderers. If I am to be your guest, Drost Hessel, these malefactors must sleep on the wheel to-night."
"If you command it, sir king, they can be conducted this evening to Viborg prison, and you need neither rest under the same roof with them, nor consign them to so sudden a doom. There are men amongst them born to something better than to end their lives so shamefully and unexpectedly."
"None are born to that," replied the king, musingly. "If one could know what was sung at his cradle, if it had any meaning," he continued, "I should be glad to learn what was sung at ours: it would be well to know that in these times. Is there any one of note among them?"
"There is one of them, at least, who belongs not to the outcasts of humanity--in whom there is still left a remnant of honour and of lofty mind; and whose soul, perhaps, may still be saved. His birth and rank are certainly now his strongest accusers: he is of high and noble blood, and from your own royal hand, sir king, he had the honour to receive the stroke of knighthood."
"That does not plead for him, truly. There you are right. He must die: a noble-born knight deserves to be punished with tenfold severity, when found among robbers and highwaymen. Who is he?"
"Sir Lavé Rimaardson--your noble queen's kinsman, and brother of the trusty Bent Rimaardson."
The king started, and drawing up his horse, he threw on Drost Peter a scrutinising glance, in which, as he blinked uneasily, a secret suspicion might be traced.
"The queen's kinsman, say you?" he exclaimed--"the outlaw, Lavé Rimaardson?--he who has dared to defy me, and to stir up the peasants to rebellion?--he whom you yourself assisted to adjudge an outlaw?"
"Even he, sir king."
"And you would now defend a rebel, and intercede for so vile a criminal, Drost Hessel?"
"Defend him I will not, sir king; but to crave mercy for a sinner, I still may dare. With the most righteous of all judges, clemency is the greatest quality. I pray you, my king, to consider his brother's services to the crown and country, and his relation to yourself and the royal house."
"No! I shall now prove to you, and to my faithful subjects," replied the king, with secret satisfaction, "that, in the exercise of justice, I have no respect to high descent and birth, nor even to those allied to me by consanguinity and princely blood. Sir Lavé Rimaardson I will myself see upon the wheel before the sun goes down. Onwards!"
The king set spurs to his horse, and all followed. Those who had been examining the pit, hastened to overtake him, and Sir John again rode by his side. The old knight had not heard the conversation just related, but he observed that the king was chafed and disquieted. He rode on in silence, for some minutes, with unusual rapidity, but not inattentive to the king's angry looks and Drost Peter's uneasiness.
"Why hasten you thus, sir king?" at length inquired the old knight. "Yonder you may see the tower of Harrestrup Castle, and the sun is yet far up in the heavens."
"So much the better!" observed the king. "Who is the executioner of felons here? Where resides the hangman of the district?"
"Daugberg-Daas is the place appointed for executions, sir king," replied Sir John, who was well acquainted with everything relating to the administration of law in the country: "that was the wheel, which we saw above the lime-quarries, yonder. The officer of justice you inquire for has free quarters in Daugberg."
"Good: let him be summoned immediately."
The old knight was surprised, but obeyed without replying, and instantly dispatched a huntsman back to Daugberg for the executioner. He then continued to ride silently by the king's side until he considered his momentary irritation was allayed.
"You do not intend to render your entrance to the castle of Harrestrup memorable by a sudden execution, sir king?" asked the old counsellor, as he now rode alone with him up the narrow pathway. "I do not intend to intercede for such gross offenders: severity is, in these times, highly necessary; but, when we have them securely captive, and there is no rebellion in the country, I like not such hasty justice."
The king was silent, and blinked uneasily.
"Such haste, my king," continued old John, "may easily lead to injustice, or be regarded as a sign of fear, which may weaken the confidence of your people in the power of the state. A giant, conscious of his strength, need not hasten, for his security, to slay a few captive pigmies. Besides, not even the greatest criminal ought to be sentenced without a legal trial."
"The crime is manifest," exclaimed the king, erecting himself; "the law is well known; and doom I now pronounce:--they shall be broken on the wheel. You shall conduct them to the place of execution, Sir John; and you will be answerable to me that the law and sentence are fulfilled, in all their severity, before the sun goes down. I will hear no objections--it is my royal will."
Sir John remained silent, and they rode slowly up the steep path to the castle, where Drost Peter dismounted, and placed himself by the side of the king's horse.
The train of attendants had stopped, and there was now heard, behind, the quick tread of horses, and the rumbling of wheels. The huntsmen and falconers looked back: it was the messenger Sir John had dispatched for the headsman. He approached at full gallop, with a little broad-shouldered companion, on a miserable hack. The stranger wore a hairy cap, and a short, blood-red cloak; and held a large bright axe in his hand, whilst a sword of unusual length hung over his saddle-bow. A couple of rough-looking fellows followed with a small cart, in which were chains, fetters, a wheel, and all manner of horrible instruments of death and torture.
With this fearful train, the king and his company ascended to Harrestrup Castle. Drost Peter was silent, and Sir John spake not a word.
Outside the gate, and unknown to her master, old Dorothy had erected a triumphal arch, which was adorned with wreaths of box, yew, holly, and all the flowers that could be procured at that season of the year; whilst she herself stood by the side of it, arrayed in white, with a large nosegay in her hand, and attended by her pantry-maids and milkmaids, prepared to receive the king in a fashion which she intended should please and surprise both him and her dear young master. Since the king had pardoned her, when she was condemned to be buried alive for her womanly honour's sake, she had never been able sufficiently to extol his clemency and graciousness; and now, on this extraordinary occasion, to show her gratitude, she had, for more than two months, been exercising all the servant-maids of the castle in a ballad, which they had never heard sung before, but which was necessarily joined to a popular old tune. This song, which she had received from her confessor, was a free translation from the Schwabian meistersinger, Reinmar von Zweter's, flattering verses on the king, wherein, however, some of the true features of royalty were caught.
Outside the arch, and opposite to Dorothy and her maidens, stood the warden Tygé, with a portion of the brave garrison of the castle. Dorothy had decked their helmets with silk ribands and green sprigs, and, with their bright halberds in their hands, they stood in a respectful posture, and as immoveable as statues.
When Drost Peter perceived these festive preparations, so little suited to his own frame of mind, and to the harsh appearance of the royal train, he was singularly and painfully affected. The slightly-built arch was not unlike a gallows; and the old nurse, in her white dress, reminded him of the so-called corpse-women, who conducted interments in commercial towns. At the head of the ridiculously dressed-up milkmaids, who were intended to represent fine ladies, Dorothy felt as dignified as a queen.
In a less serious mood, this spectacle would perhaps have extorted a smile from the lively young drost; but now it augmented most painfully his gloomy state of mind. The king did not appear to give much attention to these tokens of homage, which he was accustomed to see in every small trading town, and even where he knew that he was detested by the majority of the inhabitants. Such demonstrations of homage were most frequently got up by the crafty chamberlain, who sagaciously reckoned that, if these flatteries did not always obtain the king's applause, they seldom called forth his displeasure.
Notwithstanding the tastelessness and farcical character of this parade, it was apparent that it was prompted by simple good-nature and true respect for the king, when the old nurse, with her thin, tremulous notes, and accompanied by the grating voices of the Juttish milkmaids, offered to him, in Danish, the German meister-singer's homage:--
"I prize the king who wears the crown,
And brings the country great renown.
"He helps the widow in her need;
His bounty doth the orphan feed.
"He guards his land--his name is dear
To all his people, far and near.
"His heart is warm, and great his mind;
His speech to one and all is kind.
"His hand is just to great and small,
Nor riches do his heart enthral.
"And he whose fair renown I sing.
Is Erik, Denmark's famous king."
The aged but zealous leader of the songstresses now first fixed her eyes upon the king, and when she beheld his austere countenance and blinking eyelids, she became deadly pale. She stared at him, like a sorceress who had conjured up some fearful spirit, and was suddenly horrified on beholding the mighty unknown which her incantations had summoned forth. She involuntarily crossed herself, and turned away her look; but the apparition of the executioner and his rough assistants, who closed the procession, raised her terror so high that her senses forsook her, and, with a convulsive shriek, she fell to the ground. The king succeeded in curbing his startled horse, and rode hastily in with his retinue.
Drost Peter, who had not observed what occurred, hastened to assist the king from his saddle, and conduct him to the large riddersal, where stood a table magnificently spread, and where the king, by another of Dorothy's arrangements, was received with a burst of music more sprightly than harmonious. The band was composed of rustic fiddlers and shawm-blowers, who were wont to exercise their skill at the weddings and merry-makings of the peasants. They scraped and blew with might and main, until the perspiration stood on their foreheads. They bowed so profoundly, too, and were at the same time so zealous to please the king, that they produced the most woful discords. Drost Peter silenced them, and sent them away; whilst the irritated monarch held his ears, and Chamberlain Rané, with a malicious smile, praised Drost Hessel's ingenuity in providing so pleasant a surprise for his majesty.
"This device of my old foster-mother's is better meant than happily executed, sir king," said Drost Peter. "I hope you will excuse such an innocent blunder of my domestics, who are not acquainted with courtly manners."
The king, who had become absorbed in thought, made no reply.
"I am not very tenderhearted," observed Sir John; "but I confess that this cat-music has quite softened me, for I perceive that it was well and honestly meant." The king appeared not to hear this remark; and Sir John addressed himself to the drost: "Was it your nurse who sang to us outside, Drost Peter? I scarcely recognised her in her finery."
"I scarcely knew her myself," replied the drost: "in her simplicity, she wanted to surprise me, too, with all this pomp."
"She screeched like an owl; but, nevertheless, it was quite touching," said the old knight, in his usual gay and careless tone, desirous to bring the king into a better humour, and dispose him to defer the executions he had so suddenly determined on. "The good women sang your grace and clemency, my king," he continued; "but they lost their voices when they perceived the hangman in your train. Will you not, then, sleep on your resolution tonight, and allow us to send the prisoners to Viborg? Methinks it were better to partake of an enlivening meal here, than to dwell on such serious matters?"
This latter suggestion, which Drost Peter supported by pointing to the seat of honour, seemed to meet the king's approbation. He remained silent, but took his place at the table, and swallowed one or two goblets of wine. Old Sir John attempted to introduce some lively conversation, but failed in his design of putting the king into better humour.
In the court, opposite the window, sat the executioner on his raw-boned horse, awaiting, with his ferocious assistants, the king's commands. Dorothy was carried sick to bed; and the sight which had operated so violently upon her, had also made a singularly painful impression on the other domestics. Warden Tygé, in the meanwhile, attended to the huntsmen, falconers, and pages, who were sumptuously entertained in three different apartments. But throughout the castle as great a silence reigned as if a funeral company had been assembled.
The king suddenly arose. "I will see the fellows," he said, in a tone of determination: "there can be nothing wrong in that. Let them be brought hither, drost; but heavily chained, and under a strong guard."
Drost Peter immediately left the apartment to execute this order, and in a minute afterwards he again entered the riddersal. The king was pacing the floor with rapid steps, whilst Sir John and the chamberlain stood silently watching the changing expression of his countenance. Drost Peter had also been standing for some moments in silence before the king's eyes met his.
"They will be here instantly, sir king," he said, advancing. "Permit me yet one word. None of these men were taken in any robbery. They have not deprived me of my property; and Sir Lavé Rimaardson did not attack me until I challenged him to single combat. He cannot be condemned as a robber before investigation, and a formal trial, according to the laws of the country."
"Silence!" replied the king: "an outlaw has no rights. But here we have them: I shall examine them myself."
Niels Breakpeace and twelve chained robbers now entered, under guard of warden Tygé and his armed house-carls. The robber-chief stepped forward with an air of proud defiance, at the head of his comrades; but Lavé Rimaardson, who seemed to blush at being found in such company, remained in the rear.
"Who is your leader?" inquired the king.
"I!" answered Niels Breakpeace, looking so daringly at him that he retreated a step.
"What is your name?"
"That every child in Denmark knows," replied the haughty robber: "with it the mothers can still their cubs, if even they have a knife in their throats. My name is sufficient to scare into corners all the wenches in your kingdom, and many a big-nosed fellow, too. If I had but an arm free, sir king, I should not give you time to hear my name out. Niels Breakpeace I am called. If you were as able a king as I am a robber, it would be better for kingdom and country, and perhaps I should now have been at your right hand."
"You confess, then, you are a robber, and that these fellows are your accomplices?"
"Were we to deny it, we should be scoundrels and mean scurvy fellows," replied Niels Breakpeace. "Lies and deceit you are perhaps accustomed to at court. I and my comrades are still honest in this respect."
"Good!" exclaimed the king. "You all know, then, the punishment to which the law condemns you. Prepare yourselves, therefore, to die within an hour."
"As well first as last, sir king! We all go the same way. But if you will suffer me to live till to-morrow, I will tell you something that may be of service to you, and that will, perhaps, defer our otherwise speedy meeting in another place."
The king opened wide his eyes, and cast a glance at Chamberlain Rané, who gave him a secret wink, and pointed to the dirk-handle which projected from the breast-pocket of the robber-chief.
"Ah, indeed!" said the king, again turning to the robber. "So, fellow! you would raise fear and curiosity in me, to obtain a respite, that you might escape, and do fresh mischief. No, no! That trick is stale and worn-out. If you cannot hit upon something better, you shall not live out the present hour."
"'Tis well! Let me go before, and prepare your place. This service I shall do you for old acquaintance' sake. There, now, you need not look so lofty, your grace! We two will soon be the same height, on the straw. What you and your equals do in the great way, I and mine have done in the small, you see: that is all the difference. If, for that, you will make me your herald to the other world, I must submit; today, you have still the power to do so: but you will rue it, sir king! We shall soon meet again, and then you will confess that Niels Breakpeace intended better towards you than yourself."
"Put him aside!" commanded the king: "he shall be executed the last. If he does not confess that which he says he can acquaint us with, he shall be put to the severest torture: you hear, Sir John--the severest."
Sir John replied by a silent bow to this stern mandate. An expression of sorrow was visible in the countenance of the old knight; but he hastily drew his hand across his furrowed brow, and was again calm and composed.
"Come forward, Lavé Rimaardson," cried the king; and the wild and desperate youth advanced, with an air that awoke the utmost pity and compassion in all, save the king and Chamberlain Rané, both of whom regarded him with secret anxiety.
"It was you whom I dubbed a knight with this sword, three years ago," said the king; "and now the hangman of your native town shall break your knightly weapon, and suspend your shield, reversed, beneath the gallows. You confess that you have been associated with these audacious and notorious robbers?"
"Yes, King Erik Christopherson," answered the young robber; "I confess that, and more: had we two met in Daugberg quarry, half an hour since, you should no more have seen the sun go down than I now expect to do."
"Ha! a conspiracy!" exclaimed the king. "You are not merely robbers and highwaymen--you are traitors, and audacious regicides! Who has paid you for the King of Denmark's life?"
"I am not a hired assassin," replied Lavé Rimaardson, proudly: "I am a knight of princely blood, and no king shall offend me with impunity. In the hour that you adjudged me an outlaw, I swore your death and downfall, King Erik! And were my right hand now free, I should keep my oath, and this moment would be your last."
"Madman!" exclaimed the king, stepping back; "if, by such audacious confession, you think to gain a respite, you are mistaken: you shall not even have time to name your accomplices, if you have them."
"There you are wise, King Erik," replied Rimaardson, with a contemptuous laugh. "Be sparing of the moments you have yet at your disposal. You know not how few they are; and, when your hour of reckoning comes, you will have more to account for than the sinners you now condemn to the rack and wheel."
"Peace, wretch!" cried the king, enraged; but an uneasy blinking of his eye seemed to indicate a sudden change in his feelings. "Your life is in my hands," he continued: "you are an outlaw and a rebel, a robber and murderer, and have even sought the life of your king and master; but Drost Hessel has testified that there is still within you a remnant of honour and of chivalrous spirit. Your brother Bent, too, is a trusty and deserving man; and your ignominious death, in company with these felons, would cast a shadow even on my throne. Think you not now, that King Erik Christopherson could still show you favour?"
"Yes! with endless imprisonment in fair Sjöborg: is it not so?" replied the haughty prisoner. "No! I do not, by a perjury, sell my soul and salvation, or, to save my life, forswear my revenge: it shall and must arrive, if not by my hand, by another's! When the harvest is ripe, reapers enough are to be found--"
"Satan, speak out! What mean you?" cried the king, in painful uncertainty. "Wretched felon! know you not that I have racks at hand? Look through that window: there stands he who can unbind your tongue."
"It is unnecessary, King Erik," replied the prisoner, suppressing his voice, but raising his head and gazing on the king with a dreadful look: "your hangman need not cut me for being tongue-tied. If you will hear the truth, I shall not conceal it in my dying hour. However great may be my crimes," he continued, in a louder tone, "I am still superior to the nidding who betrayed and dishonoured the wife of his best friend, whilst he bled in the nidding's behalf in the field of battle. If the brave Stig Andersen does not take full revenge for his wife's dishonour--if the blind, crazy father of Fru Ingeborg has not sight and sense enough remaining, to guide his sword into the false heart of King Erik--then there is not an honest drop of blood in the hearts of Danish nobles, and they deserve no better king than they have got."
The king had become deadly pale, whilst he foamed with rage, and his hand convulsively clutched the hilt of his large sword. He plucked the weapon from its scabbard, and rushed furiously on the prisoner, who remained immoveable, and laughing wildly.
Drost Peter sprang between them. "This is no place of execution, sir king," he said, warmly; "and you are no executioner, to slay a defenceless prisoner. He is an insolent traitor, it is true, and I no longer intercede for his life; but my house shall not be stained by a deed unworthy of yourself and your crown. If you will and must have the blood of this youth, you have brought an executioner with you."
The wild rage of the king had suddenly abated. He angrily bit his lips, as he sheathed his sword, and cast a look at the daring drost, which plainly enough indicated that this was the last time he should suffer himself to be guided by such a bold adviser.
"Well, Drost Hessel," he said, coldly, "you are right: I had nearly forgotten my kingly dignity in the insolence of this daring criminal, and you have not been far from forgetting the respect you owe to your king. I shall, however, follow your wise advice. Have the prisoners conducted to the place of execution, Sir John. Lavé Rimaardson is the first who falls: that honour I award to his high birth. He shall die by the sword; but his head shall be placed on a pole, and the foxes shall tear his limbs to pieces. The others shall be broken alive on the wheel. Now, away!"
Sir John gave the warden a signal to lead forth the prisoners. Lavé Rimaardson cast a look of contempt towards the king. In going, he laid his wounded right hand upon his breast, and, with averted face, he silently pressed Drost Peter's hand with his left.
At the door, Niels Breakpeace sprang strongly upwards, rattling his chains. "Merry now, comrades!" he cried, with a shout of wild laughter: "let me now see you behave yourselves like men, and thrust out your tongues bravely until they are bit off. Follow my example till the last, and do honour to your chief. When you have seen them all on the wheel, sir king," he cried, in a tone of mockery, and once more turning round haughtily, "then comes the turn of those of greater note. If you come yourself, and, like a merciful headsman, give me my finishing stroke, I shall whisper a secret in your ear, of which you will know the truth when St. Cecilia's day is gone by." With these words he departed.
The king turned away with a look of contempt, but seemed discomposed by the parting words of the robber-chief. "Stay!" he cried. "Yet, nay, they shall not befool me, the crafty vermin! I know their tricks. With such mysterious talk has many a hardened villain escaped the gallows. Let my horse be brought forth, Rané. I shall observe, from a distance, whether they maintain their defiance to the last."
Rané went out, and soon afterwards returned, saying, "The horse is at the door, your grace."
"Your's, too?"
"At your command, sir king."
"I think, however, I shall consider. People do not sleep soundly after such sights, and we must be up betimes in the morning. All is ready for the chase, Drost Hessel?"
"Nothing shall be wanting, sir king," replied the drost, with a look of composure, which ill concealed the agitation of his feelings.
"I shall, nevertheless, ride to Daugber-Daas," observed the king: "it is still a diversion, and people may shut their eyes on what they do not care to see. You must confess yourself, my conscientious drost, that, in this matter, I have been both just and gracious."
Drost Peter bowed, but said nothing.
"My polite host bears me company, of course?" added the king, in an apparently friendly tone, but with anger in his heart.
"It will be much against my feelings, my king; but if you so command, I obey. No injustice has taken place, I confess: but this is not a royal spectacle, and I wished you worthier entertainment on this visit, which, now, I dare not call gracious."
"Let us set off. You can follow me," said the king, as he departed.
Rané smiled; and Drost Peter followed his royal guest, with a tortured heart, and in the gloomiest mood.
Next morning, when the sun arose, he shone on the corpses of the thirteen robbers on Daugberg-Daas. In the valley beneath was heard the merry sound of horns and the baying of hounds, as a magnificent hunting-train rode by. At its head, between Sir John and Drost Peter, was the king, in a handsome green hunting-suit. Behind them, bearing falcons and other hunting-gear, rode six smartly dressed pages, among whom was the little kindhearted Aagé Jonsen, bearing the king's favourite falcon. Next came, at the head of a troop of royal huntsmen, having thirty hounds in leashes, the Chamberlain Rané, who, like those he headed, was lightly armed with a bow and short hunting-knife; but he wore, besides, a magnificent small sword, with glittering gems in a hilt of silver, which the king had recently presented to him as a testimony of his favour.
Squire Skirmen was absent, as he had not yet returned from his visit to Henner Friser at the forest-lodge. He had obtained permission to remain until the afternoon of this day; and his place was now taken by warden Tygé, who closed the cavalcade in company with some archers, and a few active huntsmen from Harrestrup.
As the king passed Daugberg-Daas, he closed his eyes, and gave the spur to his steed. When they had left the hill some distance behind, he turned to his right, and addressed old Sir John.
"They obstinately maintained their defiance, then?" he said. "Yesterday evening, I wished not to disturb my night's rest by listening to the end of your narrative; and I went not so near to the spot myself that I could hear what they said. Would the audacious Niels Breakpeace reveal nothing?"
"Not a word, sir king; but he laughed horribly in the pangs of death, and promised that, within eight days, he would tell you all he knew."
The king blinked anxiously, and became pale. "Tell me, my dear Sir John," said he: "do you think all the threats and warnings the fellow hinted at, were anything more than crafty inventions, with which he hoped to escape the gallows?"
"I know not that, sir king; but, in your place, I should not have so greatly hurried the execution of their sentence. The mere fact that an outlawed knight, of such high birth, was found among these robbers, seemed to me, even without their own confession, certain proof that they were here on a more important and daring undertaking than plundering the pantries and wine-cellars of Harrestrup. They might have given us valuable information."
The king, as he listened to Sir John, became more and more uneasy. "By Satan!" he exclaimed, warmly, "I felt constrained to make quick work of them, effectually to prevent any of their daring designs being accomplished. But why did you not inform me of these wise conclusions when they were alive? Your prudence comes too late now, Sir John."
"You would not hear a word from me, sir king; and when I have an express royal command, I must be silent and obey; especially where, as in the present case, it is undeniably just, and according to the letter of the law."
"Now, by the rood! we shall think no more of it," exclaimed the king, endeavouring to overcome his uneasiness; and at the same time he set spurs to his horse, and ordered the huntsmen to strike up a lively hunting-air.
Drost Peter was grave and silent. The king had not yet spoken a word to him; and the sharp-sighted drost read in his manner, as well as in that of the crafty chamberlain, that his fall was determined on, and that the formal announcement was only delayed in order that it might not mar the day's pleasure. But the depressing conviction that his power and influence were at an end, was outweighed by doubts of far greater importance respecting the welfare of the kingdom, which had been called forth by Lady Ingé's admonition to watchfulness, and the circumstances connected with the capture and execution of the robbers.
Sir John, on the contrary, appeared to have abandoned every gloomy and disquieting thought. In his youth he had been a bold huntsmen, but for many years had not partaken of this noble diversion. The sound of the horns and the cries of the chase awoke within him lively recollections of his early days, and, as the king's companion in the sport, he considered it his duty to be as cheerful and entertaining as possible.
When the first game was started, the king engaged eagerly and passionately in pursuit. For dexterity in the chase he was without a rival; and he now rushed with wild impetuosity among the huntsmen and unleashed hounds, and, as usual, was highly admired by the strangers, as well for his rapidity, as for the certainty with which he brought down his game. Not without difficulty could old Sir John follow him; although he took care to make it appear that it did not cost him any exertion. Recalling the memory of his young days, he gave his mettlesome hunter the reins, and took the most daring leaps over ditches and fences.
Drost Peter was accustomed to such violent sport, but on this occasion he often felt himself painfully reminded of his recent wounds. This gloomy mood was speedily augmented by the concern he felt for Sir John, who, he plainly saw, was exerting himself beyond his strength; and he knew that it was useless to caution the old knight concerning it. However merry the latter appeared, he had, nevertheless, intimated to the drost, by a look, that he shared his grave doubts, and considered it highly essential that the hunt should keep together. If, now and then, they paused by a fallen deer, the chamberlain had instantly another in sight, and the king again dashed off with renewed ardour.
At length they reached a beautiful forest-glade, in which they halted to rest their horses, and to partake of a midday meal; during the preparation of which the chamberlain was inexhaustible in entertaining the king with pleasant hunting-stories. They seated themselves on the trunk of a fallen oak-tree. The cloth was spread on the fresh moss; at a little distance the huntsmen had encamped themselves, and the spoils of the chase were piled up close by. The pages waited on the king, who appeared in a good humour, and well contented.
"It is a chivalrous and right royal diversion," said Sir John, in answer to the king's question whether he had enjoyed himself. "In my young days, I was passionately fond of it; but now I am too old and stiff for the sport. Another time, sir king, I shall do better to remain at home, like the old hunting-steed."
"You would come with me, however," said the king. "Your fancy for it certainly surprised me."
"It was not entirely for the sake of the chase, sir king," said the old man, gravely, and with an observant look at Rané. "I am but little acquainted with this part of Jutland," he added, hastily: "I am glad, also, to see our good Drost Hessel in the capacity of host."
"You have seen, then, that he is master of his own house, and keeps strict watch over the security of his guests," replied the king, with a bitter smile: "even highwaymen and murderers are safe beneath his roof."
"If in that he went a little too far, your grace," said Sir John, "I pray you, for my sake, not to be offended with it. I did not regard the prisoners as so dangerous."
"I must confess, sir king," observed Drost Peter, "that this business of the robbers was of more importance than I believed; but they have now ended their lives and crimes together. If on that occasion I erred, and for a moment forgot the respect I owed my royal guest, let not this day's sun go down upon your wrath, my king. If I have lost your royal grace in consequence, suffer me at least--"
"Enough of this!" interrupted the king, coldly. "I have come here to amuse myself, and not to sit in judgment every day. I am master of my own thoughts, and you shall know my determination at the proper time. Let the huntsmen strike up."
Rané hastily gave a signal to the royal horn-blowers, who stood on a rising ground, at a little distance, and who immediately commenced a bold hunting-air, called King Waldemar Seier's Hunt, and to which the king was extremely partial.
A painful silence followed the king's ungracious remarks to Drost Peter. Rané smiled maliciously as he filled his master's goblet, and endeavoured, by some buffooneries, to restore mirthfulness; but the king left the wine untouched, and fell into deep thought. The rapid exercise and the consciousness of his skill in the chase, as well as his anger against Drost Peter, appeared to have banished from his countenance the undecided and contradictory shades of passion which so often disfigured it; and for an instant there beamed from it an expression of true kingly dignity and greatness, while, with his hand on his ponderous sword, he regarded his three chief counsellors with the air of one who could free himself from them at any moment he chose. The only one in which he reposed any kind of confidence was Rané; but him, in his better moments, he despised, as the wretched instrument of his vilest pleasures. The power which old Sir John exercised over him, with so much prudence and consideration, seemed to him just now a crafty invasion of the royal prerogative; and Drost Peter's bold superiority he regarded as an intolerable assumption. It appeared as if the quick, heart-stirring tones of Waldemar Seier's Hunt, which he had known from his childhood, recalled the daring dreams of his youth, with the memory of the time when, by his noble mother's side, he was saluted with the name of king, and felt the blood of the Waldemars in a bold and unsullied heart. But this proud expression quickly vanished as his whole misspent life of royalty passed before him, and the painful conviction seized him that he now sat, alone and hated, in the midst of his kingdom, without a single friend. His melancholy and despondency seemed on the point of overwhelming him; but he struggled against the humiliating feeling, and a wild defiance and sternness flashed from his eyes.
Drost Peter sat silent and thoughtful: in his dejected but candid countenance it could be plainly seen how much the king's displeasure went to his heart. His entire future efficiency seemed destroyed by a single hasty and incautious word. He could not acquit himself of arrogance whilst vindicating his sense of justice, on that occasion, when, by a too daring expression, he had drawn his master's wrath upon his head; and it was to him a bitter feeling to have offended his king at the moment when, as a guest, he had entered his house. At this instant it was almost more bitter than the thought of having lost the king's favour. But the monarch's stern look now fell upon him, and its excessive harshness seemed to recall him to himself. The undauntedness with which he encountered it was, however, little calculated to appease the offended king; who, instead of penitence and humility, was met by strong self-confidence and calm courage, which no displeasure of his could humble.
Rané and old Sir John were attentive observers of this significant play of looks, which filled up the pause in the conversation caused by the music. The sagacious old statesman appeared calm and indifferent; though a tear, which he speedily dashed away, glistened in his eye, as he observed the remains of loftiness and dignity which had lit up the passion-worn countenance of the king. He saw with concern that the fall of the trusty Drost Peter was determined on, and that his own influence was also endangered; but what most annoyed him was the ill-concealed triumph of the cunning chamberlain, and the busy zeal with which he prepared for the continuance of the chase. The old knight observed that Rané now made an unusual gesture; on which the king nodded to him, as if in accordance with some private understanding. His majesty seemed about to rise, but again relapsed into deep thought. The music still continued.
"Herregud!" exclaimed old Sir John, breaking the long silence, "they are playing Waldemar Seier's Hunt. It is a strange thought, sir king. If your great ancestor, of blessed memory, had had Count Albert and the trusty Charles of Risé by his side, when this air was played at the unfortunate hunting on Ly Island, the black Count Henry had perhaps never got him into his clutches."[[31]]
"A stag! a stag!" shouted Chamberlain Rané, springing up.
The king hastily arose, as a herd of deer, with a stag at their head, rushed past. In an instant the huntsmen were on horseback, the horns sounded lustily, and the dogs broke away.
"Away!" ordered the king, swinging himself into his saddle; and Drost Peter and Sir John started off by his side. The chamberlain rode in advance; and the chase now recommenced with redoubled ardour. They frequently lost and again found the track of the herd; and thus continued for several hours, without any pause.
"Sir king," said Drost Peter, at length, riding close up to him as he stopped an instant to observe the hounds and the track, "permit us a slight pause. Sir John's years make this violent exercise painful to him; and my wounds are bleeding through the bandages."
"Those who cannot follow, may stay behind," replied the king: "I have huntsmen enough with me, and require you not. Away, Rané!"
The hunt was pursued with enthusiasm, but neither Sir John nor Drost Peter remained behind. The day at length began to close, and Drost Peter again rode in between Rané and the king.
"If you would get back to Harrestrup before night, sir king," he said, with visible uneasiness, "we must now turn, and give the deer a respite for to-day."
"I shall do as it pleases me!" cried the king, irritated. He had just wounded the stag they were in pursuit of. "That stag shall be mine," he shouted, "should I pursue him till to-morrow."
They continued at a flying gallop over stump and stone, through brake and briar, with hounds yelling and horns winding. Drost Peter and Sir John still followed, and did not lose sight of the king for an instant; until, in taking a dangerous leap, Sir John's horse fell with him, and he received a violent blow on the side, which for an instant deprived him of consciousness.
Drost Peter sprang from his horse to his aid, and found, with consternation, that the old knight had broken a rib. "Hold! for God's sake, hold!" he shouted, with all his might.
The huntsmen stopped when they heard the drost's powerful voice, which they were accustomed to obey. They quickly came to assist, and a litter of boughs was soon made, on which to carry the old man, every one showing for him the greatest sympathy. But, in the meanwhile, the king and Chamberlain Rané, with two of the fleetest falconers, had gone out of sight.
As soon as Sir John regained his senses, and found himself on the litter, surrounded by Drost Peter and the anxious huntsmen, he inquired with concern and alarm respecting the king.
"He would not stop," answered Drost Peter; "but he must be back immediately. It is impossible to continue the hunt longer, for it is almost night."
"After him, Drost Peter!" cried the old man; "for Heaven's sake, after him! What think you of?" he whispered: "he is alone with Rané! Your people can care for me. Away!"
"Care well for him, Tygé--he is the king's most important counsellor," said Drost Peter to his castle-warden, as he sprang on his horse. "Bear him, with your huntsmen, carefully to Harrestrup. You others follow me. God be with you, noble sir!"
In another instant Drost Peter, with the royal huntsmen, had disappeared in the forest; whilst warden Tygé and his men leisurely and gently bore Sir John back to Harrestrup.
In a little lonely forest-house, in the neighbourhood of Finnerup, stood, at about the same hour of the evening, Claus Skirmen, with his squire's cap in his hand. Before him were old Henner Friser and Aasé. The powerful, gigantic old man seemed to have prepared himself for the worst. He stood, leaning on a long javelin, in his Frisian war-suit of leathern mail, with his seal-skin cap drawn over his straggling gray hairs. The pretty little Aasé appeared occupied with far more peaceful thoughts. She wore the same dark blue jacket, plaited kirtle, and light blue apron, in which Skirmen had first seen her, when he assisted in liberating her from Hegness. She held him familiarly by the hand, and bent on him tenderly her dark playful eyes, whilst he, half ashamed, seemed to expect some important reply from old Henner.
"Thanks for thy warning, brave youth," said the latter, shaking Skirmen heartily by the hand. "It is well thou camest so early, to assist us with our slender preparations for defence. Our persecutors may now come when they will: none shall see us longer than we ourselves list. If thy account be true--and I do not take thee for a braggart--thou art a smart youth--the affair of the robbers was no jesting matter. If thou goest on thus, and thy master, with a good conscience, can hereafter give thee the stroke of knighthood, I have no objection that my little Aasé should love thee, and thou her. But when we meet again, we shall talk more of it."
Skirmen and Aasé embraced each other with transport, and hugged the old man with the utmost joy.
"Good, good, my children. God and St. Christian bless ye!" continued old Henner, with emotion. "But this is not the time to prattle and think of love. Thou must off, Skirmen, and inform thy master of what we know."
"I have done so already," replied Skirmen: "what the Rypen burghers said in the tavern, he knows; but he does not think it has any great meaning."
"Tell him, then, from me," said the old man, "that it certainly means no less than folks say the three suns portend which we saw in the heavens on St. Remy's day. It was the day before the feast of All Saints, and the learned clerks speak much of a heathen goddess of revenge that used to be worshipped on that day. Our Lord knows the witch, and I am not skilled in the signs of the sun and moon; but this I know, that when disaffected knights creep about in monks' cowls, it is for no good or holy purpose. So beg thy master, first and foremost, to take care of himself and the king, as he passes the barn of Finnerup. And now away! Give him a kiss, Aasé, and let him run. Thy norback, Skirmen, is more zealous than thyself in the king's service. Hearest thou not how impatiently he neighs?"
"Farewell, father Henner--farewell, dear Aasé!" exclaimed Skirmen, hastily. "But be cautious, Aasé! If thou passest for an elf, be as cunning as one; and, for God's sake, disappear as soon as you observe any mischief."
"Take care, my young knight, that I am not an elf in reality!" cried Aasé, playfully, as she embraced him. "Seest thou not my blue kirtle, and brown two-peaked hood? Ay, right! look in my eyes and not to my back, for I am as hollow there as a dough-trough.[[32]] Away, now--out with thee! save thy king and master, or thou deservest never to be a knight, and I will have nothing more to say to thee."
Skirmen embraced her hastily, and hurried out, accompanied by his sweetheart and the old man. Shortly afterwards he was riding through the wood at a gallop, and Henner Friser re-entered the cottage with his granddaughter. Neither of them spoke. He barred the door, cast his spear into a corner, and sat down musingly on his rush-cushioned seat. Aasé took her distaff, and sat down to work by the window, for the interior of the room was now quite dark.
"Light the lamp, Aasé," said the old man, at length, breaking the silence, and rising with uneasiness. "It is still too early to go to rest in the hole inside, and thou knowest I cannot bear to sit in the dark."
"But were it not better to-night, dear grandfather?" replied Aasé. "If even I were to hang my apron before the window, the light would still shine through; and, if we would keep concealed, were it not advisable--"
"I am not a carlin," exclaimed Henner. "I am not so much afraid of man, that I must sit in the dark, and be tormented by the devil. The living I fear not: would only that the restless dead would grant me peace!"
"Dost thou again think of the dead, dear grandfather?" said Aasé, with a sigh, as she lighted the lamp and hung it on an iron hook attached to the low rafters; having first, however, taken care to hang her thin light blue apron before the horn-window that looked out on the wood. "It is not the dead, but the living, that persecute us, dear grandfather," she continued, sitting down to her work opposite his chair. "It is only the storm tearing the dry boughs from the trees, and the wild birds hooting dismally in the woods, that sometimes make thee uncomfortable at night."
"It seems always to come from Gottorp," muttered the old man, who had resumed his seat: "'tis there he lies, with the stake through his heart--the accursed king, who caused his brother to be cast into the river Sley!--and he it is who hunts through the forest at midnight. I long regarded it as a delusion and a superstition, but now I must believe it, since I have myself seen it."
"The rood save us!" exclaimed Aasé; "when didst thou see it?"
"On the night after St. Remy's day, when we saw the wonderful sight in the air--yesterday three weeks: it was Sunday, and we had been in church. You remember how it howled in the storm. You fell asleep in the corner there; but I could not close an eye because of the horrid din. I stood up at last, and looked through the window into the forest, and then I knew it was no delusion. I saw, in the moonshine, a coal-black figure riding at full speed through the woods, on a steed of raven blackness. The animal snorted and neighed as if possessed by the Evil One, and sparks flew from his hoofs. Behind him came one of an iron mould, who must have been the foul fiend himself. Three big hounds followed, glistening in the moonlight; but whether or not they were fiery, as people say, I cannot, however, be certain. I had enough of what I had seen; and no one shall now convince me that King Abel's wild hunt is mere nonsense and superstition."
"I certainly saw the same two riders last Monday evening," replied Aasé; "but thou mayst believe me, grandfather, they were living men. The forester's Mary also saw them, and she thought they must have been the dreadful Stig Andersen from Möllerup, and the sturdy Mat Jute, who always attends him. It was shortly before we heard of the grayfriar monks of Rypen, and the apparitions in Finnerup barn, which thou thyself believest to be conspirators lying in wait for the king."
"Thou mayst be right, child!" ejaculated Henner, more composed, yet shaking his gray head dubiously: "I am an old fool to take such fancies in my head. But were it even the accursed King Abel himself," he continued, rising, "let him come when he will! I have not been afraid to look him in the face before now. I have yet my old steel-bow; and my good Frisian spear shall still keep every nidding at bay, be he dead or alive." He remained standing in the middle of the floor, his arms crossed, and in deep thought. "If it should really have been Stig Andersen?" he exclaimed, suddenly--"if he should be here, and be himself one of the apparitions at the barn, there is far more danger than I had supposed; and this is not the time to be creeping under cover from one's own shadow. It were better I rode over to the drost. Skirmen is a nimble youth; but, now that thou hast put love-whimsies into his head, he cannot be so much depended on. He has been as awkward about everything to-day as if he had never before taken spade or axe in his hand."
"He is the son of a knight, grandfather, and has not been accustomed to such kind of work. But you shall see that he is smart enough when the safety of his king's life is concerned."
"Thou mayst talk of thy squire as thou wilt. If he be not a better squire than woodman, he will never in his life be a knight. Tell me, Aasé, art thou afraid to be left alone to-night?"
"Afraid, grandfather?" she replied, quickly, colouring: "nay, not exactly that--if thou hadst not spoken of the vile dead king. But it does not matter," she continued, gaily, as she observed a shade of displeasure and uneasiness in the countenance of the old man: "I am not easily frightened, grandfather. I am an elf, thou knowest; and, when I do not wish to be seen, I have only to make myself invisible."
"That thou canst well, child," said the grandfather, regarding her with tender interest: "brave Frisian blood runs in thy veins, and thou hast now been long free from thy dreaming-sickness. That is some assurance for thy safety; but if thou art at all anxious, I will not leave thee. Thou art the apple of mine eye, Aasé, and I have nothing else in the world much to care for; but when danger threatens the land, every true Frisian will be watchful, if our Lord and St. Christian permit him. This is an important business, thou knowest well. For the king, himself, I would not give a rotten rope's end; but still, as regards the crown and country, his life is of importance, until Drost Hessel has reared a better king for us. The drost saved thy honour, and, perhaps, my life: he is true to his king, like a brave fellow; and I am bound to serve, as best I can, both him and his master. If thou canst suffer to be left alone, I shall ride immediately, and find Drost Hessel and the king, wherever they may be. On such an errand, I should think I am safe."
"Ride, in God and the Holy Virgin's name, grandfather, if thou oughtest and must. I am not afraid, and can guard myself," replied Aasé, boldly.
The old man hesitated no longer. "Come, then, a morsel of bread in my wallet, whilst I saddle my horse," he said, as he passed through the kitchen, and across the yard to the stable.
Aasé accompanied him into the kitchen, and immediately afterwards returned alone, with some victuals, which she placed in a badger-skin wallet that hung suspended from a deer's antler near the fireplace.
Whilst thus occupied, the apron fell from the little horn-window; but unobserved by her, as she stood at the table opposite the light, with her back turned towards the casement. The point of a slender sword had pierced the horn, undone the fastening of the apron, and was then hastily withdrawn. A wily face, with a reddish beard, now peeped in. It disappeared, and immediately gave place to another, which likewise disappeared as Aasé turned round. She now first observed that the apron had fallen from the window, and proceeded quietly to hang it up again, without observing the small puncture in the horn.
Her grandfather re-entered by the kitchen, equipped for his journey. "I shall ride out by the back gate," he said, as he threw his hunting-wallet over his broad shoulders. "And thou art, then, really not afraid, child? If thou noticest anything suspicious, thou knowest what to do. If thou darest not have a light, put out the lamp."
"Be tranquil on my account, grandfather," replied Aasé, without the least symptom of fear; "but, since thou hast talked so much about the dead, I shall not extinguish the lamp. The living I can guard against. When may I expect thy return?"
"Before daybreak," replied the old man. "Bar the kitchen-door after me, and open it to no one until thou hearest nine strokes on it. God bless thee!"
He fondly embraced her, and departed through the door by which he had entered. Aasé fastened it after him, and returned to the lonely room. Shortly afterwards she heard the hoofs of a horse in the forest, and recognised the firm gallop of her grandfather.
About a bow-shot from the little forest-house, behind a close thicket of white thorns, stood two saddled horses, held by two stately pages, who themselves were seated on a pair of small hunters, and carried each a falcon on his arm; and at a few paces from it stood the king and Chamberlain Rané, whispering together, behind some elder-bushes that entirely concealed them.
"That was the old man who rode out," whispered Rané: "it could not have happened better. And heard you, sir?--nine strokes on the door opens it."
"Humph! I had rather have given up the whole sport," muttered the king, with much uneasiness. "You should have sought out the road."
"Sooth to say, sir king, I was better acquainted with the forest than I pretended; but I wished to give you a surprise, and keep my promise. Now you have yourself seen that she is here, and concealed from you by Drost Hessel. This is his forest-house, and here has he maintained both the girl and the regicide since last year."
"Silence!" whispered the king, with growing fear; "name not the damned word! He has not yet gone far, and who knows that traitors are not at hand? It was imprudent in you, Rané, to lead me, on such foolery, so far into the forest, at this hour. How easily you might have carried me into the claws of the old Satan! The little minx I should like to get hold of, but I shall not risk too much for her: I have not quite forgotten what the daring Niels Breakpeace and the fearful Lavé Rimaardson said to me yesterday. They are now on the wheel, and will grin horribly in the moonshine as we ride by.----Rané," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "I have not been in a church for many a year, and am not versed in saints' days. When is St. Cecilia's?"
"Faith, I know not, sire," replied the chamberlain: "I am not a whit more saintly than yourself. But it cannot be far off."
"The bold ruffian said that that day must be past before I could know his secret. This is not a time for fooleries and wench-hunting. It is night, and I have not a man with me except yourself. Thou wilt not betray thy king, Master Rané? Thou art not yet so godless as to lead me into a snare?"
"The cross defend me, your grace! How can you think so?" stammered Rané.
They had approached the house, and a faint glimmer from the chink in the curtained window fell on Rané's face. The king looked at his crafty chamberlain with an anxious, scrutinising glance, and kept his hand constantly on the hilt of his sword.
"I have many a time confided in thee," he continued, "and we have had many pleasant adventures together; but whom in the world am I now to trust, when Drost Hessel can be traitor enough to conceal a regicide, and even old Sir John is not to be depended upon?"
"I only half distrust them, sir king," said Rané, quickly; "and it is still possible I may be mistaken. But so long as I am with you, you are safe. When the least danger threatens, I shall warn you. If I had intended to betray you, sire, I should have taken care not to inform you of what I had heard and seen at Möllerup."
"But thou, too, didst lay thy hand upon the book, Rané--thou, too, didst swear thy king's downfall; what thou didst add to thine oath, no one heard."
"I were but a poor spy for you, sir king, did your enemies not believe me worthy of credit. But think no more of these things. Here you are safe. I hoped to have earned thanks from you to-night for a pleasant surprise, instead of which I am paid with doubts and scruples, whilst you squander here the precious moments. The pretty Aasé sits within, and wearies. Perhaps she is already asleep, and sweetly dreams of you."
"Talk not of her dreams, Rané, for they are frightful: she nearly drove me mad with them at Hegness. Beautiful she is, it is true, but as cunning as a she-devil. It is said that she has really power to foretell the future, and I almost believe it. If it be so, there are one or two things worth knowing from her. Heard you what the peasant said about the three suns?"
"Mere superstition and nonsense, sir king. In truth, I did not half comprehend him. But what he said about elfin-moss I could understand. From his description, it was neither more nor less than our little Aasé. She is cunning enough, perhaps, to avail herself of the credulity of the peasants, to render herself of importance, and drive a sly trade in the hidden arts. So, sir king, if you too are superstitious, and wish to have your fate unriddled, you have here an opportunity of gratifying your curiosity: you are but a few paces from the elf-woman; and, from such a pretty little mouth, you can hear no unpleasant prediction. In any case this will be a sufficient excuse for your unexpected visit, and give more zest to the adventure."
"So be it, then. I will visit her, Rané; but take care that no one surprises us, and be at hand when I call."
"You are perfectly safe, sir king."
The tall huntsman then approached the door of the little forest-house, cautiously and irresolutely. He first looked through the horn-pane, but could only distinguish the light of the lamp and an ill-defined female form, reclining, apparently, on a bench. He stood by the door and raised his hand, but let it fall again. At length he summoned resolution to strike the door nine times, gently, with the hilt of his sword. He heard a light, slow footstep in the room. The bar inside was withdrawn, and all was again still. He lingered a moment, as if undecided; and then half opened the door gently, and peeped in. The lamp burned dimly beneath the rafters, and on the bench by the table lay the beautiful little Aasé, apparently asleep. He now wholly opened the door, and softly entered. Having closed and bolted it after him, he approached the sleeping girl and gazed at her with admiration in his blinking eyes. Never, he thought, had he seen a more beautiful woman. Her little cap lay on the table, by the side of a breviary written in Gothic characters and in the Frisian dialect. The jet black locks of the maiden were released from their bands, and fell freely down and over her virgin neck and shoulders. The king, not to frighten her with his long sword, hung it on a small wooden hook on the wall.
"Aasé--little Aasé--wake up!" he whispered. "Thou must grant me a kindly welcome to-night."
The sleeping girl leisurely arose; but her eyes were closed.
"Do not fall asleep again, little Aasé," he continued: "I had enough of this jest before. Open thy pretty eyes, and look on me. Dost thou not know me?"
She opened her eyes, but they did not look on him: they were widely extended, and her gaze fixed, without play or animation; and her little handsome countenance, which was deadly pale, wore the solemn and fearful expression of somnambulism.
"Now, by my soul!" exclaimed the king, falling back, perplexed, "if thou art a witch or sorceress, I shall hold no farther parley with thee. Thou shalt be burnt one day, when thou fallest into the hands of the clerks. Yet, nay: thou art too beautiful for that," he added, recovering his calmness, and looking at her keenly. "Ha, woman! is this real, and no crafty jugglery? If thou canst gaze down upon the damned, say what the dead robber on the Daugberg wheel is about? What would he tell King Erik Christopherson within eight days?"
"The robber on the wheel?" repeated Aasé in a soft, toneless voice, and without changing her mien or posture--"he is now in the black pit, and calls on King Erik Christopherson."
The king started: he gazed on her again, and blinked with much uneasiness and suspicion, as he looked around. "Deceive me, cheat, and it shall cost thee thy life!" he muttered, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, and retreating a step farther towards the door. "Whom seest thou in the pit?" he again inquired, in a low tone, appearing no longer to doubt that she was in some wonderful state that enabled her to see into the Hidden, and perhaps to reveal the Future which he dreaded.
She hesitated to reply, as it seemed to cost her a painful effort to look on that which presented itself to her interior sense--a sense so different from that denoted by her rigid, motionless, extended eyes.
"In the pit I see robbers--murderers--ravishers!" she said, at length, in the same whispering, toneless voice: "there are kings, princes, and bishops among them. And, lo! there he sits--the murderer of his brother--on a throne of dead men's bones, with cushions of fiery serpents! He prepares a place for his brother's son! Hearest thou?--"
"Woman! demon! What devilry dreamest thou of?" exclaimed the king, overcome with fearful anguish. "Answer me! Speak! Can I yet be saved? How long a respite have I?"
"Ask the sword that rattles on the wall!" replied the somnambulist in a louder voice, pointing to the king's sword, but without turning her eyes towards it: "when that falls, thy time is near at hand."
With a convulsive motion, the king snatched at his sword; but the slender hook that supported it gave way, and it fell, rattling, on the stone floor.
"This is the sword of a king, and not that of a headsman!" exclaimed the king, proudly and vehemently, as he hastily took up the weapon, appearing, as he grasped it, to recover strength to overcome his terror. "When the heading-sword rattles on the wall, well I know it waits for blood," he muttered; "but this shall drink that of my foes. Ha! tell me, thou fearful woman!" he continued, looking anxiously around him, "who are the accursed traitors that lay wait for me? Where are they, and how many?"
"If thou wilt know their number, reckon it on thy belt," replied Aasé. "Beware of the grayfriar cloaks: they conceal bold warriors. They ride, with drawn swords, through the forest. See! look!--the blind, bald monk!--he laughs, and whets his sword on his nails!"
"Ha! Pallé, Pallé!--is it thee?" muttered the king, staring wildly in the direction on which the fearful dreamer's gaze seemed to be fixed.----"Seest thou more?"
"I see a man, with glowing eyes, clad in iron," replied Aasé, in a fainter voice, apparently exhausted, and almost sinking to the ground: "he spurs his black steed, and his great sword is drawn! Now will he revenge the dishonour of his wife!"
The king still stared wildly before him. "Sorceress! she-devil!" he at length shouted madly, "if thou art leagued with my deadly foes, thou shalt be the first to fall by this sword." And he sprang, with phrensied violence, to seize her by the throat; but his hand grasped only her loose kerchief, whilst his uplifted sword rattled against the lamp, which fell, extinguished, on the floor; and at the same moment he heard a shriek, and a hollow sound like the closing of a large chest-lid.
The girl had suddenly disappeared. The king raved wildly, and laid his sword about him in the darkness. A dreadful anguish overwhelmed him; and he would have called out, but was unable. He groped for the door, but could not find it; and then rushed madly against a wooden partition, which gave way, when the house seemed to fall about him.
A cold breeze now met him. He stumbled, and fancied he had fallen into some frightful murder-den. His senses became bewildered, and he saw before him all the hideous forms he most dreaded. The pale Fru Ingeborg, with raised dagger, nodded at him with her lean, skeleton head; her blind, crazy father danced around him with wild laughter, groping at random for his prey; and the terrible Stig Andersen stood threatening him, whichever way he turned, with the same fearful look of revenge as when he denounced him at the Thing of Viborg. A cold perspiration stood on his forehead. The ground seemed to shake under him; and he reeled forward, without knowing where, till he stumbled over a stone, and tore his face among thorns. This recalled his senses, and he now found himself in the midst of a wild thicket in the forest. The faint starlight shone dubiously, and he looked despairingly around him. There was no house to be seen, and the apparition of the girl occurred to him like a frightful dream.
He now recovered his voice. "Am I mad or bewitched?" he exclaimed. "Rané, Rané! where art thou?"
He heard a rustling among the bushes, and Rané stood, terrified, before him.
"The rood protect us, sire!" stammered the astonished chamberlain: "how have you come hither? and whither has the house vanished? I fancied I heard you calling from the thicket, and sprang towards the sound: I then rushed wildly into the cursed elfin-moss, but could find no traces of the house."
"It is devilry and sorcery," said the king: "if thou, too, hadst not seen both the girl and the house, I could have sworn I had been dreaming, or was mad. Where are the horses?"
"Close by, sire. I hear them snorting and pawing."
"Away!" cried the king: "lead me from this infernal spot. I am mad or bewitched, and while I remain here I am less than a man."
"Shall I bring the horses, sire?"
"Nay, do not leave me! Lead me to them. Give me thy hand, Rané!" And he grasped the chamberlain's hand convulsively. "Thou art still true to me? thou art not in league with my murderers, and wilt not basely betray thy king and master's life?"
"How can you doubt me, sir king? I have been in the most deadly fear for you. You may be right, however, in your suspicions of sorcery: for this cannot be so in the usual nature of things--a house cannot thus, by human means, sink suddenly into the earth. But how did you fall among the thorns?"
"I know not, Rané. Where are the horses?"
"We shall reach them instantly, sire. Follow me, and fear not. We shall find a way out of this bewitched forest. Ho, pages! Hither with the horses."
Little Aagé Jonsen and his comrade now approached with the animals.
"Has there happened any misfortune?" inquired Aagé. "I fancied I heard the king shouting?"
"He had only got bewildered in the thicket," replied Rané. "Here is your horse, sir king. Allow me to assist you, and to lead you through the thorns, until we reach a road or pathway."
The king mounted his horse in silence, and allowed Rané to lead him through the bushes. They proceeded thus for some time, but could find neither road nor path. The pages were leading their horses in the rear, and one of them began to cry. "We shall never get out of the forest," he whimpered.
"Be quiet, Bent," replied Aagé, "and do not let the king perceive that you are so silly."
"Is there no end to this?" exclaimed the king, impatiently. "Whither dost thou lead me, Rané? The farther we go the worse it seems. Where are we?"
"We must soon find an outlet, sire!" replied Rané: "I can already see an open space; but where we are I am unable to say, were it to save my life. Yet, stay; now I can see a light. Here lies a whole village: it must be Finnerup. We cannot reach Harrestrup tonight, and you must be wearied, sir king: let us therefore rest at Finnerup, at least until the moon rises. There you may be tranquil, sire. They are brave people in Finnerup; and no evil shall befall you."
"In the name of God and all the saints!" exclaimed the king, anxiously, "let us only get under cover, and out of this infernal forest."
In a short time they reached an open field, and a pathway that led to the little country village. They all mounted. The king felt himself relieved when he again saw lights, and the sign of human beings. They were not far from the village, but it was getting late, and, one after another, the lights were extinguished.
"It must be bedtime with them," observed Rané, "and we may find some difficulty in obtaining shelter, unless we make ourselves known. But if you can bear with the scanty accommodation, we can at least find admission to the large barn of Finnerup. They are bound to give travellers shelter there; and that they are honest people, I need not tell you."
"This would be safest," said the king. "But should there be any dangerous travellers there, who might recognise us?"
"I will first enter, and look after the accommodation, sire. See, yonder stands the barn: it is open, and the lights are still burning. Let us hasten, sire, before they also are extinguished."
They now set spurs to their horses, and rode at a brisk trot towards the straw-thatched building, which lay in a remote corner of the village, near a little mean hut, occupied by an alehouse keeper, and frequented only by peasants and the poorer sort of people. This ale-house was closed and dark; and at the open door of the barn they saw only a couple of stablemen, about to lead out some horses.
"Remain here, sire--I shall return again instantly," said Rané.
He rode up to the barn, looked carefully around him, spoke a few words with the stablemen, and returned immediately.
"There is not a soul in the barn," he said, hastily; "there is excellent clean straw to rest upon, and the people do not know us. Follow me, your grace."
He rode forward, and the king followed him to the long, gloomy barn, which was dimly lighted up by a solitary horn-lantern, suspended by a rope from a centre beam. As the king passed the stablemen, he threw on them a sharp scrutinising look; but they doffed their goat-skin caps carelessly, and did not appear to know him.
"Shut the barn-door, Rané, and fasten it well," he said, dismounting from his horse, which the pages took, together with Rané's and their own, and led to the long mangers.
The king, who was much fatigued, then threw himself on a bundle of straw, but kept his look upon Rané, who, with much noise, was apparently fastening one of the lower bars of the door. There still remained a bolt to be shot in at the top; but this seemed too high for the chamberlain to reach. He therefore, laid down, close to the door, a bundle of straw, on which he stood, and secured the upper bolt firmly.
"There, now," he said, returning towards the king, and panting for breath, "I have fastened both bolt and bar. It was as much as I could do to manage the large bar. It is as thick as a beam, and the man who can break it is not born of woman."
"'Tis well, my trusty Rané" said the king, kindly: "repose thyself now beside me. Thou hast suffered enough to-night on my account. When we remember what Marsk Stig said at Viborg, we should avoid such adventures," he continued, familiarly, though with inquietude. "We shall never again ride out in Jutland during the night. Humph! had I outlawed him at that time, perhaps I had done well; but old John considered it more prudent to deal mildly with him. This Marsk Stig is a violent man, and singularly true to his word. More than once, lately, have I imagined I saw him."
"He is now certainly at his table, drinking wine with his good friends, at Möllerup," replied Rané, who remained standing, respectfully; "and little dreams that the King of Denmark reposes to-night on straw, in a wretched barn. Marsk Braggart would be glad to be on terms with you," continued Rané, "although he fancies that it is he who defends the whole nation, since he got you to acknowledge the laws and edicts of the kingdom. But if you would have him alive, Möllerup is not impregnable. The foolhardy marsk should bear in mind what the ballad says."
"What says the ballad?" inquired the king, abstractedly and pensively.
"I have not, in sooth, much dependence on ballad wisdom, sir king," replied Rané; "but it is a true saying, nevertheless, if rightly understood:--
"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere,
And about the field doth fly;
But she guardeth not the little hill
Whereon she might rely."
"Alas, yes, my trusty Rané," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the saying is as applicable to me. But did you fasten the door carefully? I thought I heard it shake in the wind."
"It does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the greatest force. I fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily: "there must be a thief in the candle. Shall I lower it and see?"
"You may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. Come, I shall trim it myself."
Whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses was heard outside the barn.
"There are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed Rané, taking the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?"
"Nay, for God's sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "If they want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room."
They were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now quiet again.
"They have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes, but there was a profound silence.
"What day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse I have never lived."
"This is St. Cecilia's night, sir king," replied little Aagé, who perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "Ah, gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy Cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night."
"Pray!--pray thou, child! I cannot," replied the king. "Mass-bell and church-hymn, I never followed: the holy Cecilia aids not me."
The little Aagé folded his hands and prayed. Rané still held the lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king, who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt.
"That is well, Rané: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered. "How many studs are there in my belt?"
Rané held the light closer. "I count twelve," he replied: "but why desire you to know that?"
"That was a singular woman in the forest, Rané. She could see up into heaven and down among the damned. She bade me count the studs upon my belt, if I would know the number of my traitors. Twelve only you reckoned? I fancied I had counted fourteen. Thirteen there are, at least."
"Who would be guided by the number of buttons, sire?" replied Rané. "When a man cannot make up his mind, I have heard that he should count his buttons; but that is suited only to children, sire."
"Thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, Rané? Reckon again, and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. Is it not so?--there are thirteen?"
"Well, possibly," replied Rané, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is not a lucky number, sir king."
"Thou art right. Thirteen was the number when the false Judas betrayed his heavenly Lord and King. But, why becomest thou so pale, Rané?"
"I have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied Rané, looking towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if I am a little palefaced. But listen! What is that?"
Lusty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and poles.
"Arise, King Erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice outside.
"I am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "That was the terrible Stig Anderson's voice." He had drawn his sword; but stood irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre.
The chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "King Erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "Conceal yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "Lay yourself down: I will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." He extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now stood in total darkness.
"Rané, Rané! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the wretched king.
"Hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! I shall defend you to the last drop of my blood."
"So shall I too!" cried little Aagé Jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "Alas! had I but a sword!"
The little Bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without continued.
"Be still--be still, youth! Resistance is useless here," whispered the king to Aagé. "Do not betray me with your whining, Bent," he added; "but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner."
They hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded them.
The noise outside was still increasing. The assailants hammered lustily against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of straw. Twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. They looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not finding what they were in search of.
"Where is he? He hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful voice from the midst of them. They searched fruitlessly every spot, except where Rané stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw.
"Save my life, my trusty Rané!" whispered the king from beneath the straw, "and I give thee my own sister in marriage."
"My king and master is not here, but I guard his jewels and treasures," cried Rané, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and I shall cleave the skull of the first who approaches." And he swung his puny sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a clump of wood lying on the barn-floor.
"You defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered Aagé: "give me your sword, if you will not use it better."
"Away, boy!" shouted Rané, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of the page, but without touching him.
Among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by the side of a powerful and gigantic form. These two pressed on at the head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of the other, until they reached the spot to which Rané had pointed. They both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king.
"Here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. At the same instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light of the torch.
"Aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of straw.
A scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter, issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving murderer. In their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch.
Rané continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any one. At last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of him who carried it. "Help, help! They are murdering my king and master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed furiously from the barn.
A fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene.
The gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. The fearful monk-like forms stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the murdered Erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes of death.
"He is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their leader, breaking the fearful silence. "Away! To horse!"
In an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have torn it asunder with his nails.
The two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the mangers.
"Monster!" now cried the little Aagé; and rushing towards him, he plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the madman's heart.
"Good, good--now I can die! Blessed be the angel from heaven who has redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the murdered king.
One half of the barn was already in flames. The four horses in the stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door; and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. The flames burst through the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of persons hurrying to the scene.
"Help me to save the king's corpse, Bent," said Aagé to his weeping comrade. And with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated.
"God be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed Aagé, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. Make haste!"
They were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse.
A great number of people had now assembled; but they gave little heed to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. The crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping youths in front of the burning pile. The feelings awakened in the minds of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed. The consternation and the confusion were great. They screamed and shouted from one to the other.
"Pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"Take care of the king's body!" cried others.--"Send word to Harrestrup!"--"Bring the drost! bring Sir John!"--"Send word to Scanderborg! there are still the queen and the young king!"
Such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered, but no one stirred to give them effect. Women and children thronged towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. Many commanded, but none obeyed.
At length was heard, in the midst of the hubbub, the cry of--"Room, room! the drost is coming!" and the noisy crowd was divided by three horsemen, who urged their panting steeds eagerly through them. It was Drost Peter, with Skirmen and old Henner Friser. Behind them followed a troop of huntsmen, having Chamberlain Rané, bound, in their midst.
"Silence here--give place!" cried Drost Peter, springing from his horse.
The crowd fell respectfully to one side, and a dead silence ensued. The drost beheld the king's body with horror. He hastily examined it, and found that there was no longer any sign of life. He counted fifty-six wounds, all of which were mortal. Under the king's vest he also found a dagger, which had not been withdrawn from where it had been planted in his bosom. He drew it out, and examined it closely: it was a magnificent weapon, wrought with great skill, its hilt representing a gilded lion. Having displayed it to the nearest spectators, he put it carefully aside.
"King Erik Christopherson is dead," he cried, with a loud voice, whilst he rose from the corpse and surveyed the crowd, whose earnest and sympathising faces were illumined by the flames of the barn: "he has been shamefully murdered, and this atrocious crime shall not remain unpunished, as certain as there is a righteous Judge above us!" He paused an instant, and a deep silence prevailed around.
"The young King Erik Erikson is now our lawful lord and king," he continued, with greater calmness, and raising his right hand: "the people of Denmark have themselves elected and sworn allegiance to him. The holy Church will ratify his election; and soon shall he sit, anointed and crowned, on the throne of his ancestors. If you be true to him, brave Danish people, he shall, if it please God, be a good and righteous king, and shall severely punish the cruel and audacious murderers of his father. May the Almighty give him strength, and throw his protecting arm over him and his loyal people!"
"Long live King Erik Erikson! long live our young king!" shouted the multitude; whilst a few cries of "Vengeance--vengeance on his murderers!" were heard.
Drost Peter waved his hand for silence, and turned to those who stood nearest to him. "Who here has the fleetest horse?" he demanded.
"I--I have!" cried Skirmen, springing forward.
"Right--none can speed as thou canst. Bide instantly to Scanderborg, my trusty Skirmen. Speed thee, and carry to the queen the woful tidings. Relate what thou hast heard and seen. Say to Sir Thorstenson, in my name, that every avenue to the palace and to our young king must be instantly closed and well guarded. To-morrow, I shall arrive myself, with Sir John, when I have properly cared for the dead king's body. Away! God be with thee!"
Skirmen was mounted in an instant, and flew off, with the speed of an arrow, on his little norback.
"Thou, trusty old Henner!" continued Drost Peter, turning to the grave old man, who had remained by his side immoveable, on his tall horse, and gazing upon the royal corpse with a strong expression of sorrow--"thou, and the royal huntsmen, pursue the murderers immediately. Take Rané with thee, and compel him to lead thee in their track."
Henner Friser nodded, and turned his horse. A minute afterwards, the giant-like old man, with Rané by his side, bound, rode at full gallop past the blazing barn, followed by the huntsmen.
"Ye good Danish men," continued Drost Peter, turning to some of the more respectable peasants who stood nearest to him, and who appeared to regard the royal corpse with most sympathy, "ye shall bear the body of our murdered king with me to Viborg. Bleeding, as it now lies, shall it be exposed to the gaze of the people. Lay four planks over that harvest-waggon, and yoke to it six of your best horses. Spread my mantle over the planks, and lay the corpse carefully upon it. You, children, follow me," he said to the two weeping pages, who, in the meantime, had caught the king's steed, and one of the falcons. "Tie the king's horse to the waggon, Aagé: he shall follow his master. Give me the falcon, Bent. Light two fir-torches, and place yourselves at the king's feet. You shall bear the lights for him to-night, for the last time."
The boys wept and obeyed; and the peasants soon executed the orders of the drost. His scarlet cloak had now become the king's pall; and he himself sat quietly on his steed, with the king's favourite falcon on his arm, and saw that everything was done becomingly.
Many people still crowded around, but there was no noisy commotion. From the women only was heard a solitary sigh, or a subdued expression of pity; but among the men, astonishment at the unheard-of deed appeared more general than sorrow or commiseration.
Drost Peter perceived this with deep emotion. "King Erik's last journey is dark. Take brands from the barn, and light us," he said, in a sorrowful tone.
Some men from Harrestrup instantly obeyed.
"Honour the dead; for the crown he bore, and for the sake of the royal race from which he was descended. Follow him, as many as can, yet as a freewill token of affection: none else is wanted. Withdraw which way you will; but depart with quietness, and repeat at least a prayer for his soul. When the sun last set, he was a powerful king, and our lawful lord and master. Let that den of murder burn," he added, with horror: "its foundation shall be razed, and every trace of it rooted from the earth. Where it stood, shall no man rest any more; but, for centuries to come, shall prayers be said, night and day, for the soul of the murdered king. May the merciful God be gracious to him and all of us!"
With emotion he raised his hand to his eyes and gave a signal, when the procession slowly moved forwards. The crowd dispersed quietly and in silence; twelve peasants only attending, who walked, with blazing fir-torches, on both sides of the waggon. Near to the king's head rode Drost Peter, with the falcon on his arm; whilst the steed followed his dead master. As the procession moved past the flaming barn, a strong light fell on the drost's earnest countenance, and the royal corpse lay aloft on the waggon, visible to all. At its feet sat the two pages, with torches in their hands. Silently and slowly the gloomy funeral train disappeared in the deep night; and here and there, on the highways and byways, along the road to Viborg, stood astonished peasants, gazing in wonder.
At Scanderborg, the queen and the young princes were still in deep slumber, at the early hour when Claus Skirmen reached the palace on his panting norback, which had carried his light rider more than forty English miles in six hours.
The landsknechts who held watch at the castle-gate and by the palace-stairs recognised the drost's squire, and instantly admitted him. They were surprised at his haste.
"Pull up the drawbridge, and lock the gates!" he cried: "the foe is at my heels!"
The grave landsknechts were amazed: no enemy was perceptible in the misty dawn, and they were not accustomed to receive orders from a squire. Whilst they hesitated and delayed, Skirmen leaped from his saddle, and hurried up to the queen's large ante-chamber, where Sir Thorstenson himself kept night-watch with the royal body-guards.
"The king is murdered!" cried Skirmen, almost breathless.
The whole of the knight's men in the hall sprang up, and stood as if thunderstruck or petrified.
"Murdered!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson: "art thou in thy right senses, Skirmen?"
"Murdered!" repeated Skirmen; "and the murderers are not half a mile distant: they are approaching, with a numerous band of horsemen. If you would not have the palace surprised, sir, let it be barricaded instantly!"
"Wilt thou drive us mad, Skirmen? Bar the palace, trabants! and every man to his arms! Righteous God! murdered!"
The alarmed trabants hastily quitted the hall, with scarcely sense enough left to execute the orders of their captain.
"Now, by Satan, speak, Skirmen!" exclaimed the enraged Thorstenson, stamping. "Who has ventured on this atrocious deed? Ha! was it the algrev--the accursed algrev?"
"Nay, stern sir: if it were not the devil and his imps, it was Marsk Stig and his kinsmen. At the barn of Finnerup the deed was done." And Skirmen then related all he had himself heard and seen, and what the drost had charged him to say. "And my master was right," he added: "had he not dispatched me instantly, the murderers themselves had perhaps first brought you the intelligence. An hour ago they held a council on Tulstrup Heath. They sat on horseback, and clothed in mail: in the fog I had nearly ridden into the midst of them; but the moon broke forth over their heads, and revealed to me their bloody swords. I hurried past them, and they pursued me up to the forest. There were certainly more than seventy men, and some amongst them were disguised as grayfriars. They must be here instantly."
"Let them come!" cried Thorstenson: "they shall find us awake. You are right: none has dared this deed but Marsk Stig. He has now fulfilled his oath, and slain King Erik. He may next aim at the prince's life; but his vengeance shall not reach it. Is everything in order, trabants?" he inquired of some of them who had returned to the ante-chamber. They informed him of what had been done for the defence of the place, and were again dispatched with fresh orders; and the utmost activity prevailed in the palace.
The sudden noise awoke the queen, who rang for her maids, and inquired what the disturbance meant. They were all frightened, but none of them yet knew what had happened. The queen arose and dressed hastily, to proceed to the guard-chamber. The noise in the palace increased. People ran about bewildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen among them; but where, no one could tell. Every one knew that a great misfortune had happened; but what it was, no tongue ventured to ask. In the guard-room the knights stood in complete armour, awaiting the orders of their chief. The hall looked out on the palace-yard, and was provided with a balcony, commanding a view of the high road. Here stood Sir Thorstenson and Skirmen, watching, on the road to the palace, a great cloud of dust, which they were now first able plainly to distinguish from the gray mist of the morning.
"You are right, Skirmen," said Thorstenson, with a nod: "it is a large band of horsemen; they will actually treat us here on fasting stomachs. No matter--they shall have their morning meal before us. Are the archers on the tower?" he inquired of one of the trabants.
"Yes, sir knight," was the reply: "they have occupied all the loopholes, and are ready, with arrows on their bowstrings, as you commanded."
"Good: but let no one draw a shaft until I wave this banner over the balcony," he commanded, as he seized the large royal banner which stood at the end of the saloon. "The more time we can gain the better," he added: "if it comes to a storming, we must use our shot-waggons; for the fellows deserve a warm breakfast. Let the fire rage under the stones, and they will soon he hot enough. We must melt these mailed flinty hearts."
The trabant departed.
At the same moment the queen entered, attended by her ladies and maidens. "What mean these preparations?" she inquired, looking anxiously around her, and at the same time, with her customary dignity, acknowledging the military salute given her by the trabants.
"God and Our Lady support you, my noble queen!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson, advancing, and lowering the banner respectfully before her: "I did not think your grace was up, and I would not suffer you to be awoke with evil tidings. Prepare to hear them with resolution, my noble-hearted queen. Drost Hessel has sent us this messenger; and in the colours of night ought he and we to be standing here, for the news he brings is dark and gloomy as the grave."
"That, then, has happened which I have so long dreaded," said the queen, becoming pale: "my lord and king is dead? Speak, young man!" she continued, turning to Skirmen, "what unhappy tidings dost thou bring of my unfortunate husband? Speak! The Queen of Denmark shall not be crushed by a word, though the dread of it may chase the blood from her cheeks! My lord and king is dead?"
"You have spoken it, noble queen," replied Skirmen, approaching her respectfully, whilst Thorstenson retired to the balcony, over which he looked with strained attention. "Traitors surprised him last night," continued Skirmen: "it happened in an evil hour, when he had lost himself in the forest, near Finnerup, and his trusty men were not by his side."
"Murdered, then--miserably murdered!--as is now every king of Denmark!" exclaimed the queen, leaning for support on one of her maidens.
"It is unfortunately so, my noble queen," replied Skirmen, with strong sympathy, although the expression of the queen's countenance seemed rather to indicate bitter anger than deep, heartfelt sorrow. "Drost Hessel was the first to find your unhappy husband, after the fearful deed was done, and the murderers had fled. He immediately examined his wounds, and found them numerous, and all mortal. He would not quit the royal body before it was placed beyond the reach of farther indignities; but, for the security of yourself and the princes, he bade me hasten hither; and, with God's help, I have made such speed, that I am here before the traitors. God preserve you, my queen, and the young prince, who shall now rule Denmark's kingdom."
"Where is he?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously looking around her; "where is the prince? where is my little Erik? Come the murderers this way? Are they near?"
"Be calm, my noble queen," replied Thorstenson. "A band of armed horsemen ride, indeed, towards the palace, with some disguised traitors at their head; but, so long as I and a single Dane remain alive, no enemy to the royal house shall set foot within these walls. I have sent for the princes, and they will be here immediately."
"Can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the traitors all beyond its walls? Are there none amongst us? And was it not a Dane who murdered Denmark's king?"
Overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king.
"The castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon another," replied Thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "The traitors are near us, but you have true men around you. Affront not every Dane by such dishonouring suspicions, illustrious queen. In this bloody treason the true Danish people had no part. Your royal husband was not beloved; nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or perjurers. Marsk Stig Andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest Dane. We will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with security the crown of Denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and loyal people."
"We will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!"
"Where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more composure: "can we see them?" She went hastily to the balcony, and perceived the dark troop of horsemen approaching, with the disguised, hooded men at their head. "They are numerous," she continued; "but not sufficient to intimidate my protectors. They approach the castle apparently with peaceful intentions."
"Let them come close up to the walls, noble queen. They must not imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. They have neither archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. The moment they commence an attack, I send them a salute of a shower of arrows from the tower."
"'Tis well, Sir Thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with proud indignation. "They shall behold the Queen of Denmark--they shall behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not slumber, and that the sceptre of Denmark, even in the hand of a minor, has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!"
The princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. The young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just heard; but his brother, Junker Christopherson, was burning with wrath and indignation. The queen turned from the balcony and approached them.
"My sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! Bear this sorrow as beseems his sons and avengers! Those who caused his death, thirst after your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm you."
Junker Christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. But that which so frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little King Erik.
"My sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "I am now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the kingdom. It shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall of my father's godless murderer. Is the castle in a state of defence, Sir Thorstenson?"
The bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. He bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to lose sight of the movements of the hostile horsemen.
"Good, good!" said Erik, nodding.
A trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. Erik hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with his mother, stepped on to the balcony.
The troop of horsemen had halted at some distance from the palace, and the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council.
At length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood, accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise, rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. The sun had just arisen, and shone upon the noble form and fair, pale face of the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right.
This spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. At length he reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the prince through the grating of his visor.
"Queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy braggart who denounced King Erik at the Thing of Viborg. You imagined that the man was not in Denmark who dared put so bold a speech in practice. Behold, then, in me, the Dane who has kept his promise to the king. The fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable."
With these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty features of the warrior. But speedily recovering herself, she again stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by her side grasped the hilt of his sword.
"Come you yourself, Marsk Stig Andersen, self-made king!" said the queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? Know, then, it was pronounced in that bloody midnight hour, and that here stands now your king and master, who will, if God spare him life, by a wave of his youthful hand, accomplish Heaven's judgment upon you."
"A self made king I am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice: "such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be Denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall determine. The time for that has not yet arrived; and I have not sped hither to contend with women and children. I came here to see what I now behold. You yourself best know who was a self-made king in Denmark. My deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought you sorrow and heart-pangs, Queen Agnes. I bear you, instead, a welcome message."
As the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse in her dreams. She blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"For these words, Stig Andersen, I shall answer you, when we meet before God's judgment-seat! Here, you stand deeply under the Queen of Denmark's wrath."
"Let me speak, mother!" interrupted little Erik: "I am his judge and master. Thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my mother, and shalt surely die! From this hour thou art an outlaw, as certainly as I shall wear the crown of Denmark!"
Junker Christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "The rack and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and angrily, clenching his hand with excess of passion.
The impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little king was effaced by his passionate brother.
"The threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight. "But know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant crown!--If I must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in the land more widows than thy mother--if Marsk Stig must lie, an outlaw, in wood and den, Denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and his followers! Away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear our hands! The kingdom and country can yet be saved!"
Sir Thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "Down with the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony.
At the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide from the loopholes of the castle-tower. The marsk turned his horse and laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. As if in derision of this fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone, discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails of the noble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him.
At the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers rushed towards him with bows drawn. The marsk hastily leaped on another horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower of hissing arrows and glowing balls from the castle of the infant king.
Twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in relating the manner of his death.
At Kiel Castle, Count Gerhard received as guests the illustrious Duke Waldemar and his drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. They had arrived, late in the evening, from a journey through Brandenburg, and were accompanied by both the brothers of Queen Agnes--the Margraves Otto and Conrad of Brandenburg.
In these brave noblemen Duke Waldemar had, in the course of his journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and had invited them to accompany him to Sleswick. The margraves were the intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent Count Gerhard, and they had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable Kiel Castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence, without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he journeyed homewards.
The duke had not met Count Gerhard since the evening he had seen him in company with Sir John, at the Dane-court of Nyborg, shortly before his own imprisonment. The interest with which the count had afterwards laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king, had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to shine in presence of the ladies. That the brave, honest count, notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious duke had never been able to forgive him.
Count Gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in Denmark had not yet reached Kiel. His guests and himself were seated at the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs.
The Margrave Otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. He was a great admirer of the German minne-singers, and sang several of their lays in a fine deep bass voice. To satisfy the Danish gentlemen that his royal brother-in-law, King Erik Christopherson, was more esteemed in Germany than by his own people, he sang Reinmar von Zweter's well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the Schwabian dialect, thus commences:--
"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"
and which may be thus translated:--
"A king so well becrown'd, and true,
And eke a crown beking'd well, too,
Maintains that crown aright:
Should thus the king his crown adorn,
That crown adorns him in return,
And each does each requite."
It was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been welcomed at Harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that his heart and courage were great and bold.
"Pokker i Vold! To the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged crown, my good friend!" said Count Gerhard, laughing, when Margrave Otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "Your good Master Reinmar is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, I could wish the song were Danish, and that the people might sing it from the bottom of their hearts. Yet I have no great relish for songs for the people that have to be brought to them from other lands."
"Now, now, my dear Count Gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a people's song, but a complimentary ode. How otherwise would you like to be sung?"
"Plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at all. Songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily, "must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. Nay, I prize more highly the art of my old Daddy Longlegs: he does more with his countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la. You must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen."
At his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen. This mightily amused Count Gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and manners he mimicked by turns. In this representation the guests immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic Master Martinus de Dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, passionate Master Grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned theologian. The dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester could more especially imitate to the life.
The duke and Sir Abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition.
"Excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold Master Grand to perfection. But if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire holy Church."
"He is not pope yet," replied Count Gerhard; "and more than one infallible clerk we are not bound to believe in. I have great respect for the abilities of the learned dean; but he is still a fallible man, and, like a good Christian, he must allow that even his best friends are not blind to his infirmities. To show you, gentlemen, that we here do not limit our selection of persons, when, at a merry moment, we have a mind to see them amongst us, without putting them to the inconvenience of a journey, Daddy Longlegs shall now give us a copy from nature, which it will probably cost you no great effort to recognise."
He whispered a few words to the jester, who nodded, and left the room. He shortly returned, attired in a princely purple mantle, with a gilded parchment crown on his head, over a tuft of thin combed-out hair. His face expressed a singular mixture of majesty and meanness, of wild strength and effeminate weakness: he seemed both to threaten and smile at the same time, and blinked constantly. He strode leisurely forward, stopping at times, as if in doubt, and supporting himself on his long wooden sword.
When Duke Waldemar saw this, he became pale. Count Gerhard laughed immoderately; and the knightly margraves seemed perplexed.
"Let this rather daring jest alone, noble Count Gerhard," at length said Margrave Otto, earnestly: "it is not becoming in us to be spectators whilst our royal brother-in-law is turned to ridicule."
"What the deuce, my brave sirs, are you afraid of the spectre of your royal brother-in-law?" cried Count Gerhard, laughing. "As you intend shortly to visit him in person, you will do well to accustom yourself to look him boldly in the face, without being embarrassed by his blinking, or scared by his anger."
The jester had withdrawn to the farther end of the apartment, where he stood in the shade, observing the effects of his mimicry. At that moment the door was opened, and two young knights, half intoxicated, stumbled in.
"News! news!" they shouted in a breath: "there is an insurrection in Denmark, and the king is slain!"
All sprang up in astonishment, except Duke Waldemar, who swooned, and sank back in his chair. In the general confusion, this was observed by Sir Abildgaard only, who hastily came to his assistance, and chafed his temples with wine, giving no alarm, but placing himself before him, and concealing him with his mantle.
The others gazed with alarm on the young knights who had brought the unexpected intelligence. But the terror of the jester was beyond control. Notwithstanding his talent for drollery, he was subject to a deep melancholy, which at times bordered on madness. A fearful horror now overwhelmed him, and he fancied that the ghost of the murdered king had actually taken possession of him, to revenge the mockery of which he had made him the subject. Longshanks became so deadly pale, and remained so motionless, that now he really personified a fearful spectre of the murdered king, whose mask he had assumed in a playful mood.
Count Gerhard had suddenly become grave; but the young knights who brought the message of death did not observe, in their half-inebriated state, the effects which their intelligence had produced; nor knew they that the two strangers were Margraves of Brandenburg, and brothers-in-law of the murdered king. They now related, in a careless and almost merry tone, what they had heard of the king's murder.
"There is no doubt about it, sir count," said he who stood nearest him: "he fell, appropriately, in a love adventure in Finnerup Forest; and could not himself have desired a fairer or pleasanter death. Let us now drink a happy journey to him, and a better and more faithful mate to his fair queen. Merrily, sirs! The health of King Erik Christopherson, wherever he may be."
Count Gerhard stood in agony during this unseemly and inconsiderate speech in presence of the margraves. He would have reprimanded the thoughtless knight, but the jester anticipated him. Rushing madly forward, in the guise of the dead king, he seized the bone of a roebuck from a silver dish on the table.
"King Erik Christopherson thanks you for the toast!" cried he, assuming with fearful truthfulness the monarch's voice: "to you, and to all his merry friends here, he sends a greeting."
So saying, he threw the large bone at the forehead of the young knight, but it missed its aim, and struck Count Gerhard, who fell to the ground, with the blood streaming from his left eye, which was laid open by the blow.
All crowded around him, alarmed. During the commotion the duke regained his senses: he cast an anxious look towards the end of the hall, where the jester had stood; and as he no longer saw the threatening form of royalty, he appeared entirely to recover his self-possession.
At the moment the accident happened to the count, the jester had cast aside his parchment crown and purple mantle, and thrown himself, with an exclamation of intense grief, over his wounded master; but Count Gerhard quickly arose, holding his hand over his bleeding wound.
"Our untimely jest has cost me an eye," he said, with composure; "but that is a matter of little consequence at present. If what we have heard be true, the kingdom and our noble queen are in a critical position. Haste, my lords, and stand by her with aid and counsel! As soon as possible, I shall place myself at the service of the crown and country."
Count Gerhard left the drinking-room to commit himself to the care of his surgeon; and his guests instantly departed from Kiel Castle, and hastily took the road to Scanderborg.
On the same evening the inmates of Möllerup were in a state of anxious expectation, for the lord of the castle had departed eight days before with a portion of the garrison. The gates were closed, and the drawbridge was drawn up as usual. The four watchers stood on the tower, and all was stillness in the strong, gloomy fortress.
In the women's apartment, as midnight approached, sat the tall, veiled Fru Ingeborg, in her dark mourning dress, engaged in sewing a long white linen garment. On the work-table before her, stood a lamp. The little, restless Ulrica she had sent to bed; but the quiet Margarethé sat by her side, industriously employed on the sacred picture, which she worked with silk and threads of gold, and which was destined to adorn a holy altar-cloth in the castle-chapel of Möllerup.
"I shall soon have it finished now, mother!" exclaimed the daughter. "Look once more. The red shines beautifully in the light: to me it seems as if the little angels smiled, and as if there really came a radiance from the faces of the infant Jesus and the dear Mother of God."
"Good, good, my pious child," replied the mother, patting her pale cheek, and casting on the work a passing glance through her veil. "I, too, shall soon be done," she added, with a suppressed sigh.
"But what is this long linen garment for, dear mother? It is neither a table-cloth nor a sheet."
"When I am dead, my child," answered the mother, "thou shalt thank the merciful God, and wrap my body and face in this linen cloth: then shall I have put off the dark dress of mourning, and be clad in white garments--white is the colour of innocence and purity, my child."
"Alas, mother! cannot we wear that garment, then, when we are living? But our Lord and Saviour took all our sins upon himself, when he died for us on the cross. Angels came to his grave in white raiment; and, when we become as little children, the kingdom of heaven belongs to us, as to the angels."
"Put on thy white kirtle to-morrow, my child," replied the mother.
"Ah, mother, mother!" sighed Margarethé, "when shall I see thy face again, and thy beautiful tender eyes? I well remember seeing them when I was very little; but that is long, long ago. Poor little Rikké has never seen thy face, and she is thy child also."
"Soon, soon shall ye both see me face to face, I hope," replied the mother, with a trembling voice. "Look at the sand-glass, child: is it near midnight?"
"It is past midnight, mother. Dost thou expect father to-night?"
"He promised to be here, or to send a messenger, before midnight," replied the mother, anxiously; "and he is not wont to forget what he promises. But he has a great pledge to redeem; and before that is done I shall not hear from him: until then, there is peace for none of us."
"Alas! wherefore not, mother? Rememberest thou not that the holy text speaks of the peace which is higher than human understanding? That peace the Lord has given to us all."
"Yes, truly, child: that peace the righteous shall find: they shall enter into their peace--they shall rest on their beds, it stands. But everything in its time: first war--then peace."
There was now heard the howling of dogs in the court-yard.
"Listen, mother, listen!" said Margarethé: "the dogs are noisy. They certainly expect father; but they were never wont to howl so fearfully."
"It betokens a message of death," said the mother. "Keep silence, my child; methinks I hear thy father's hunting-horn; and, list! the watchword rings from the tower.--He comes!"
Footsteps now sounded in the court. In the still night they could hear the drawbridge lowered and the gate turn on its grating hinges, and shortly after came the noise of many horses and horsemen in the court. Margarethé ran to the window.
"It is father and his men!" she cried. "But what is this? There are grayfriars among them, with torches! Father has now dismounted, and is coming straight to us."
Fru Ingeborg attempted hastily to rise, but sank back on her chair, powerless. "Seest thou thy grandfather, too?--Seest thou my hapless old father?" she inquired.
"Nay, poor old grandfather I do not see, mother. I can see all, but grandfather is not amongst them."
The door into the women's apartment was now opened, and the tall lord of the castle stood in his steel armour on the threshold. His visor was raised, and his stern, serious face was pale. He remained on the threshold without uttering a word, but made a sign to intimate that the child should be sent away.
"Go into the nursery, my child," said the mother, rising slowly, and trembling: "what thy father has to tell me, thou art not to hear."
Margarethé had approached her father, to greet him and kiss his hand; but she saw clots of blood on his gauntlet, and ran back affrighted. She folded her hands, and left the apartment, weeping.
The marsk then stepped over the threshold. "It is done!" he said: "take the veil of shame from thy face, my wife, and embrace, at last, thy husband and thine avenger! Thy scandal is washed out with the tyrant's blood: thou shalt no longer blush to be called the wife of Stig Andersen."
With a violent, almost convulsive action, Fru Ingeborg tore away her veil, and the rays of the lamp fell on her deadly pale and wasted face, which still bore the traces of a beauty seldom surpassed; but her dark blue sparkling eyes were deeply sunk in their large sockets. She stretched out her meagre hands, and approached the marsk. He drew back a step, surprised; but in another instant he rushed forward with wild ardour into her outstretched arms, while two large tears rolled down his iron cheeks.
"My Ingeborg! my unhappy Ingeborg! is it thus I again embrace thee!" he exclaimed: "has an age passed over our heads, and have we both grown old since last I looked upon thy face, and held thee in these arms? Live, live now, my hapless wife, and become young again! All thy griefs are over: thy years of sorrow and thy dishonour are avenged--fearfully avenged! Never was a polluter of woman more severely punished than he who murdered thy peace. Thy father was the first whose sword pierced his false heart."
"Ah! my father, my father! where is he?" inquired Fru Ingeborg, starting, alarmed, from her husband's bloody arms. "And thou art bleeding--thou art wounded!"
"It is the tyrant's blood--I swore thou shouldst see it. I am myself unscathed, my wife! but thy father--thy poor crazy father--he followed us not from the burning barn. I hurried back to drag him from the flames, but it was too late!"
"Burned! burned alive!" shrieked Fru Ingeborg. "Righteous God! thus does the Almighty Judge crush us for our vengeance!" And she fell senseless on the winding-sheet, which lay upon the floor.
When she again opened her eyes, she was on a chair, and her husband, in his bloody harness, yet stood alone with her. "Comfort thee, my wife!" said the marsk: "thy unhappy father lay not long in pain; his soul soared peacefully on the flames to that promised land of freedom for which he so long vainly sighed. Comfort thee, wife! Hear what I have to tell thee! It now concerns our own lives. Our great plans respecting the kingdom and country are not yet to be thought of. A panic has seized all our friends: every one thinks but of himself and his own safety. The people will not declare in our favour; but wail, like madmen, over the slaughter of the king. I myself am an outlaw: the young king has so proclaimed me, though without trial or judgment. I laughed thereat--but it struck my followers with dismay. And, truly, the words of the child appeared to me most marvellous. People may say what they will; but the child is now a king, however. I cannot rely on Duke Waldemar; and, therefore, we must away."
"Never, never! I remain here!" exclaimed Fru Ingeborg, with decision, as he raised her head.
"It is requisite, my wife, thou mayst believe me! I never retreated a step when it was possible to advance. Wilt thou now follow a poor outlawed man, my Ingeborg, or tarry behind, with a foul name, among our powerful foes?"
At these words the powers of life returned to Fru Ingeborg for an instant, with mighty force. She arose calmly, and regarded her husband with a look of surprise.
"A foul name I have borne long enough!" she said: "I shall no longer bear it in this world, even were I to be made Queen of Denmark. Thanks for having taken away my reproach--for me, no one shall further grieve. But if I am again the wife of Marsk Stig Andersen, hear now the last words which, in this world, I have to say to thee. My hours are numbered. The hour's honour I have won was not worth nine years' anguish, and that horrible night of fire and murder. Has the panic which struck our friends, seized also the mighty Marsk Stig? Art thou the man to be frightened by a child, and to flee the land at the bidding of a boy? Nay, nay, my bold avenger! It is the mist of the dusky night of blood that now obscures thy vision and weighs down thy soul--it is the kingly gore upon thy wambraces that paralyses thine arm. Stay here till dawn. Cleanse the blood from thy harness, and bethink thee why it flowed. 'Twas not merely that thou shouldst behold this pallid countenance. Tonight, I stand before thee as a spectre only to remind thee why thou hast tarried so long, and then to descend with honour into my grave. But when thou hast closed these eyes--"
"Live, live, my brave wife!" interrupted the marsk; "and thou shalt see that I will act in a manner worthy of thee. But, alone and unaided, not even the strongest can overthrow the throne of Denmark."
"When wert thou left alone? Hast thou not lords and knights of thine own kindred? Art thou not in league with kings and princes? Live Duke Waldemar and Count Jacob no longer? And are not Ové Dyré and Jacob Blaafod yet remaining? Our powerful kinsmen will not desert thee. In Norway, King Erik is thy steady friend: he is mighty in people and ships: him thou canst depend upon. Remain here, then. Let not our race be rooted out, and the land be lost. Build a castle on Hielm, that shall stand firm against shaft, and shot, and sling. Take not thy mighty hand from Denmark, my brave, proud Stig Andersen! Set the crown on a head that can bear it, and suffer not the families of Toké and Hvide to be banished, so long as thine eyes are open! Give me thy hand upon this, if my peace and salvation are dear to thee!"
"Well, my wife, I promise you!" said the marsk, holding forth his mailed hand to her: "if it please God, it shall so be done!" He became silent and thoughtful.
They stood thus for a few moments, hand in hand. The fire in the pale Ingeborg's eyes was quenched, and a cloud overspread her countenance.
"Thanks, thanks! now am I at rest," she said, slowly and solemnly; "now can I lie still in my grave, and grieve no more over my lacerated life, and over the blood that has been shed for my womanly honour. I shall not hear my forsaken daughters weep--I shall not hear my father's death-shriek in the flames. For the last time my eyes swim in darkness," she whispered, faintly, tottering. "Good night, my avenger! Thanks! Thou hast brought me the last message which I shall hear in the world. It was a message of victory, but of a terrible one. I am again thy lawful wife--but only beyond purgatory can I be what I was nine years ago--"
"Ingeborg, dearest Ingeborg! talk not so wildly!" exclaimed the marsk, anxiously; "retire to rest--thou art unwell."
"I go to rest," she whispered, and staring wildly before her. "Father, father! burn no longer for thy daughter! Now shall she pass with thee through the flames! Good night!" She pressed the marsk's hand fervently, and fell suddenly to the ground, as if struck with apoplexy.
Alarmed, the marsk called for help; but, before the servants arrived, their unhappy mistress lay, without sign of life, in the blood-stained arms of her husband.
Ere Duke Waldemar and the Margraves of Brandenburg reached Scanderborg Castle, Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson stood at the head of a considerable array of soldiers before the palace, where a camp had been pitched, whilst crowds of people flocked to do homage to the young king. Old Sir John had been brought to the palace on a litter; and the strictest regulations had been adopted. No seditious voice dared to make itself heard. Duke Waldemar and his train had ridden day and night, without intermission. On the second morning after they left Kiel, they beheld the camp of Scanderborg in the distance.
"We come too late," said the duke. "Tarry a moment, my lords: if I see aright, there is an army here."
"An army of seven or eight hundred men," replied Margrave Otto, whose glance at the encampment indicated the experienced general.
"Drost Hessel and Sir John have lost no time in this matter," continued the duke: "they receive the homage of the people without waiting for the chief men of the country, and the nearest kinsmen of the royal family. In this, you may see the presumption of these gentlemen. But the power is their's for the moment, and we must be silent. The boy has been declared King of Denmark; and your wise and illustrious sister, noble sirs, must, for the present, be content to exercise, along with me, the functions of guardianship. Even in that position we must remain quiet. So long as the present commotion agitates every mind, confidence is nowhere to be expected, and no rational measure to be thought of."
They continued their way in doubt and silence.
"Your conclusion, my noble duke, seems to me somewhat precipitate," said Margrave Otto, at length: "your eloquence had for a moment, in the present unexpected posture of affairs, somewhat dazzled me. The royal election has long since been legally determined; and any alteration, in it would be a culpable encroachment on the privileges of the people. My sister, the queen, would certainly hesitate to exclude her own son from the crown, for the vanity of being called queen-regnant; the more especially as, in reality, she will be so, as long as the young king is a minor."
"I fully concur in my brother's opinion," observed Margrave Conrad, who appeared to be considerably younger than the other, in whose views, however, he generally coincided, although he betrayed a certain independence of mind and character. "We feel grateful for your concern on behalf of our unhappy sister, noble duke," he continued; "but it has misled you. Let us not speak to her of a project so dangerous and seducing, and which has certainly never yet entered her thoughts."
"You are right, noble sirs," said the duke, quickly: "it was too hasty a conclusion. We must allow matters to take their necessary course. The thought was prompted by respect for the wisdom and rare qualities of your illustrious sister, and as a means of salvation for Denmark in the present conjuncture. What I have said on it must be a secret between us, in all the trust and honour of knighthood."
"I understand you," replied Margrave Otto, examining the duke with a scrutinising glance: "during the past week you have been singularly absorbed in, and have almost distracted us with, your state policy. I could almost swear you had a presentiment of what was about to happen."
The duke changed colour; and Sir Tuko Abildgaard, who had been silent during the whole journey, hastily turned his steed, and seemed busied only in guiding him.
"So much the worse," said the duke, hastily. "Who can have paid attention to the unhappy state of Denmark, and to the variances that have long existed between the king and his powerful nobles, without fearing the worst? There was a time," he continued, "when, as you know, I took an active part in Danish affairs: with the inconsiderateness of youth. I hoped, by a daring undertaking, to bring about internal peace and good government. My attempt miscarried; and now I rejoice, that my reconciliation with the king, and my renunciatory oath, exempt me from the most distant suspicion of having participated in this insurrectionary movement. Even my stay with you, noble sirs, in these dreadful times, I regard as the most fortunate circumstance of my life. In conjunction with you and your noble sister, I may now perhaps, unsuspected, aid in restoring order to my distracted country, and in chastising those audacious nobles who would lord it over the nation. We have seen, at least, that they are not afraid of resorting to the most violent measures to advance their own petty claims, and to gratify a miserable private rancour."
"There is my hand, noble Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed Margrave Otto, extending it cordially: "you intend honestly by the people and the unhappy royal house, and we shall henceforth give you both aid and counsel in restoring peace and order in the country. Let us no longer tarry. I long to see my noble sister, and to give her comfort in her hour of need."
They set spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly towards the camp of Scanderborg, where they were stopped, and their names demanded by the sentinels, who, however, respectfully allowed them to pass, on ascertaining that they were Duke Waldemar and the queen's brothers. On reaching the palace they found the drawbridge occupied by a strong guard of landsknechts, and were obliged to dismount, in consequence of the number of people who blocked up the way. The crowd fell back respectfully on each side before the three princely personages, whose handsome dresses and gold-embroidered mantles indicated their elevated rank. They were, however, often stopped in their progress, and their squires were obliged to remain behind, with the horses. During these stoppages many expressions were heard from amongst the people, which the duke and Sir Abildgaard listened to with special attention.
"Have they caught the murderers?" inquired a burgher.
"By the foul fiend, nay!" replied another: "the carls were well disguised, and who could know them? They had crept into monks' cloaks. For aught we know, they may be here, in the midst of us--nobody can tell a hound by his hairs."
"The wood has ears, and the field has eyes--what has been hidden in the snow, comes up in the thaw," observed an old woman on a crutch: "if Sir John or Drost Hessel catch them, they will be hanged, without doubt."
"Hanged?" cried a young fellow--"where now, Dorothy Ketch? The rascals would dance for joy below the gallows, and hug the halter, if they could get off so easily. Nay, nay; the dogs must be broken, and be upon the wheel. The king wasn't just what he should be, it is true, and was too fond of hunting after wives and wenches; but they had no right, for all that, to kill him, like a mad bull, in a barn."
"When our young king grows bigger, he will revenge his father, like a good Christian," observed a sturdy peasant.
"But where is he? Are we never to get a sight of him?" cried another: "they haven't surely slain him, too?"
"Nay, nay--the Lord put a bar to that," replied the peasant: "they were here the same morning early, before the devil had his shoes on, and would fain have laid hands on the young king; but he was up as soon as they were. When they saw him on the balcony, they grew pale in the nose, and durst not crook a hair at him. If, as they say, it was really the valiant marsk, he was frightened enough when he heard himself outlawed; and the fear of the Evil One seized on all of them before they could knock at the door."
"Rack and wheel were promised them, and red-hot stones they took with them on their journey," said the young fellow.
"That was brave! He will be a doughty king," cried many voices at once: "he will be another sort of man to his father."
"There he is! there he is!" was now vociferated by the crowd; and on the balcony was seen the young king, in his little regal helmet and a knight's black suit, by the side of his mother, who stood clothed in black velvet, with a diadem on her dark tresses. Her face was pale and tranquil, and she surveyed the crowd with great earnestness and composure. On the left side of the little king was placed Sir John, in an arm-chair; and behind him were seen Sir Thorstenson, and a body of royal trabants, with halberds and bucklers.
"Long live King Erik Erikson!" shouted a powerful voice from the balcony; and old Sir John, with an effort, rose and waved his hat.
A thousand voices repeated the shout of homage. The little king bowed to the people with the bearing of a knight, and uttered a few words, which, however, were only heard by those who were nearest, although they were instantly responded to by the entire voices of the multitude.
"See how the young braggart struts and swells!" whispered Sir Abildgaard: "he has learnt betimes to play the knight and king."
Duke Waldemar angrily bit his under-lip, and gave a private signal to Sir Tuko, who left his side, and mingled with the crowd.
Shortly after, a voice from among them shouted--"No more Eriks! We must have a Waldemar for king!"
This exclamation, although no one knew whence it proceeded, was caught up by a considerable number, and a discontented murmur commenced in the assemblage.
But old Sir John again arose, and, notwithstanding the excessive pain he suffered, read, with a loud and distinct voice, a document which, ten years previously, had been signed and sealed by the bishops and estates of the kingdom, and again renewed by the people in 1280, confirming Erik's legal election to the crown. He then repeated the shout of homage, and every rebellious and opposing voice was drowned in the overwhelming cry of "Long live King Erik! long live our lawful king! Down, down with the traitors!"
Duke Waldemar endeavoured hastily to escape from the clamorous multitude, justly fearing that they might tear him in pieces as the instigator of the seditious cry. He therefore joined, with a loud voice, in the shout for King Erik, and happily succeeded, together with the Margraves of Brandenburg, in getting within the palace-gates.
The proclamation having been made, the royal party retired from the balcony, and the people soon afterwards dispersed. In the riddersal, the queen received her princely brothers with considerable emotion, and greeted Duke Waldemar with a coldness which was to him altogether unexpected.
Drost Peter had, in the meanwhile, been receiving from the soldiers the oath of allegiance to the young king; and, a few hours afterwards, he conducted the whole royal family, with a numerous escort, on the way to Viborg. The queen's car, containing the little Princess Mereté and her governess, accompanied them, the queen herself sometimes riding in it when tired of horseback.
It was a grand and solemn mourning procession. In a black velvet mantle, with ravens' feathers in her pearl-bound hat, and mounted on a snow-white palfrey, the queen, attended by her sons, rode through the villages on the route. Prince Christopher was also attired in a magnificent suit of mourning; but the young king chiefly attracted attention. He rode on a tall coal-black steed. Under his black velvet mantle, which was lined with sable and figured with golden crowns, he wore a full suit of knights' armour, the wise precaution of Drost Peter and Sir John. In his little crowned helmet waved a plume of ravens' feathers, and on his arm he bore a small shield, on which was represented a helmet with two golden horns, on the extremities of which were affixed two peacocks' feathers. The youthful king had not yet been dubbed a knight; and although, from his second year, he had been accustomed to hear himself addressed by the title of royalty, he set much greater store on being accounted a knight, and on displaying his arms. It was from this childish love of pomp that he had himself caused to be painted the shield with which he was now for the first time publicly seen, and which he bore with a mien as grave and manly as if he confidently felt he was henceforth called upon to protect the kingdom and country with his puny buckler.
Nearest the royal personages rode the Margraves of Brandenburg, with Duke Waldemar and his drost. After them followed the chancellor, the learned Master Martinus, together with the high-marshal, the under-marshal, and all the counsellors of the kingdom, old John Little excepted, whose recent accident obliged him to remain at Scanderborg.
After these came the royal trabants, and twelve pages bearing torches. At the head of the procession rode Sir Thorstenson, with a numerous band of landsknechts; and Drost Peter Hessel, with Sir Bent Rimaardson, closed it in, and guarded the royal personages on both sides with their bold and trusty horsemen.
The procession advanced slowly and quietly towards Viborg, which was reached, after numerous stoppages, on the evening of the following day, when the body of the murdered king, which, from St. Cecilia's night, had been exposed to public view in the great cathedral of that city, was to be laid in its coffin and interred.
As the procession approached Viborg, Master Martinus first broke the long and solemn silence that had prevailed during the whole journey. Notwithstanding the deep sorrow that bowed him down over the misfortunes of the kingdom, the patriotic old man had so strong a desire to unbosom himself, that he forgot for a moment the private suspicions he harboured against Duke Waldemar, as the secret head and protector of the regicides. They happened to be riding side by side, when the chancellor turned to the duke, with an antiquarian remark, on the name and origin of the ancient city of Viborg, which he thought was derived from a certain Queen Vebeca, or from the Gothic people Viti, or, perhaps, with better reason, from its elevated position and ancient use as a place of sacrifice; or even from the heathen war-god Vig; and hence that the place had been originally called Vigbierg--the hill of Vig.
"Very possibly, sir chancellor," replied the duke, abstractedly: "as a man of learning, you must understand that best."
But the chancellor continued to allude to several conjectures regarding Odin's surname, Vigner, and concerning the amazon Vebiorg, who is mentioned in the dithyramb on the race of Bravalla.
"It may be all very true, sir chancellor," exclaimed the duke, peevishly; "but I am not versed in these profoundedly learned matters, and therefore do not concern myself respecting them."
"If we examine the town-arms," continued the chancellor, zealously, without noticing the duke's impatience, "they may perhaps confirm the opinion of these who hold that the town was first called Vigletsborg; the more especially if we suppose the two figures in the shield to be King Viglet and his queen. Some learned persons, however, have conjectured these to be Adam and Eve, with the tree of knowledge of good and evil between them; but, again, if we compare the shield with the city seal, (sigillum senatorum Vibergensis civitatis,) it is evident that the Adam and Eve of one party, and the King Viglet and his queen of the other, are in reality male persons, one old and the other young, who undeniably represent two judges; and I deem it singularly right and judicious that the young judge should have the older and more experienced one by his side; as, in like manner, our young king may now consider it fortunate, in the midst of these disasters, that he has his father's old, tried, and trusty friends by his side."
"Your learning, worthy sir chancellor, must be especially advantageous to him," replied the duke, jeeringly; "and if you could help him to discover the origin of the name of Denmark, it would certainly be a great assistance to him in governing the kingdom wisely."
"If we do not derive the name of our dear fatherland from Danais, as the antiquarian historian Dudo supposes, but from old King Dan, as Father Saxo maintains," replied the chancellor, calmly, although he noticed the sarcasm, "it is a thought well calculated to awake kingly aspirations in our young master's soul, that he can reckon his birth and descent from that ancient king, who gave a name to his people and country. Such knowledge is never to be despised."
He ceased, and fell into deep thought, during which he nodded, as if approving some idea that had occurred to him.
"When I behold this great and fair city, with its lofty ramparts," he said, resuming the conversation, "my hope in the Almighty God is strengthened, that he will henceforth keep his hand over the people and their lawful king. From this point the great light of Christianity was spread abroad among the people by means of the holy Bishop Poppo's wonderful miracles. On yon heathy summit our ancient kings received homage; and there the holy martyr, King Canute, got the true aid of the brave Viborgers against traitors and rebels. Here the great Waldemar was first proclaimed king; and here he found help and refuge with the trusty burghers, after that treacherous and crying slaughter at Roskild. Here, also, alas, three and thirty years ago, was homage paid to this same unhappy king, then an innocent child, whose ensanguined corse we are now about to see carried to its resting-place. Accursed be his murderers, and they who have caused this disaster! I would they were present in the midst of us, that our murdered king and master might turn upon them his glassy eyes, and discover them to us."
As he uttered these words he examined the duke closely. It was getting dark, but he could nevertheless plainly perceive an expression of uneasiness in his countenance.
"Do you not share my wish, highborn sir?" he inquired. "And think you any one of the regicides, or of their accomplices in the horrid deed, is so hardened and godless that he would not grow pale and betray his guilt in presence of the murdered king?"
The duke's horse began to plunge, and as soon as he had brought him into a steady pace again, he replied to the chancellor's question, without, however, turning his face towards him. "You would not make a good inquisitor, sir chancellor," he said, quickly, "if you think you could detect the criminals in this fashion. You may rest assured, worthy sir, that I shall cause search to be made for them in every direction; but I should least of all expect to discover them here. The audacious murderers will certainly be careful, on such an occasion, not to come hither, where they might be so easily detected. That Marsk Stig is the ringleader, we well know; but if we were to regard every one as a participator in the horrid act who may happen to grow pale or be affected during this solemnity," he continued, "we must first denounce ourselves and all the most attached friends of the country and the royal house; for who can barely think of the dreadful deed without emotion? When the margraves and I first heard the report of it, in Count Gerhard's castle at Kiel, we were almost overwhelmed with horror. The daring marsk has accomplices, most assuredly. I have dispatched spies throughout the country; and if you can discover the murderers before I do, sir chancellor, you will be entitled to our thanks. As our young king's nearest kinsman and natural guardian, I consider myself bound to pursue them."
The learned chancellor was silent, and again relapsed into thought.
The town soon lay distinctly before them, with its numerous churches and chapels, from which more than twenty towers and steeples rose towards the heavens.
"Hark, how the funeral bells are tolling from the steeple of Our Lady's Church," exclaimed now the grave chancellor: "soon will they be thus tolled from every steeple in Denmark; and think you not, illustrious sir, they will ring like the knell of doomsday in the ears of the murderers, wherever they may be?"
While he was yet speaking the sounds of bells increased, coming louder and more distinctly from the twenty churches of the city, and from every village steeple in the neighbourhood. Night closed in, and the flambeaux of the pages lighted up the mourning procession. Duke Waldemar's horse plunged about wildly among the flaring torches, seemingly affrighted at the tolling from the bells.
"Nay, hark again to the small bell on the gable of the grayfriars' church, behind the cathedral: how clearly it sounds beyond every other, although it has no belfry!" exclaimed Master Martinus to the duke, who was warm with curbing his unruly steed. "The poor grayfriars!" continued the chancellor: "they ring zealously to-night; desirous, perhaps, to let us know that they had no share in what their cloaks concealed in the barn of Finnerup."
The duke replied not, but addressed himself to his drost. "Do we not enter by St. Mogen's Gate?" he inquired, in an indifferent tone.
"Nay, illustrious sir: that is the entrance from the Aaborg road," replied Sir Abildgaard: "here we have the sea and the Borrewold on our right, and must enter by St. Michael's Gate, and along St. Michael's Street to the cathedral."
"Thou art right, Tuko. This noise has confused me. Is it not respecting St. Mogen's Gate they relate that stupid fable?"
"Yes, i'faith, sir," replied the knight, laughing--"of a bronze horse, under ground, that is said to sound whenever we have war in the country."
"The concealed horse, under the gate of St. Mogen, has been the palladium of the city from the earliest times, gentlemen," observed Master Martin, gravely: "it is said that no traitor and enemy of his country has heard it ring, and survived."
"The deuce!" exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, with forced pleasantry; "it is a pity the good St. Michael has not such a wonderful horse under his gate: we should then soon have certain proof whether we are all as good patriots as our learned chancellor."
"The holy Michael gives no warning," replied the chancellor, "but brandishes his flaming sword against the doomed. That is his image, gentlemen, we perceive over the gate there."
The procession was now entering the arch of the gate, and the torches illumined a knight-like, brazen statue, that stood over it, with one foot on a dragon, and a long flaming sword in its hand. The sword was gilded, and shone bright, in the light of the flambeaux, above the duke's head. He looked up, and fancied the statue moved and bent towards him; and quickly spurring his horse, he dashed under the gloomy archway.
"Did I not know it was a brazen statue," he whispered to his drost, "I could have sworn it was alive, and had Marsk Stig for its shadow."
The mourning train proceeded slowly along St. Michael's Street to the cathedral. Every window was lighted, and the streets were filled with people of all ranks, among whom as deep a silence prevailed as if they had been inanimate forms. The train approached the great illumined cathedral, whoso immense bells, with their deep, hollow tones, drowned those of every other.
In the large area surrounding the cathedral the mourners dismounted, and the procession advanced on foot, in the order in which it had arrived. Black cloth had been laid along the path leading to the doors of the church, which stood, grand and majestic, with its two lofty spires, and its four chapels, as it had been enlarged by King Niels, and completed by Bishop Nicolaus, in the twelfth century.
The procession entered, proceeding along the principal aisle, and past the four chapels, wherein candles burned on fourteen altars. The chapel of St. Kield, the patron saint of the city, on the northern side of the cathedral, was brilliantly illuminated. In it candles were burnt night and day, under St. Kield's golden shrine, which was suspended by gilded links from the vaulted roof; and here was seen, in passing, the tomb of the murdered Svend Grathé.
The last of the train had not entered the church-porch when the first halted opposite the high altar. Here the arms of the murdered king, bearing the two lions and the two crowns, half concealed by a veil of long black crape, were lighted up with twelve wax-candles; and here stood the provost, in full canonicals, with two other prelates, an archdeacon, a chanter, and twelve minor canons, with tapers in their hands. They sang a solemn requiem over a large oaken coffin, covered with lead, on which lay the great sword of King Erik Christopherson, by the side of a silver shrine containing the holy sacrament, which was now to follow him to the grave; as his sudden and violent death had prevented his receiving it whilst alive. On the shrine was engraved the Latin inscription: "Panis adest veræ domini sponsalia vitæ."
When mass had been sung, the provost pronounced a short oration. He then raised the lid of the coffin, and placed the shrine between the folded hands of the corpse. Every one who desired to see the royal body, now received permission to advance. A few only approached so near that they could see it, and among these was the young King Erik. He bowed in silence over his father's corpse, laid his hand upon its gory breast, and said a few words which no one heard. He then stepped back, and hid his weeping face in his mantle.
No other person approaching, the prelate replaced the coffin-lid, and having again laid the sword over it, the canons raised the coffin, and bore it, at the head of the mourners, behind the high altar, where they placed it in a vaulted tomb, raised an ell above the ground; whilst a deep and solemn dirge sounded from a crypt directly underneath. The prelate then cast three spadefuls of earth on the coffin, and pronounced, with a loud voice, the usual burial-service of the Church.
He then announced to the people, that the betrayed and murdered king, five years before his sudden death, as if impelled by a wonderful presentiment, had endowed the cathedral with gifts and estates, in order that masses and vigils should be maintained until the last day for the repose of his soul.[[33]]
"The requiem," said he, "which is now sounding, shall never cease. Every night this song shall ascend from the depths of the earth to the throne of the Almighty. Day and night we shall pray for the soul of our murdered lord, and implore the King of kings, that King Erik may be the last monarch of Denmark who shall fall by the hands of traitors and murderers. The Lord have mercy on the soul of his anointed! Woe! woe to his murderers!"
This woe-cry was repeated by all the canons, and by many of the mourners, among whom the voice of the young King Erik sounded with wonderful distinctness. Three times the woe-cry was repeated by the invisible chorus in the subterranean chapel beneath the tomb.
During the whole of these solemnities Master Martinus had been closely scrutinising every countenance around him, although he was inwardly much affected, and held his folded hands on his breast. In some, he beheld deep emotion; but many exhibited only coldness and indifference; and in others he remarked even a degree of bravado that alarmed him.
The duke and his drost stood with their faces turned from him, and appeared to have their attention fixed on St. Kield's Chapel. But when the hymn sounded from the crypt under their feet, and the deep woe-cry echoed among the arches of the church, the duke had to support himself on his sword, and laid his hand on his forehead; whilst Sir Abildgaard hastily whispered a few words in his ear. At the same moment a subdued shriek was heard, and a momentary confusion took place amongst the people at the church-door, where a man, who had swooned away, was carried out.
The train of mourners slowly quitted the church. During the funeral solemnities Drost Peter had stood quietly by a pillar of the choir, with his hands folded on the hilt of his drawn sword, which he held point upwards, while the Gospel was read. In this chivalrous and devotional posture, which signified that the knight was prepared to defend the holy faith, he had inwardly prayed for the soul of his murdered king, as well as for the future welfare of the young monarch and his kingdom.
When the procession had retired from the church, he observed a tall female form, in a simple black dress, and with a dark veil over her face, kneeling with folded hands near the high altar, where she seemed to pray with great devotion, without observing what was taking place around her. Her noble and beautiful figure reminded him, beyond all the women of Denmark, of her who was dearest to him; and, notwithstanding her simple dress, and the improbability of her being the Lady Ingé, he remained, absorbed in reverie. It was not until the tall form rose to depart, that he became aware that the procession had already withdrawn, and that the lights on the altar had been extinguished. He then sheathed his sword, and advanced slowly towards her. When he stood before her in the deserted aisle, which was still faintly lighted up by the candles of St. Kield's Chapel, she started, as if surprised at the meeting, and appeared anxious to avoid him.
"Ingé--noble Jomfru Ingé! if it be you," said he, "oh, do not avoid me, but say what weighty reason brings you hither? It is well that our prayers should unite at the royal tomb, and before God's altar, on this great day of mourning!"
"Drost Peter Hessel," replied the maiden, pausing, "here then, perhaps, we meet for the last time in this world. I will no longer attempt to conceal my face from you; although the cause of my appearance here must remain a mystery to you."
The veil was thrown aside, and revealed her whom the dear and well-known voice had already announced: the brave Lady Ingé stood before him. She regarded him with a countenance on which a deep although calm grief was imprinted; but its expression was softened by pious confidence, and by a calm demeanour announcing a firm and powerful will.
"For heaven's sake, what has happened to you?" exclaimed Drost Peter, alarmed. "I see you for the last time, say you? What mean you, noble Jomfru Ingé? Why are you here alone? and where is your father?"
"Inquire not, Drost Peter--I cannot, I dare not answer you. Give me your word of honour as a knight that you will not follow me from this holy place, nor seek to learn the road that I shall take."
"How can you think, noble Ingé, that I should follow you?"
"Remember who I am, and you will then understand me. This only can I tell you: I am fulfilling a heavy but necessary duty in quitting this unhappy land. God knows when I shall again see it; but here only my heart and soul are at home. Yet one thing more must I declare to you," she continued, with a trembling voice--"for my justification and your own peace. You must know it--that it is the truth, you have my word:--my unhappy father was at Flynderborg on St. Cecilia's night."
Drost Peter saw how much it had cost her to utter these word's; and he heard them with a feeling of joy, which, however, was restrained by a thrill of horror at the frightful thought they concealed.
"The merciful God be praised!" he exclaimed. "Take my word as a knight, noble Jomfru Ingé, that although my whole soul follows you wherever you may journey, mine eye shall not attempt to spy out your way, whoever accompanies you. We stand here on a divided road," he continued, deeply affected; "and I see too well that we must be parted for a time; but by my God and Saviour, in whose presence I stand, I shall not resign the hope of again seeing you! You were my childhood's bride, Jomfru Ingé! Our angels before God's throne united our infant souls, before they knew each other. If you may not or will not hereafter become my bride in reality, when these turmoils which now part us have ceased, and Denmark's throne again stands fast--I now vow to God, and by every saint, that Drost Peter Hessel shall go down unwedded into his grave, but never shall he forget his childhood's bride! Answer me not, noble-hearted Ingé! Crush not with a word the fairest hope of my life! I have an important work to perform in the world, and feel, by the blessing of God, strength and courage to complete it faithfully, even with this greatest loss. But with you is torn away the blossom of my heart's life, the fruit of which I must be condemned never to taste. Deprive me not, then, of my fair hopes, but rather, with one word, bid them live. Say but that word, and my courage and strength shall increase tenfold, to realise with cheerfulness the thoughts which first brought our souls to know each other. Ingé, dearest Ingé! canst thou hereafter love me?" With these words he seized her hand, and cast on her a look beaming with the strongest affection.
She withdrew her hand. "I can, my childhood's bridegroom," she replied, with inward emotion; "yea, I can love thee deeply, so that, even should I never more behold thee with these eyes, I can preserve thine image in my soul, until we meet in that greater fatherland where no strife and guile can prevail, and where no might can sever us. But I am a daughter, Drost Peter," she continued, retreating a step--"I am an unhappy daughter. You are--you must be--the enemy of the man who gave me life. Do, in God's name, what you must and ought, and let no thought of me lead your mind from truth and duty. The Almighty shall determine whether we again meet in this world or not!"
"It shall, it must be, noble, dearest Ingé! the compassionate Creator will not for ever divide us."
"That no one knows, save He who knows all. Farewell, my childhood's bridegroom--farewell! God and all his saints be with thee and our fatherland! He who is merciful be gracious to us all! Farewell!"
So saying, she hid her face in her veil, and disappeared along the dark aisle.
Drost Peter dared not follow her. He stood as if rivetted to the pavement; and it seemed to him as if the dark and baleful spirit that sped over the land had now torn away from him also the delight and joy of his life; but he felt, at the same time, with a melancholy pleasure, that this farewell hour had shown him a glimpse of a blessedness of which no separation, and no power on earth, could rob him.
He had been standing for some time, gazing on a tombstone in the floor of the church, when he raised his eyes to the image on the cross, above the door of the choir, and it seemed to him as if the drooping head of the Redeemer shone with glory in the rays proceeding from the lights of St. Kield's Chapel. Suddenly he felt a powerful blow on his left shoulder, as if from a strong, mailed hand. He turned, and a tall man, clad in armour, with his visor down, stood before him.
"We are met, Drost Peter Hessel--we are met!" uttered a deep and powerful voice. "If you are the knight who is placed to guard the infant throne, defend it if you can! You now behold the man who swears to overturn it, or perish in the attempt."
"Ha! Marsk Stig! regicide!" exclaimed Drost Peter, drawing his sword. But at that instant all the lights in St. Kield's Chapel, which had alone illuminated the church, were suddenly extinguished; the powerful, gigantic form disappeared, and Drost Peter groped alone, with his drawn sword, among the tombs in the dark cathedral.