PART III.
Half an hour after Lady Ingé had left Drost Peter in Viborg Cathedral, by the grave of the murdered king, she departed, in the plain dress of a citizen's daughter, through St. Mogen's Gate, in company with her father. Many travellers were proceeding the same way; but before midnight, by order of the young king, every gate was barred.
Duke Waldemar and Sir Abildgaard had accompanied the procession from the cathedral. The old Borrewold Castle had been prepared for the reception of the royal family and their followers; and there, late in the evening, the queen and the young king held a council, with locked doors, at which were present the Margraves of Brandenburg, Chancellor Martinus, and Drost Peter, who had hurried from the church with the important intelligence that Marsk Stig himself was in Viborg, and had had the audacity to be present at the funeral. Every precautionary measure was instantly adopted. The approaches to the royal apartments in the Borrewold were guarded by Sir Thorstenson and Benedict Rimaardson, with the royal trabants. Mailed horsemen and landsknechts blocked up every avenue to the castle. The trusty civic guard of Viborg was armed, and, at the chancellor's suggestion, the orders of the king were immediately issued to shut the gates of the city, and to institute a strict search throughout it, during which every suspicious person was seized and imprisoned.
It was past midnight. The duke, with great inquietude, paced up and down his sleeping chamber, situated in the eastern wing of the castle, facing the Viborg lake. The events of the journey and the interment had strongly excited his fears. The expressions of the chancellor on their way to the city, and his searching looks in the cathedral, had created in him a feeling of uneasiness, which he in vain endeavoured to overcome. His anxiety was farther increased by the stern preparations going forward in the castle, which had not escaped his notice. On every side he heard the tread of armed men--in the court-yard, as well as in the passage outside his chamber.
Although both himself and his drost were waited upon with the greatest attention, and even with regal pomp, it still appeared to him that all his movements were watched; and the strong guard outside his door was far from pleasing to him. He had despatched Tuko Abildgaard into the city, an hour before, to ascertain the cause of the excessive noise and clang of arms he heard there, and he had not yet returned. The door was at length opened, and the young knight entered, breathless.
"What is the meaning of the din?" inquired the duke: "is the town in an uproar?"
"Not precisely so; but matters look suspicious," replied Sir Abildgaard, with some agitation. "They are searching everywhere for the marsk. I have been three times laid hold of, and your name was barely powerful enough to liberate me."
"Have they seized the marsk?" asked the duke, hastily.
"Nay, sir duke: it is rumoured that he left the town before the gates were secured. The Stig knew well what he was about; but what he wanted here to-day, I am at a loss to conceive."
"That is easily understood," replied the duke. "To know in what temper the people are, must be to him of much importance. Great grief or lamentation I did not observe; neither saw I peasant or burgher in the procession."
"But now the wind has shifted, sir. The sight of the queen and of the young king has worked a wonderful change in the mob. You should hear how they growl against the daring marsk and his friends, and how they lament and extol the deceased king, the soft-hearted fools! We shall now have Reinmar von Zweter and all the German poets in vogue, and Erik Glipping will become a great man in his grave. But it is always thus. When the wild beast, that every one pursued, has fallen, even his greatest foes lament over him, as if he had suffered shameful injustice; and they admire the monster for his powerful claws, when they have no longer anything to fear from them. That wavering turncoat, Sir Lavé, from Flynderborg, has been here, with the marsk: he was seized with qualms in the church, it is said, and behaved like a madman during the funeral. Fortunately, he has disappeared. Had they caught him, he was in a condition to betray us all."
"Us?" repeated the duke, suddenly changing his tone of familiarity to one of pride and coldness: "remember to whom you are addressing yourself, Tuko! What connection had I with these conspirators? Look to your own safety. After what you have stated, I would advise you to be careful. Rely not on my name: unless you can, like me, wash your hands of what has happened, and swear you had no part in it, I cannot aid you. I am here, with the young king, as his nearest kinsman and protector. With Marsk Stig and his transactions, I can have nothing to do. The late conspiracy at Möllerup is already talked of as a well-known affair, and you are named as having been concerned in it. But for me, I knew nothing of it, and nothing will I know."
"But, most gracious sir," exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, in astonishment, "you stated no objections when you accorded me permission to travel; and, though you did not expressly send any message by me, we perfectly understood each other. What I promised in your name, I have never doubted but that you would fulfil."
"What you have promised, you must yourself perform. I have promised nothing that I dare not proclaim to the world. That which I promised and swore to the deceased king, in our covenant at Sjöborg, I have kept to the letter. From that hour I have undertaken no step against the crown and kingdom, and yet here they have no confidence in me. I must remain contented with respectful servants, and an ample guard of honour, while the margraves and Drost Hessel are present in the council. But I shall speedily teach these gentlemen who is the guardian of the king, the legal protector of the kingdom; and the daring rebels, too, shall know that I am not the man who, contrary to his oath and duty, will be found protecting traitors and regicides."
Sir Abildgaard stood as if thunderstruck. "My noble duke," he said, at length, "you must be jesting? You will not strike down, in his moment of need, the faithful friend who has placed his life in jeopardy for your sake? I, who so cheerfully shared imprisonment and adversity with you--you cannot seriously propose to use me as a mere tool, which you can suffer to be broken and cast aside with unconcern, when you have no farther need of me? If this, however, be the friendship of princes, I must indeed have been the most obtuse animal in the world, when I thought I had discovered generosity and magnanimity under purple."
"Tuko," said the duke, with a transient expression of emotion, and a proud commanding look, "link not your common notions of friendship and generosity with that great chain of thought that binds my princely life to the throne of Denmark. Have you been familiar with me from my childhood, and not yet learnt to separate the thought from the word? Think you this hand can ever be so mean and base, as to crush the true and active friend of my youth, who spoke and acted, while I was forced to sleep and hold my peace? Learn truly to estimate your princely master, who ceases not to be your friend, although he must now, for loftier reasons, assume the appearance of a stern enemy. If, with me, you have discovered the true meaning of living for a great and noble object, know also that the paltry vulgar virtues, which people call friendship, fidelity, gratitude, and I know not what, are at bottom but pompous nothings, which only command the respect of children in spirit and statecraft, and which the matured ruler-mind hesitates not to cast aside when, from the puppet masses, he can embody for himself the great idea for which he lives and labours. If you now comprehend me, Tuko, you will at once acknowledge and respect that mighty spirit you nurtured in its developement, and by whose side you shall again stand when I have reached my goal, and you have acquired strength to follow me. Meantime, you must depart: this night must you fly; and by your flight accuse yourself, and betray what you can no longer conceal. You, and all the other delinquents, I adjudge outlaws. As the king's guardian, and protector of the realm, I shall pursue you with rigour when the proper moment has arrived. But if there be a great spirit in you, as I have believed, you will not therefore hate or mistake me; and when the season of persecution is over, you shall find that Duke Waldemar was not a selfish or faithless friend, and that you were no credulous fool when you trusted to generosity and magnanimity under purple."
"Now, I understand and admire you, noble sir," replied the artful knight, bowing profoundly, "though I must flee you as from a stern pursuer. What I have done for you in secret shall cast no shadow on your glory. You can stand high and pure by the infant throne, and condemn your friends without blushing. Good--I shall fly--whither I dare not say; but wherever, in the north, there sits enthroned a powerful protector of Marsk Stig, there is the place of shelter for his persecuted friends. Farewell, noble duke: your drost shall soon be gone. Spare not the hardened sinner when he gains a respectable distance; but remember also, that none of us are immaculate, and let mercy take the place of justice when the hour of condemnation has arrived."
So saying, he retired into a side apartment, and speedily returned disguised as a right handsome pantry-maid. He curtsied to the duke, mimicking with much drollery the bashful manners of a servant-wench.
"Dearest gentleman," he said, with the accent of a Jutland peasant-girl, "I am a modest, innocent lass, and hardly know how I could have found my way into the presence of such a grand young lord. Pardon my intrusion, and allow me to quit this place pure and uninjured, that the slanderous world may think no ill of me. That you are a dangerous gentleman for such as me, is well known; and your guard of honour will certainly not be surprised if I conceal my modest face from them. Thanks, worthy gentleman, for your gracious kindness. For your sake I must now hide from the world for a long time, and you must pretend not to know me, though I shall probably grieve for what is yours, and you will not certainly repel the hand of your humble servant."
"Art thou a fool? Is this a time for jesting?" exclaimed the duke, in a low tone; and, opening the door into the passage, "Good night, my child," he said, aloud, patting the cheeks of the pretended girl in the open doorway. "Run on, now: these brave soldiers will not harm thee. But take care, in future, that thou dost not thus go astray after wedlock fancies, and mistake a knight's closet for the pantry."
The rough landsknecht outside the door smiled in his beard, and, without suspicion, allowed the tall pantry-maid to slip past.
The duke closed the door, and cast himself, in gloomy thoughtfulness, on a chair.
"Flee, miserable coxcomb!" he muttered, "and find a shelter now where thou canst! Thou wilt hardly escape without getting thy wings scorched."
In a minute afterwards he fancied he heard a scream. He approached the window with some uneasiness, and distinguished a cry of "Seize her! it is a disguised traitor!" shouted by a gruff voice in the street. There followed some shrieking and tumult, which, however, soon died away in the distance.
The departure of the intimate friend of his youth, and concern for his fate, seemed to have disposed the duke to melancholy; but the feeling was not of long duration.
"Bah!" he said to himself, as he proudly paced the floor, "when the ancient heroes tied fire beneath the wings of swallows, and sent them forth as instruments of conquest, what cared they for the piping of the little creatures?"
He again threw himself on a chair, and fell into deep thought. Since his imprisonment at Sjöborg, where he had often held converse the whole night with his owl and his dead kinsman, as if the latter answered him from the inscribed prison-wall, he would frequently, in his closet, talk half aloud to himself; and it was rumoured and believed by many, that he was leagued with powerful spirits.
"As far as I know," continued he, wrapt in his gloomy fancies, "the first great stage is mounted: it requires courage to stand upon it, for it is bloody and slippery; but I did not stir a hand--not a word escaped my lips. I stand pure and free; and where is he who can accuse me? The next stage is a minor. It, too, must be ascended--but without crime. The fair hand that shall help me up is cold, but it may be warmed. It will lose me a pious soul, but a love-dream shall not stand in my way. On! on!--and then--then shall no one say, 'Behold! there goes King Abel in his grandson!'"
Next forenoon, when Duke Waldemar left his apartment to appear in the royal presence, the guard of honour lowered their lances respectfully before him. The queen and the young king received him with an attention that surprised him; whilst Drost Peter's salutation, though somewhat cold, was courteous. The duke surmised that the council had resolved to invest him with that full power and authority which they could not refuse him without overstepping the law of the land, and rousing a dangerous and powerful enemy, who, in open league with the conspirators, could easily overthrow the yet unstable throne.
The consciousness of this power, and the feeling that he was already secretly dreaded, although his authority was not publicly acknowledged, imparted to him an air of confidence and almost kingly dignity that did not ill become him. He approached the queen with as much ease and freedom as if he had already been for a long time her adviser, and the guardian of the young king. He spoke of the critical state of the kingdom, and of the measures to be adopted, with sagacity and zeal, but at the same time with the decisive air of a co-regent. This demeanour was, however, attended with so much politeness, and respectful acknowledgment of the queen's important influence as royal mother, that the fair and proud Queen Agnes could not possibly be offended. She appeared to have already been more favourably disposed towards the duke by her brothers; and, now, she could not but admire the delicacy with which he advanced his claims, without seeming at all assuming or importunate.
The constraint which was apparent in the queen's demeanour at the beginning of the conversation soon disappeared, and Drost Peter observed with concern the manner in which the duke, by his subtle flatteries and vehement denunciation of the conspirators, contrived to disarm the queen of every suspicion that had previously attached to him.
"It is a horrible conspiracy!" exclaimed the duke, warmly. "Many of the most important men of the country appear to be engaged in it. A rigid investigation has become necessary, that the guilty may be discovered, and the innocent remain unsuspected. My former misunderstanding with the king, and that youthful folly for which I had justly to atone at Sjöborg, and which there I also learnt to forswear and repent, may have exposed me to a distrust, which I hope soon to remove by faithful deed and counsel. In a magnanimous soul an unfounded suspicion can never take deep root, though there be spirits mean and distrustful enough to nourish it. I blame no one, however, for being vigilant and cautious," he continued. "In these unhappy times, distrust insinuates itself into the closest relations of friendship and kindred. Would you believe it, noble queen, even the friend of my youth, Drost Tuko Abildgaard, had given me cause for strong suspicions, which, I regret to say, are now confirmed; for last night he disappeared."
"How?" exclaimed the queen, with surprise: "your drost--the young Sir Abildgaard?"
"Even he, noble queen! Is it not melancholy? A man, whom I regarded for so many years as my friend--he who shared my youthful follies, and was, indeed, partly the cause of them--though for that he shared my imprisonment in Sjöborg, which he left, as I believed, with the same abjuration of his errors that I made--I have now reason to believe that he was present with the conspirators at Möllerup, in the foolish expectation that I should approve that horrible project, if it could be executed before I dreamt of it. Yesterday, having heard with what horror I condemned the conspirators, he fled, and I have not since heard of him."
"Respecting this affair, illustrious sir," observed Drost Peter, "I have to inform you, that Sir Tuko Abildgaard was last night apprehended in a suspicious disguise, but afterwards escaped by a daring artifice, and is not yet discovered."
The duke remained silent, and merely raised his hand to his eyes, as if unable to restrain an emotion that seemed to do honour to his heart.
"Noble duke!" exclaimed the queen, with warm interest, "what you have lost in that false friend you have gained in my esteem and confidence. That your drost was among the conspirators was well known to me; and there was a moment when even those who defended you most zealously were forced to admit that your intimate connection with this knight was unaccountable. My brothers are your friends. From them I have learnt your disinterested sympathy, as well for me, as for the crown and kingdom. They were witnesses of your horror upon first hearing of this audacious crime; and it will greatly rejoice them to learn, that the incomprehensible enigma of your relation with Sir Abildgaard has thus been solved."
The duke blushed slightly; but hastily availed himself of the advantageous impression he had made upon the queen. He advised that a Dane-court should be held at Nyborg in the spring, where he would himself be present, and, in conjunction with the queen, assume the guardianship of the young king. In the meantime he hoped to show himself worthy of that important office, by securing the country against the daring marsk and the rebels. He suggested that the queen should, for the present, remain with the young king at Viborg, where the strong garrison and the fidelity of the burghers rendered any hostile attack impossible. This had been the advice of Drost Peter and the chancellor, in which the Margraves of Brandenburg had also concurred.
The same day the duke left Viborg, apparently on the best terms with the royal house. A short time afterwards it was announced that he had raised an army in South Jutland, to oppose the marsk and his adherents.
But Drost Peter trusted him not; and old Sir John, who, quite recovered, soon arrived at Viborg, shook his head doubtfully at these tidings. They suspected that the duke merely pretended to arm himself against the marsk, in order to muster a respectable force, with which he could assert his claims at the Dane-court, and secure his election to the regency.
Whilst nearly all the conspirators, stricken with horror at their own deed, had sought refuge in Norway, Marsk Stig had buried his wife, and, with his two daughters, had left Möllerup, where he no longer considered himself secure. At great personal risk he had been present at the king's interment, and had marked how little favourable to him and his cause was the temper of the people.
Nevertheless, it was quickly rumoured that Rypen House and Flynderborg were in the hands of the rebels, and that the valiant marsk, with seven hundred men in iron, and his warlike engines from Möllerup, had taken a strong position on Helgeness and Hielm, from which points he appeared resolved to carry devastation through the country.
Helgeness is a peninsula, girded by immense heights. It stretches, like a promontory, from Molsherred towards Samsoe, between the bay of Vegtrup and that of Ebeltoft. The neck of land by which this peninsula is connected with North Jutland, is only two hundred paces in breadth. With the utmost haste, the marsk had caused this approach to be cut off by a deep trench, and a wall of large hewn stones, at which they laboured day and night; the old castle on Hielm Island being fortified at the same time.
This singular little island is only about an English mile in circumference. It lies in the Cattegat, about two miles east of Helgeness, and about a mile from the point that runs out from Ebeltoft parish. The old castle on the island is said to have been built in pagan times, by the famous King Jarmerik, who was there slain. The island and castle belonged, at the period of which we treat, to Chamberlain Rané Jonsen, as did also a tenement or farm-house on the point, which, for many ages after, was called Rané's barn-yard. The island possessed a good haven, where lay Jarl Mindre-Alf with his pirate-vessels. There was no want of fresh water; and Fru Ingeborg had, with much prudence, advised her husband to make this his place of refuge. Here he was in greater security than at Möllerup, had firm footing on the Danish coasts, and could receive supplies from Norway without impediment. The island was already, from its situation and heights, so well fortified by nature, and the old castle was so favourably situated, that it did not seem difficult to make the place impregnable. There were now added two lofty towers, with loopholes and strong battlements, and the castle was provided with deep double trenches.
The marsk had not awaited the permission of his kinsman, the crafty Chamberlain Rané, to occupy this important position, and probably he did not expect much complacency from him. The latter, indeed, appeared to have intended this secure asylum for himself, should all miscarry. Hence, on the marsk's arrival, he found a brave little garrison in the castle, who had strict orders from the chamberlain to defend it against every one to the last extremity. The marsk had therefore to take the place with the strong hand, and was so exasperated by the unexpected resistance he encountered, that he allowed the whole garrison to be slain. For this reason, it was afterwards sung, in the old ballad:--.
"Marsk Stig he captured Hielm so steep--
The truthful tale I tell:
Full many a cheek was blanched that day,
And many a hero fell."
Here the marsk erected his lithers and other formidable machines on the old rock-fast walk and visited Helgeness almost daily, to superintend the fortifications there. His seven hundred ironclad men were garrisoned in Hielm, and on the peninsula. Some of the peasants in the neighbourhood had voluntarily declared for him; but many he caused to be seized, and compelled them to bear stones and labour on the works. The towers on Hielm speedily arose, as if by miracle, terrifying the oppressed peasants all around, who were constrained not only to work on the walls of Helgeness, but also to supply provisions for the garrisons of both places.
These misfortunes were attributed by the depressed people to the bad government of the murdered king; and the feelings they then indulged are plainly indicated in the ballad which, a few months after the king's death, blended mournfully with the blithe spring song of the birds, and in which the new fortress was described as a monster who had risen from the sea, with horns like towers. Therein it was sadly sung:--
"The peasant he goes out o'er the field,
And there he sows his corn:
Help us, our Father in heaven high,
Now Hielm has got the horn!
"God pity us poor peasants gray,
That Glipping e'er did reign:
Alas, that he was ever born
To be the peasants' bane!"
This ballad the stern marsk himself heard a young peasant-girl singing, one fair morning in the beginning of May, while, mounted on his war-steed, he was surveying with pride the strong defences, to which a few peasants and prisoners of war were still engaged in dragging the last stones.
One of the strongest workmen on the walls was a stalwart old man, in a worn-out leathern harness, who, notwithstanding the presence of the marsk, had sat quietly down on an angle of the wall, his arms crossed, and regarded the proud general with a wild, disdainful look.
The peasant-girl, carrying bandages in her hand, advanced leisurely along a footpath, beyond the wall. Her song seemed to surprise the marsk. The old prisoner on the wall also listened attentively. The girl first sang aloud, at some distance:--
"They were full seven score men and seven
Upon the muir who met:
The king is slain--how rede we now?
And where now shall we get?
"The king is slain, and lies a corse--
The peace we've broken down;
Here we can neither bide nor bigg
In field or burrow-town.
"But we will on to Scanderborg,
And bid the queen good-day,
And ask the lady how she doth
Before we farther gae.
"She may forget how she would mock,
And all our words deride:
The fire is now in the mocker's house,
And she the stour maun bide."
Marsk Stig started. He heard his own words to the conspirators, at the council on the heath immediately after the king's murder, and something of what had passed between the queen and him at Scanderborg.
The peasant-girl drew nearer, and sang, with a loud voice, what had been preserved in the ballad of the words of the queen and the young king:--
"Welcome, Marsk Stig, thou self-made king!
Now shalt thou have thy due;
This night of blood, should King Erik live,
Full dearly shalt thou rue.
"Then up spake Erik Erikson,
Little though he mot be:
From Denmark thou'rt outlawed, as sure
As the crown belongs to me."
The marsk became irritated, and reined in his steed; whilst the prisoner on the wall laughed aloud.
"Pray be not angry, stern sir marsk," he muttered: "only hear the ballad out. There is not a word of falsehood in it."
The peasant-girl seemed to concern herself only with her bandages and her song, which went on to relate how the marsk went home to Lady Ingeborg, at Möllerup, and how she advised him to fortify Hielm. With deep grief, Stig Andersen heard some of the last words of his unhappy wife, as the girl continued her song:--
"For nine long winters have I pined--
In secret borne the blight;
My heart is now laid in the grave--
Good night, my lord, good night!"
The anger of the marsk changed to a deep melancholy. He sat on his horse motionless as a statue, listening to the two last verses of the ballad, which the girl sang with such an expression of sadness, that it pierced his heart, and he felt as if, in these tones of sorrow, the whole grief of the country had united to penetrate his bosom with reproaches, as with a sharp two-edged sword. The words were simple and touching:--
"The sturdy oaks in the greenwood stand,
When the storm comes down amain,
But the hazel and the birchen tree
Are rooted from the plain.
"What kings and courtiers do amiss
Upon the poor doth fall;
Then pity us wretched peasants, God!
Have mercy on us all!"
"My Aasé, my Aasé!" suddenly exclaimed the old prisoner on the wall, springing up and extending his arms towards the dark-eyed country-girl, who, with the delighted cry of "Grandfather, dear grandfather, have I at last found you?" dropped her bandages, and with outstretched hands ran towards him as eagerly as if she would have crossed the deep ditch and sealed the wall that separated them.
"What now, child?" exclaimed the marsk, riding up to her. "Wilt thou be the first to carry Marsk Stig's fortress by storm? Is this thy daughter, old graybeard?"
"My grandchild--my blessed little Aasé she is, stern sir marsk!" cried old Henner Friser, so deeply affected that, for a moment, he forgot his feeling of defiance. "She has sought for me the whole country round. Ah, if you have a human heart, sir marsk, deny me not the pleasure of clasping her again to my old bosom, and blessing her once more, before I drag myself to death on your accursed wall."
"Thou art an intractable and audacious carl," replied the marsk: "even when thou beggest a favour, thou defiest me, and cursest my work."
"I dare not curse your work, sir," replied Henner: "my hand is not purer than your's; but my help will bring you no blessing. Every stone I have rolled hither will most assuredly be scattered: therefore have I toiled like a beast of burthen, and have not every day laid my hands in my lap. And well may I call this wall accursed; it bears the ban in its own foundations. It will fall, as surely as it now stands, proud and bold, a devilish barrier between Danish hearts. It parts even fathers and children; for here I stand, a miserable, thrall-bound man, forbidden to embrace my own child."
"Strange old man!" exclaimed the marsk, with a vague feeling of dread--"thou art free. Descend! Bid the landsknechts unbind thee, and depart in peace with thy child!"
"Thanks, stern sir," cried little Aasé, seizing the marsk's mailed hand, and pressing it to her lips: "for this deed will the merciful God forgive you all the sorrow you have caused me. Come, come, grandfather! Thou art free--hearest thou not, thou art free!"
"Free I have always been," replied the old man, proudly, and without moving. "I have not raised a single stone more than I chose, and from this day forth I should never have raised another. It might have cost me my head; but that I have worn long enough, and I would never wish it to fall by an abler hand than Marsk Stig's."
"Thou singular old man!" exclaimed the marsk, thoughtfully, "thou shouldst never have fallen by my hand, however much thy insolence might have deserved it. Neither of us, I perceive, should condemn the other. Thou art a man who, hadst thou so willed it, might have stood by the side of Marsk Stig."
"I do stand by your side, Stig Andersen!" interrupted Henner, raising himself proudly erect on the lofty wall above him: "at this instant I stand as high, not merely on this wall, which separates you from your country, but on the mighty boundary between the land of the living and the dead. Many days of penance I have not remaining, unless, like the shoemaker of Jerusalem, I have to roam the earth like a spectre till the day of doom. What I have to say to you at parting, I shall say aloud, before the whole world. Would that my voice could reach every ear in Denmark!" And he cried, loudly: "Cursed--cursed is the hand that is lifted against kings and crowns, were it strong as St. Christopher's, and pure as that of the Holy Virgin. The murderer of a king shall never know peace: his race shall perish from the earth--his best deeds shall be as the flax, that is consumed in smoke and flame--"
"Silence!--thou art mad, old man!" cried the marsk, in anger, and with a threatening gesture.
But the old warrior remained immoveable, and gazed full in his flashing eyes. "We two are able to look angry men in the face," he continued, calmly: "but you are right--neither of us should condemn the other. I have not much to tell you, Stig Andersen. You slew the false ravisher, King Glipping. I, Henner Hjulmand Friser, slew the accursed fratricide, King Abel. We are thus equals. I can hold out my hand to you as a comrade--the one bloody hand cannot smear the other."
"Ha, old Henner! wert thou that bold Frisian?" cried the marsk, in astonishment. "Come hither! I shall dub thee a knight, even in thine old days."
"That shall you not, Stig Andersen," replied the old man. "In deeds I am your equal; and you shall now see that, without the stroke of knighthood, I stand as high as you. I have not repented my act, nor have you repented your's. But I did not persecute the dead in his innocent race--I did not undertake, with blood-besmeared hands, to distribute crowns, nor desire to become an idol among men. I would free, not lay waste, my country. I built no wall between hearts and hearts. Yet I perceive that there can be no blessing with us, and such as we. For this was I unable to seize you and your accomplices; but was led into this stronghold by the crafty demon that I myself had bound. And here have I atoned my temerity, by slaving for a greater regicide than myself. It is the reward I merited. I perceive this now, proud marsk, and am therefore a higher man than you. The time will come, Stig Andersen, when you shall see it in the same way. We then may meet again, and toil like trusty comrades on a greater rebel-defence than this."
He paused for a moment, and the wildness of his countenance gave place to melancholy. "Yet, nay," he continued, in a subdued tone, "there is still pardon for us both; but not thus--not thus--mighty marsk. I am on my way thereto: if you will with me, tear down your accursed defences, and follow me yonder, to where the sun rises!"
So saying, he descended from the wall on the inner side. His words had made a singular impression on the marsk.
"Humph! he is still half crazy, however," muttered the gloomy warrior, as he rode in silence to the gate by which the liberated prisoner was to issue.
Alarmed by her grandfather's words, Aasé, pale and trembling, followed the knight. As they reached the gate, Henner Friser, with a long staff in his hand, advanced towards it. He still wore a link of his heavy iron chain, which did not, however, obstruct his movements. The marsk's trusty attendant, Mat Jute, who superintended the fortifications, followed the haughty old man, to hear his liberation confirmed by the marsk himself, before he removed the link.
"Loose him--he is free!" ordered the marsk, and Mat Jute obeyed.
"One word farther only, Henner," said the warrior. "Whither wouldst thou I should follow thee?"
"Thither, where yonder tree once grew, and bore the eternal fruit of mercy," answered Henner, pointing to a large cross, which stood by the roadside.
The marsk laughed wildly. "Yes, truly, when I have reached my second childhood," he replied. "Depart in peace, old man. Thy deed was greater than thyself; and so it overcomes thee. Go get thyself a letter of pardon: turn saint if thou canst; and let us see who shall first reach the goal. When thou returnest, thou shalt be welcome to me, wherever I am. We can then discuss, to better purpose, which of us stood the highest, or performed the most."
The marsk spurred his horse and disappeared within the fortification. Henner Friser silently extended his hand to little Aasé, and they departed leisurely, without once looking behind.
They thus continued their way for some time, in painful silence. Aasé at length broke it.
"Dear, good grandfather," she said, tenderly, "why dost thou not speak to me? I have not seen thee for many a day--not since that dreadful St. Cecilia's night."
"What sayest thou, my child?" inquired the old man, as if awaking from a dream--"ay, let us hear: what became of thee on that fearful night?"
"Yes, fearful it was, truly! When thou and Skirmen had both left me, I fell asleep on the bench, and my dreams were frightful. When I awoke, I was in the cellar, beneath the floor, and I thought that I had seen the king, and warned him of the grayfriars. It was daybreak, and I ran to the forester's. There I heard of the king's murder, and that thou hadst followed the murderers. I waited for thee three days, in the greatest anxiety, which I could endure no longer. I then exchanged clothes with the forester's maid, took our little hoard, and resolved to travel the country over until I had found thee."
"My true, my dearest Aasé!" exclaimed the old man, patting her cheek: "thou hast had better fortune than I. And no wonder: the pure angels of God attend thee; but I--I had an imp of the Evil One for my guide. I, too, at length found those I sought; but my guide was craftier than I and my companions. That artful fox, Rané, befooled us long enough, and took us all round Jutland with him. But at last I became impatient, and threatened that my good sword should despatch him. He then swore with an oath that if the regicides were in the country, I should discover them at Helgeness. There, sure enough, I found their ringleader, was overpowered, and, as you witnessed, made a beast of burden. Ha! I merited the reward! How can Henner Hjulmand enter into judgment with regicides!"
"Dear, dear grandfather, now do I know what has so troubled thee when it stormed of a night. But, trow me, it was not the dead King Abel who rode through Finnerup Forest in the dark: it was the marsk and his man; for I knew them both again. And now be comforted, dear grandfather. Our Lord will no longer be angry with thee for that deed. The ungodly King Abel, like another Cain, had surely slain his brother, and did not deserve to live. But if thou hast not rest therefore, dear, good grandfather, let us make a pilgrimage to Rome, or to the holy sepulchre, as you intended, and there obtain pardon of all our sins."
"Yea, that will we, my child. Had I no greater burden to bear than thou hast, this path would be easy to me. Now, however, that thou knowest what oppresses me, I am already lighter of heart. I have never wished this deed undone, but still it has robbed me of my peace. If, however, it please God and St. Christian, my soul shall yet regain tranquillity ere I die. Whatever penance the holy father lays on me I shall perform, unless he require that I should repent. We shall succeed; and, if thou hast brought the gold-box with thee, we shall not suffer want on our journey. 'Tis time enough yet to fast."
"See, grandfather, here it is: I have not touched it. I bound up wounds by the way, and thus earned more dalers than I have spent." So saying, she handed the old man a little wooden box, and another containing copper money. "But, alas, dear grandfather," she continued, "is it true that the dreadful marsk is stirring up the whole land to rebellion against the young king?"
"Aye, child, and more's the pity: he is the ablest carl I have known; but Denmark has given birth to him to her own ruin. He has powerful friends, both at home and abroad. The country is full of traitors. There is something to be done here worth having a hand in, were I still young, and dared defer this penance. Flynderborg has been betrayed by Sir Lavé, and at Rypen House the marsk's banner of rebellion waves over the castle-gate."
"Ah, grandfather, there will be terrible times. The duke, with a large army, is before Rypen, but nobody believes that he intends honestly by our young king and country. Drost Peter is also expected there--and Skirmen will certainly be with him--when, it is said, the castle will be taken by storm."
Whilst they were thus conversing, they heard behind them the gallop of horses. They turned, and beheld two tall peasants, mounted on noble steeds, attended by a peasant-lad on a norback, and leading two saddled horses behind him.
"Drost Peter!--Skirmen!" cried old Henner and Aasé, in the same breath.
In an instant the peasant-lad had dismounted, and was in Aasé's arms. Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson, for the disguised peasants were no other, then stopped. They soon learned from old Henner what he knew of the marsk's strength at Helgeness and Hielm, which, in their disguise, they had already closely approached, and were therefore almost as well acquainted with the state of the defences as Henner himself.
"Follow us to Rypen, brave old man," said Drost Peter. "Until that royal burgh is ours, I shall not appear in the presence of the queen and our young king. Good counsel is precious here; and if you know more than your paternoster, now is the time to show it. You and Aasé may mount our spare horses."
Little Aasé was soon on horseback, and they proceeded at a brisk trot on the road to Rypen.
On the way Drost Peter learned from Henner that the crafty Rané was greatly embittered at seeing his ancestral castle on Hielm in the hands of the marsk; but that, dissembling his feelings, he had been despatched from Helgeness, no doubt with a message to Norway, or probably to bring reinforcements. How he had accomplished his errand, however, Henner knew not.
An important change had, in the meanwhile, taken place with Rané. Neither the marsk nor the Norse freebooter had received him as he had expected when he led Henner Friser and the royal huntsmen into their stronghold at Helgeness. The marsk had offered him no compensation for the island of Hielm and his ancestral fortress; and the jarl, instead of redeeming his promise to receive him as his son-in-law, had merely given him the stroke of knighthood, and told him to be contented with that honour for the present. Rané was too prudent to betray his indignation: he therefore appeared only zealous to serve the marsk, and to show the jarl that he was not deficient in daring courage. He had sailed from Helgeness in one of the freebooter's pirate-ships, giving them the assurance that he should soon prove he had not received the golden spurs unworthily. But instead of bearing to Kongshelle, as he had promised, where the Norwegian king, Erik the Priest-hater, and Duke Hakon, were residing, he steered direct for Tönsberg.
Rané, since he had received the stroke of knighthood, seemed to have acquired a spirit of daring which was strikingly manifested in his whole deportment and appearance. His squeaking voice had, in the course of the last half year, become transformed into a somewhat rough bass, not deficient in strength; his reddish downy beard had become darker and stronger; and the feminine expression of his countenance gave place to one of strong and wild passionateness. The feeling of the important influence he had acquired in these great state affairs, and the dangerous position he had placed himself in, from which he could extricate himself only by his own sagacity and abilities, gave a stamp of confidence to his air and manner which considerably mitigated the unpleasantness of his crafty smile.
At Tönsberg Castle dwelt the daughter of Jarl Mindre-Alf, Kirstine Alfsdatter,[[34]] or Jomfru Buckleshoe, as she was called, from the large gold buckles she wore. She was about sixteen years of age, strong, plump, with dark brown hair, very lively blue eyes, and a pert, little, turned-up nose. She had been brought up in Tönsberg, like a future princess. Her mother died during her infancy, and her father she had seldom seen. She had been indulged in every humour; and, whilst the algrev was absent on his viking expeditions, his daughter lived free and happy in the castle, where she soon ruled not only the old warden, but the whole garrison.
Yet with all her wildness and self-will, she did not lack a certain polish of education. Snorro's nephew, the famous Icelandic skald and saga-writer, Sturlé Thordarson, had visited Tönsberg three years previously, and shortly before his death; and this old man of three score and ten, with his lively and characteristic narratives of King Hagen Hagensen's exploits, and his spirit-stirring poems respecting old Norwegian heroes, awakened in the heart of the young girl so strong a desire for a life of activity, that, ever since, she had formed no higher wish than to set out on a cruise like her father, or live to see some grand event take place. A few months before the period our narrative has reached, she had made the acquaintance of Jomfru Ingé, who had followed her fugitive father to Tönsberg, and at his wish had remained there, whilst he continued his journey to Kongshelle, where most of the conspirators had found protection with King Erik the Priest-hater and Duke Hakon.
Sir Lavé suffered much from witnessing the grief of his daughter, occasioned by his treachery to the royal house of Denmark. Her presence awoke a constant warfare and inquietude in his wavering soul. He could, indeed, read nothing but filial solicitude in his daughter's looks, since she had witnessed his repentance and his agony during their flight from Viborg, after the king's funeral; yet, notwithstanding this, he had embraced the first opportunity of separating from her.
At Tönsberg Castle Jomfru Ingé again breathed freely, and conquered the feelings of dejection which her father's presence had inspired. Still it was to her a painful thought, that she was living in the castle of a hostile pirate; for, while it belonged to a vassal like Jarl Mindre-Alf, it did not seem to her like the ancient royal castle erected by King Hagen Hagensen. The assurance that the rude pirate-chief was not expected home for a considerable time, could alone reconcile her; and her horror of the algrev did not extend to his daughter.
The bold Norwegian girl and the high-souled daughter of the Danish knight soon became intimate friends. Norwegian skald-songs and Danish kæmpeviser seemed, from their lips, lays of the same stock. Jomfru Buckleshoe rode out with her Danish friend to the fells, and proudly exhibited to her the glories of her native land; whilst the noble-hearted Ingé admired the land of rocks and Norwegian heroism with as much sincerity, as she sang with pathos and animation the quiet beauties of her own fatherland, and extolled her own faithful and constant countrymen, who, in these unhappy times, were defending against rebels the crown of Denmark and its youthful king.
Ingé's attachment to the royal house to which her father was opposed, strongly influenced the courageous daughter of the jarl. This spirit of independence recommended itself powerfully to the mind of the Norwegian damsel. She was provoked that her own father and the King of Norway should render assistance to the enemies of the youthful king, who, from Lady Ingé's account of his dangerous situation, stood before her as the personification of that peculiar form of adventure in which her imagination was most prone to feel an interest.
One day, as the two maidens were riding by the strand, they perceived a ship, under full sail, run into Tönsberg Fiord.
"See, see!" cried Kirstine, joyfully, "one of my father's galleys. And seest thou that haughty knight by the prow? Who can it be? Take heed, proud Ingé! 'tis one of thy countrymen, who can no longer bear thy absence!"
"'Tis one of thy father's ships, Kirstine," replied Ingé, "and therefore can bear no friend of mine or Denmark's. One only grieves my absence, and he it cannot be: he would not forsake his king and country in their need to visit me."
"Perhaps a wooer to me, then," cried Kirstine, laughing. "If he be a Danish knight, and please me, I may yet perhaps be in Denmark, defending your youthful king. Is it not tiresome," she continued, pettishly, tossing her head, "that we girls must always sit with our hands in our laps, and allow the men to act as they think proper, without ever being asked our opinion, as if it were a matter of course that we must have none at variance with their own? I should think, however, that we are quite as numerous as they, and have souls as whole and true in every respect. In what concerns myself, I have a will as resolute and free as any damsel in Denmark; and, as my father supports your rebels, I shall support thee and thy true countrymen. In the olden times, our Norwegian damsels were not so submissive as they now are: then, there were whole armies of skioldmöer,[[35]] which the valiant Stærkodder himself had reason to acknowledge. Knowest thou the lay of the brave Hervor, who compelled her father to hand her the sword of Tirfing from his barrow?"
"She was a Danish skioldmö," replied Ingé, "but a wild and godless pagan. Heaven preserve every Christian soul from such mad temerity!"
"She was a damsel, nevertheless, who not only knew what she could do, but also dared to do it, in spite of any man," rejoined Kirstine. "Old Sturlé taught me the lay concerning her. Listen: this is the verse I like best." And, with a voice so clear that it re-echoed across the fiord, she sang:--
"I dare to touch
And take in my hand
The sharp-edged sword--
Would only I had it!
Never, I trow,
Shall the fire consume me,
That playeth around
The dead hero's eyes."
"Sing not that pagan song, dear Kirstine," cried Ingé, interrupting the enthusiastic songstress. "Hervor herself was terrified at her ungodly deed, and as she left her father's grave saw the air in flames around her. Such unnatural self-will never comes to good."
"Sturlé told me, however, that at last she got the hero she relied on," replied Kirstine. "Certainly, no luck attended the sword; but still she must have led a right pleasant skioldmö's life. It is her I intented to represent in the lady with the sword on the burning height, which you may see, wrought, in my father's riddersal. I should like to be a skioldmö: then should I away to Denmark, to defend your young king."
"Dear Kirstine," exclaimed Ingé, with much solicitude, seizing her hand, "thanks for thy concern for me and my unhappy fatherland; but let it not withdraw thee from fidelity and obedience to thy father. I praise God and the Holy Virgin that I can still obey my father, even when I appear most wayward. Let me entrust thee with an important secret, Kirstine. Thou knowest I am in fact a prisoner here; but I mean to escape, and thou must aid me."
"With all my heart," replied Kirstine, joyously; "but then I must accompany thee, for I am tired of this uniform life. Cannot two such damsels as we do something in the world? Wilt thou to Denmark, Ingé?"
"To Denmark or Sweden--I have kinsfolk in both."
"If I am to help thee, I must know everything. That letter brought thee by the foreign clerk the other day, was certainly from Drost Hessel?"
Lady Ingé blushed. "Nay," she answered, with a suppressed sigh; "but, since thou wilt know all, read it."
They halted. Kirstine seized the letter, and eagerly opened it. "Martinus de Dacia," she began to read. "Thou art befooling me, Ingé! This is certainly Latin."
"It is only a man's name," replied Ingé: "so our learned chancellor, Master Martin Maagenson, calls himself. He is a trusty friend of the royal house, and has written the letter for my dear old kinsman John. They wish me to proceed to Stockholm, to the young Princess Ingeborg, who is destined for our king's bride. She must have the daughter of a Danish knight for a companion, that she may learn from a native to know her future people. I am chosen for this, which they say is the only way in which I may be able to benefit my father, and serve my unhappy country. I have considered it closely, and no longer hesitate. My father has left me here, and I must not follow him. He is now safe at Kongshelle. I have his permission privately; but he dares not openly avow it: his dangerous position compels him to be silent. It must appear, therefore, that I escaped without his consent or knowledge. Your old warden has to-day been requested to detain me. Now, dear Kirstine, assist me to escape from hence: if I can only get safely from Tönsberg, my way is open. As well in Denmark as in Sweden, every castle-warden and governor is bound to accelerate my journey when I produce this letter." So saying, she took from the pocket of her mantle a roll of parchment, with three seals attached.
Kirstine opened her eyes in astonishment. "So, indeed--I understand thee now," she said: "thou hast powerful friends, I see. But we must be prudent. The warden will henceforth look after thee strictly, and will scarcely give thee liberty to ride out with me. But let us see who this strange knight is, who has arrived in my father's ship. If he returns to Denmark, he may be persuaded to take thee with him; and if it can be done, I shall accompany thee. It will be surprising if two fair damsels, like us, cannot get a knight to carry us off, and make him fancy it was against our wishes."
"Giddy girl! thy thoughts are engaged with adventures and daring freaks; but, for God and the Holy Virgin's sake, be prudent, and reveal not what I have confided to thee; for in its success lies my freedom and all my hopes of the future. Yet one thing more thou must hear," she added, with a deep sigh: "the powerful commandant at Kongshelle, Sir Thord--dost thou know him?"
"The wealthy Thord, with the long red nose--what of him?"
"He has demanded me in marriage, and my father dare not say him nay. A hasty flight alone can save me, for within eight days he will be here."
"And then his nose will be twice as long!" cried Kirstine. "Come along, dear Ingé!--thou shalt quickly away from hence, and I myself will carry thee off."
They now rode back towards the little town of Tönsberg, in the midst of which lay the castle, called Tönsberg House. The fiord, and the painted wooden houses of the town on both sides the hill, with the sun shining on its nine convents and the fourteen Kings' Chapels, as they are called, presented a scene at once beautiful and picturesque. It failed just then, however, to attract the notice of the two maidens, who had become thoughtful, as they dared no longer speak aloud among the crowds of seamen and busy merchants whom they encountered.
When they reached the castle, they found that the vessel they had seen entering the fiord had, in the meanwhile, arrived. The stately young knight whom it conveyed had landed, and presented himself with much pomp to the warden of Tönsberg House, with whom he had held a private conversation. Arrangements were made to entertain the stranger as a distinguished guest. The two young damsels entered the large day-room of the castle, where they sat down in silence to their embroidery, occasionally casting expectant glances towards a side-door, by which they knew the warden would introduce the Danish knight, who, they had already determined, should aid them in their important enterprise.
The door was at length opened, and the old warden entered, accompanied by Chamberlain Rané, whom he presented to the daughter of the jarl as a man whom her father had honoured with knighthood, and who had arrived at Tönsberg on an affair of importance.
Rané saluted the fair ones with much politeness. When Lady Ingé saw him, and heard his name, she became somewhat alarmed. His crafty smile and well-bred, insinuating manners, were highly repulsive to her, and she remembered to have heard him mentioned as the confidant of the murdered king, in many an affair that was neither to his own honour nor that of his former master. She had also heard of his suspicious conduct in reference to the king's murder; and, when she now beheld him as a messenger from Mindre-Alf, she might justly regard him as an open traitor. She could not conceal the contempt and loathing he inspired, which did not escape his observation while conversing with the lively Kirstine.
The warden having left them, Rané appeared desirous to draw Lady Ingé into the conversation, and endeavoured to conciliate her by some expressions of concern for Denmark, and the dangerous position of the young king. Who Lady Ingé was, and her attachment to the royal house, he well knew; and he had already observed, with some surprise, that the daughter of the Norwegian jarl shared her sympathies with much spirit. He immediately availed himself of this discovery to place himself in an advantageous light before both young ladies; while, to flatter them with his confidence, he entrusted to them, as a dangerous secret, that he was a faithful friend to the royal family of Denmark, and had ventured hither on far other grounds than those which were alleged as the object of his visit.
The young damsels were astonished. In order to strengthen his statement, and allay every suspicion, Rané then painted in glowing colours, yet with apparent modesty, his valorous defence of the unfortunate king in Finnerup barn. He related to them how, notwithstanding this, he had been suspected in the most shameful manner; and assured them that, to justify himself in the eyes of every loyal Dane, he would risk his life in the most dangerous undertaking on behalf of the young king.
"My fidelity to my former king and master," he added, "has already cost me my fair ancestral castle on Hielm. Marsk Stig has seized it by storm, and slain my faithful garrison. I have been constrained to use stratagem against force; but, with the aid I pretend to obtain here for the marsk, I mean to convince him and your brave father, noble Jomfru Kirstine, that I am not unworthy of the stroke of knighthood with which the jarl has honoured me, while even I venture to expose myself to his anger."
"You are as bold as you are frank, Sir Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, with astonishment. "What assures you that Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, after this confession, will permit you to slip free from Tönsberg Castle? Suppose now, that I instantly order you to be cast into the tower--"
"Then I shall have greatly mistaken your lofty, noble mind, illustrious damsel," replied Rané; "although I should not consider it a very serious misfortune even were I compelled to be your prisoner. But this I know, that the friend of Jomfru Ingé Little can never hate or persecute any adherent of Denmark's royal house."
"That you should not altogether depend upon, sir knight," replied the jarl's daughter. "The Danish kings have not left behind them the fairest memorials at Tönsberg. Tales are still told here of Harald Bluetooth's cruelty; and there are ruins lying around us from the times of your valorous King Waldemar. If you imagine that the damsels of Norway are less patriotis than those of Denmark, you mistake us much."
For an instant Rané seemed alarmed; but he soon recovered himself on perceiving a roguish smile in the countenance of the bold jomfru, and the glance she directed to her Danish friend. He bent his knee before the jocular damsel. "My freedom, perhaps my life, is in your hands," he said; "yet I repent not my avowal. In the presence of Jarl Mindre-Alf's fair daughter, it were, indeed, impossible to make a more daring admission; but I could not look on you, and for a moment forget what I bear on my shield. With the fair ones of Norway the knights of Denmark never made war, and the misdeeds of our kings and princes should not be visited on their innocent subjects--"
"Enough, Sir Rané--rise! the warden is approaching," said Jomfru Kirstine, hastily.
He kissed her hand respectfully while she raised him; and the warden now entering, a conversation on indifferent topics was gaily resumed.
But Jomfru Ingé placed no confidence in the crafty Rané. In the evening, when alone with Kirstine, she warned her of him; for she had well observed that his respectful homage to her beauty, and his flattery of her free spirit and independence, had not been without effect. Lady Ingé at the same time was forced to acknowledge that Sir Rané was not deficient in courage, and possessed much sagacity and eloquence. She even admitted that her distrust of him might possibly be unfounded; but, in the eyes of Kirstine, he was a true and doughty knight.
Next day Rané eagerly sought an opportunity of conversing with Kirstine alone. He found it, and soon confided to her that the fame of her beauty had long made him her passionate admirer. He informed her that her father had formerly accorded him permission to solicit her hand in person, but that the jarl now sought to evade his promise; and, finally, that his present journey, and the hazard to which he thereby exposed his life, having been undertaken solely for the purpose of seeing her, there was now no enterprise so dangerous that he would not venture on it for her sake.
She listened to all his protestations without any apparent displeasure, but gave him no decided answer.
Four days elapsed, during which Rané continued his efforts to win Kirstine, and to inspire Jomfru Ingé with a more favourable opinion of him. Many secret councils had been held between the two damsels, and it was finally concluded that, before they confided in him, they should, at all events, put his fidelity to a stern proof.
Rané had spoken highly of the swiftness of his vessel, and of his powerful connections in Denmark. A hint, or an apparently accidental occurrence, was therefore all that was required for flight or an abduction. Kirstine planned the hazardous design, to which, from necessity and her dangerous situation, Jomfru Ingé was forced to accede.
On the fifth day after the arrival of Rané, Ingé was alarmed by the intelligence that her father, with Sir Thord, was expected from Kongshelle on the following day, and that festive preparations, as for a wedding, were going forward in the castle.
Rané's vessel lay ready to sail in Tönsberg Fiord, a few bow-shots from the strand. It was manned by a numerous crew, whom Rané had gained over with gold and promises. The crafty young knight had proposed a walk by the beach, where, a little before sunset, he proceeded, accompanied by Kirstine and Lady Ingé. The old warden attended them, although he was heartily tired of hearing of fells, and waterfalls, and all the other beauties of nature which strangers extol so highly. Rané conversed with the young ladies with much politeness: he greatly admired the beauty of the landscape. "But," he observed, "the view from the sea must be far more magnificent. When I arrived, the sky was not so clear as it now is."
"It appears to me, however," observed the warden, with a yawn, "that it was just as clear."
"It is possible," replied Rané; "but towards evening the coast assumes a more beautiful appearance. Here is a boat close by, with part of my crew: the ladies, perhaps, would like to row a little way on the fiord."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Kirstine, pulling Ingé along with her into the boat: "the weather is fine, and I can show thee that the sun does not set over a nobler land than Norway. Will you go with us, warden?"
Rané had placed himself beside the ladies. The warden was displeased; but, unwilling to oppose himself to the will of the proud young damsel, he entered the boat grumbling, and it rapidly glided from the beach. Whilst Rané dilated with animation on the beauties of the scenery, the boatmen, who had been previously instructed, rowed straight to the vessel, which lay with her sails half unfurled, and her crew ready to heave the anchor as soon as their master was on board.
The invitation of Rané to inspect the ship was accepted. The objections of the warden were silenced by the eloquent knight, who, the moment they stood on deck, gave a signal, and the vessel stood out under full sail. The terrified warden was conducted, as a prisoner, to the cabin; while Rané, throwing himself upon his knee before Kirstine, poured out a torrent of flattering apologies for carrying off her friend and her to Denmark; where, he said, he as certainly hoped to obtain her forgiveness, as he was now prepared by every deed of chivalry to deserve the hand of the fairest maiden in Norway.
Lady Ingé, as well as Kirstine, was half terrified at this sudden abduction, although it was their own plan which the crafty knight, without knowing it, was carrying into effect. They both remained silent and thoughtful; but Lady Ingé was too proud to carry dissimulation farther.
"Well, Sir Rané," she said, gravely, "I follow you willingly to Denmark, for I desire to leave Tönsberg." And with this avowal she retired to the other side of the vessel, leaving it to her companion to simulate anger at his daring conduct.
By this step Sir Rané had gained a great object. As long as the fate of the conspirators was uncertain, it was important that he should be able, in some satisfactory manner, to justify his connection with them. By this daring action he also hoped to increase his reputation as a bold knight in the estimation of Marsk Stig and the jarl; while in the daughter of the powerful algrev he possessed a hostage that would secure him from their enmity. Neither did it escape his observation, that, in the eyes of the brave daughter of the viking, he had established his character as an adventurous knight; and he now clearly perceived that she secretly favoured him as her suitor, notwithstanding the rage and scorn which she pretended to heap upon him. As long, too, as Lady Ingé remained in his power, he supposed that her kinsman, old Sir John, and Drost Hessel, would reflect before they took any steps against him.
On a beautiful evening in the middle of May, there was a torch-dance and great rejoicing in the streets of Rypen. Such festivities, where the burghers mingled in the gay crowd of knights, were not uncommon; but at a time so serious, and so soon after the murder of the king, these public rejoicings gave great scandal to the friends of the royal house among the burghers of the place; while the adherents of Marsk Stig heartily entered into them, as a proof of the security with which the rebel governor of the castle, Sir Tagé Muus, defied the royal party. In this way, the revolted chief showed, too, how well he understood, and how much he disregarded, the feigned threats with which Duke Waldemar had summoned him to surrender.
The duke, with his army, was encamped about half a mile south of Rypen. His forces consisted chiefly of South Jutlanders; although among them there were also a few Brandenburg and Saxon horsemen. On the evening to which we have alluded, the duke entertained, in his magnificent crimson tent, the two Margraves of Brandenburg, old Duke Johan of Saxony, and Count Gerhard of Holstein; the latter having reached the army the previous day, at the head of a chosen troop of Holstein horse. The brave count had scarcely awaited his recovery from the unfortunate blow which had cost him an eye, before he had armed himself for the defence of Queen Agnes and the young king. He had united his forces to those of the duke without suspicion; but was received at the camp with a coldness that surprised him. The queen's brothers had newly arrived from Viborg, to hasten some decisive attempt against Marsk Stig and his adherents. The aged Duke of Saxony, who had been the youthful friend of Duke Waldemar's father, the unfortunate Duke Erik, had often manifested a fatherly interest in the ambitious young Waldemar. He had arrived, uninvited, at the head of his brave troops, not solely to strengthen the duke, but for the purpose of preventing, by his presence, any thoughtless step which might be prompted by his ambitious aspirations, of which the old nobleman was not ignorant. He had been partly moved to this by his daughter, the pious Princess Sophia, of whom Duke Waldemar had, two years before, been an ardent suitor, without having received any decisive answer. At that time she was not quite fifteen, and had declared that in three years she would determine, should her wooer then renew his suit. She was well aware that she had made a strong impression on the young duke, whom she loved tenderly, but without passion, and she also entertained well-grounded doubts of his constancy. She therefore dreaded his ambitious plans, and felt more solicitous about his honour and the welfare of his soul than the loss of his heart, which she already looked upon as having escaped her, for she had not seen him for two years. She awaited, however, the expiration of the third year, when she intended to bid farewell to the world, and assume the veil.
The upright old Duke Johan had approved his daughter's views and determination. Without alluding to her, he had, like a true and fatherly friend, spoken seriously to the young duke relative to his present position and his duties to the Danish crown. His words were not without effect; but the idea that wholly engrossed the young nobleman was the proud consciousness that he possessed the power to decide the fate of the royal house of Denmark by casting his sword into either scale of the nicely balanced parties.
The presence of the margraves and the honest Count Gerhard, however, and their unanimous demand that something decisive should be attempted, caused him some embarrassment. A council of war was held in the duke's tent, at which, after those noblemen had each expressed his opinion boldly and frankly, the duke arose.
"Here, my lords, I am commander," he said, firmly; "and with every respect for your advice and sincere intentions, I must still follow my own convictions. Before the Dane-court has decided how Marsk Stig and his friends are to be treated, and until I myself have been formally recognised as protector, nothing decisive can be undertaken. Within twelve days the Dane-court will be held, and, consequently, my presence in Nyborg will be necessary. Until then no campaign can be commenced, far less completed. From what I have heard of Marsk Stig's preparations, a greater force than we possess will be necessary to subdue him. Besides, by the law of the land, he and his friends have still the right to defend themselves before the Dane-court, if they choose to risk it; and, as I have already said, no decisive step can be taken until it is legally determined in what quality I stand here, and with whom we have to contend."
"With your leave, illustrious duke," began Count Gerhard, "I think we know right well who we are, and what we have to do. That we two, at least, stand here as vassals of the Danish crown, requires no confirmation. That the commander of Rypen House, by placing the banner of Marsk Stig where that of the king should wave, has openly declared himself an enemy of the crown, is certain enough. Before we advance against Helgeness and Hielm, Rypen House must be ours. With what forces we have here the place can be stormed within twelve hours; and it seems to me shameful and indefensible that we should lie here idly, and tamely permit a royal castle to remain in the hands of rebels."
"If, with your own troopers, you choose to storm Rypen House, brave Count Gerhard," replied the duke, carelessly, "you are welcome; but it must be on your own responsibility; and you will further have to answer before the Dane-court for kindling a civil war before the conduct of these men has been legally condemned, and without knowing by what law and authority you yourself are acting."
"So, then, illustrious duke," exclaimed Count Gerhard, with suppressed indignation, "in God and St. George's name I shall act alone, and I doubt not that I shall be able to defend my conduct well." He then bowed, and retired.
Shortly afterwards he left the camp, at the head of fifty horsemen, and took the road to Rypen. By his side, attired as a squire, rode Daddy Longlegs, who, since the unfortunate foolery which had cost his master an eye, had laid aside the dignity and dress of a jester, but still followed his master, to whom he was indispensable.
As Count Gerhard approached the Nipsaa, which defended the town from the south, his anger gradually abated; prudence returned, and he perceived the absurdity of attempting, with his handful of men, to storm a well-fortified castle like Rypen House. Shame, however, deterred him from returning to the camp, and he rode leisurely forward. His troopers followed silently; but he perceived, by their thoughtful and serious looks, how certainly fatal they considered the enterprise on which their master and prince was conducting them.
"Let us make good speed, gracious sir," observed Longlegs, in a tone of grave raillery, "before they at Rypen House behold our terrible army and surrender themselves. It would be a sad misfortune should we miss this chance of immortality, and have no opportunity of using our storming-ladders and lithers--"
"I rely upon thee being a wizard, Longlegs, who can as easily knock out the eye of the enemy as thou didst mine, and so prevent him from seeing our strength," replied the count, entering at once, as usual, into the humour of his jester. "But who has informed thee that I mean to storm Rypen House? There are banquetings and rejoicings in Rypen, thou knowest; and what if I should intend to treat myself and all of you to a romp with the fair maids of Rypen?"
"Ah! that is another matter, sir. A right merry dance it will be; and, besides, we come not unbidden to the junkettings, for the letter brought you in the gloaming by the old pilgrim was doubtless an invitation to sport and joviality."
Count Gerhard nodded. "Didst thou know him, Longlegs?" he inquired.
"If I am not mistaken, it was our old host in Middelfert, Henner Friser. He is a daring carl, and, it is said, knows something more than his paternoster. He fled from Middelfert for a murder: so take care, sir, that he does not lead you into a snare."
"If thou hadst heard what he said, Longlegs, thou wouldst not fear that. Onwards."
Not far from the Southgate Bridge and Hostorg Port, on what is called the Marshland, Count Gerhard ordered his troopers to halt and dismount. Having set them the example, he remained for a moment in profound thought.
"Now, my men," he at length said, good-humouredly, "I shall conduct you to the feast to-night. You see the torches are flaring on the bridge. Well, there is mirth in Rypen, and only merry guests are expected. The grooms will remain with the horses, and you others, one by one, will follow me on foot, with your swords beneath your cloaks, for the sake of security. If you can get a torch in one hand, and a girl in the other, dance away. But the jig must pass through Southgate-street to Grayfriars-street, and then along Crutched-friars, to the large bleaching-green by the castle. There you must gather around me when you hear my hunting-horn. What further fun is to be had, must depend on luck and opportunity. You understand me, carls?"
A general shout of applause announced the acquiescence of the troopers in the adventurous project of their master. He immediately crossed the bridge, followed, singly and at a distance, by the others, who mingled with the crowds of merrymakers that filled the streets.
The mirth had reached its height. Torches blazed and songs were sung in every street leading to the castle. Gaily-dressed knights, and ladies in mantles of silk and scarlet, mingled in the dance. Count Gerhard strode along in his heavy riding-boots, without taking any active part in the festivities. When he had reached and was about to pass the gateway into the court-yard of the Crutched-friars, he received a nod of recognition from a brave, well-known face, concealed under a peasant's hood, while, with a hearty shake of the hand, he was drawn beneath the arch.
"Drost Hessel!--you here, and in this disguise!" he exclaimed, with astonishment.
"Have you come to join our dance, noble count?" inquired Drost Peter, hastily.
"The fiend take the dance! I am here to storm Rypen House, in spite of the duke and his fine prudential considerations.
"'Tis well! You are in the dance, then, whether you will or not. But whence comes it? Who is the leader?"
"He that comes first, I should think. But, by Beelzebub! you must well know that, Drost Hessel. Ask not me, for I know nothing: I have had only a private hint, which I am undecided whether I ought to act upon or not. Do you know old Henner Friser, from Melfert?"
"Him we can rely upon," replied Drost Peter, gladly; "and if the hint came from him, we may safely follow it. What force is with you?"
"Not a great one; but still, I can muster half a hundred with a blast of my horn."
"Good!" exclaimed the drost: "there is, then, some meaning in it, and I now begin to be in earnest; for, hitherto, the whole affair has appeared to me somewhat like a joke. I know not with whom the daring idea originated, and I came here with only two companions, merely to discover the temper of the people. On my way I met Henner Friser, and the mysterious old man predicted me success, and then disappeared. It seems he has good friends here. The disposition of the burghers is favourable; but the duke delays, and I have no faith in him. To storm the place without an army would never have occurred to me; but there must be amongst us a spirit more inventive and daring than we were aware of. An hour since a stranger invited me to be the second knight in the row of dancers, when the Danish maidens should begin the song;--'For Erik the king so young.' But what avails it without a storm?"
"I understand," exclaimed the count rubbing his hands with delight: "for the young king, then. True, I would rather sing, 'For Queen Agnes the fair;' but it is the same. Dance only, in God's name, across the castle-bridge. I dance behind, and follow you with my men. 'For our young king,' is the watchword; and he who hesitates to give it tongue, shall be cut down."
This conversation was interrupted by a party of boisterous young knights, with black plumes in their helmets, and torches in their hands, who danced into the court-yard of the convent, summoning the terrified monks to open the refectory for them, and bawling for wine and Saxon ale.
"Saw you the black-plumes? That is a band of Marsk Stig's adherents," observed Drost Peter, as he retired with Count Gerhard to an obscure corner of the gateway, unable to conceal his indignation at such audacious proceedings, which were not unusual during this unsettled period.
The clamour in the convent-yard subsided for an instant, while a reverend friar came forth, and reminded the disturbers that they were not in an enemy's country, and that it was the duty of the brave gentlemen at Rypen House to protect the town, and not to plunder it.
The priest was answered with mockery and threats; and one of the overbearing young knights, brandishing his torch, swore he would set fire to the convent, if their demands were longer resisted. The door of the refectory was then instantly opened, and the unwelcome guests were admitted.
Drost Peter boiled with indignation. "Behold, Count Gerhard!" he exclaimed, vehemently: "these are the men who would be masters in Denmark. Let us after them!"
"Nay, let them drink till they cannot see a hole through a storming-ladder," cried Count Gerhard, laughing--"the better will go our dance. When does it begin, and where?"
"Two hours after the ave, and on the bleach-green, near the castle."
"'Tis well. The time is near: therefore let us hence. There is some meaning in this dance, and an honest warrior can engage in it without being laughed at. Plague take it! if the queen were only here, she should see me dance better and more gaily than I did the last time."
They proceeded hastily to the bleach-green, where a great crowd was assembled. In the middle of the open space stood a table, covered with refreshments. Merry music filled the air, while many torches shed their light upon the scene, and numerous gaily dressed ladies occupied the benches around. Drost Peter and Count Gerhard observed with attention and surprise the glittering knights and dames about them, most of whom had their faces fantastically painted, and all sharing in the merriment with spirit and joyousness.
As Count Gerhard was making his remarks on this, Skirmen hastily approached, and whispered a few words to his master, who immediately, with joyful surprise, directed his eyes to a bench, on which sat three ladies veiled. In the nearest he thought he recognised the black-haired little Aasé. She who sat in the middle, Skirmen, with a roguish smile, had informed him was the lady who had invited him to the dance. Skirmen had again disappeared, and Drost Peter fixed his eyes on the tall stranger lady with a feeling of delight he could not express, although a painful anxiety mingled with it.
"Can it be possible? Can she be here, and engaged in this dangerous sport?" he exclaimed, half aloud, as he felt the ground spin round with him. He began to think he was in some wonderful dream. He again looked round for Skirmen, but without success, and was at last obliged to support himself on a bench near where he stood.
At that moment the three maidens arose, and began to sing:--
"On Rypen streets the dance goes light,
With ladys gay and gentle knight.
On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod:
There dance the knights so gaily shod--
For Erik the king so young!"
When the burthen was heard, the flutes and horns chimed in, and a number of knights sprang forward with their ladies, and formed a long row of dancers.
Drost Peter distinguished Jomfru Ingé's clear and mellow voice, and in the middle singer he now plainly recognised her tall and noble form. He started up and clasped her in his arms. "Ingé, dearest Ingé!" he whispered, "what daring is this? Are you come hither to dance to the death with me? If so, then joyfully for Denmark and our young king! But unriddle to me this mystery."
"My knight follows me to the royal castle and to victory," whispered Ingé: "if our leader deceive us not, we shall succeed."
"Who, then, is our leader?" inquired the drost, eagerly. "If any one leads here, I should do so."
"The gates of the rebels' castle are not opened to Drost Hessel," she rejoined, hastily. "There stands our leader, but you must not know him. If he were free, I should trust him as little as you do; but here he is in our power, and must now dance himself to a bride--or die."
She pointed to a stately young knight, with long yellow hair, who stood near them, with a torch in his hand, and apparently hesitating whether he should place himself at the head of the dancers or not. He had hitherto stood with his back towards them; but as he now turned to one side, the light of his torch fell on his cheek, and Drost Peter exclaimed, in the highest astonishment--"Rané!"
"Be silent," whispered Ingé: "with a fox we must catch a fox to-night; but not like Hamlet. With May-garlands, and, as I hope, without the red rose, will we bind our enemies."
Meanwhile, the music continued, many singing to it a well-known ballad that suited the tune. Whilst Rané stood, as if yet undecided, the row of dancers was constantly increasing; and Jomfru Ingé, in a few words, acquainted Drost Peter with the whole daring plan. Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter and herself had persuaded Rané, who knew the governor, to bring about the present festival. The bitter feeling of the knight towards Marsk Stig, and his anxiety to show himself a friend to the royal house, had favoured the project of the young damsels. Through Skirmen and Aasé, old Henner Friser had been induced to engage in it. The proximity of Drost Peter had redoubled the courage of his betrothed, although she feared that his co-operation with Rané might defeat the whole scheme.
"And now, my dear sir knight," she added, playfully, "the numerous chivalrous gentlemen you perceive around you are our trusty Rypen burghers and their sons, who, at the request of their wives and sweethearts, will dance tonight to the songs of the maidens."
Having given this explanation, she then, with the other damsels, again renewed the song, whilst the knights proceeded to arrange themselves in conformity with the words of the ballad, wherein themselves and their ladies were indicated by feigned names, taken for the most part from old romances, but the application of which they all knew well. The only one who was named aright was the governor of Rypen House, who was at that moment sitting at a drinking-bout in the castle, but whose name, being sung aloud as if he were engaged in the dance, assured any of his adherents who might be present, and suspicious of the game.
Whilst those nearest the castle arranged themselves as directed by the song, the others at the extremity of the line formed a long chain, and danced around the green, to assure themselves that none were present in the dance but those engaged in the plot. Rané, meanwhile, still stood undecided by the bench on which Jomfru Kirstine was seated, when Jomfru Ingé and the others began to sing:--
"Riber Ulf first dances here--
A king is he without compeer."
"'Tis you, Sir Rané!" exclaimed the daughter of the Norwegian jarl--"'tis you: you are Riber Ulf to-night. Show me now that you are a king without compeer."
Rané, however, did not seem to hear her. The song continued:--
"Then dances Tagé Muns so free--
Captain of Rypen House is he."
Drost Peter had cast aside his hood, and donned a high feathered hat, which Skirmen had brought him, together with a scarlet mantle, which he threw over his peasant's dress.
"Now are you captain of Rypen House," whispered Jomfru Ingé. His dress, which was the same as the court-suit of the castellan, and which they had procured on purpose, caused the knight to be mistaken by many for Sir Tagé Muus himself; his portly bulk, derived from his peasant's clothes beneath, greatly favouring the deception. In this guise he danced forward in the ranks with Jomfru Ingé, who, with the maidens, continued to sing:--
"Then dancing comes Sir Saltensee,
And so come on his kinsmen three.
"Then dance the noble Limbeks trim,
And they were kings of sturdy limb.
"Then after dances Byrge Green,
And many a gentle knight I ween.
"And now comes dancing Hanke Kann,
And eke his wife, hight Lady Ann.
"Then dancing comes a noble pair--
Sir Rank, and Lady Berngerd fair.
"Then rich Sir Wolfram, with his dame,
A lady fair, without a name."
At this verse Sir Bent Rimaardson, who had received the same invitation as Drost Peter, joined the dancers, with an unknown lady by his side.
At the last couplet--
"Then dancing came Sir Iver Helt:
He followed the king across the Belt:"[[36]]
to his great surprise, Drost Peter perceived the brave Sir Thorstenson advance, conducting a smart peasant-girl by the hand.
"What! Sir Thorstenson here, too!" he exclaimed, as he turned to Lady Ingé, who hastily informed him that the bold knight was there to accompany him to Nyborg, whither he had conducted the king and the whole court, and that he had immediately approved of and entered into her project.
Rané, however, had yet shown no disposition to take his part in the dance. They had twice danced round the open space, and each time that Lady Ingé had approached him, she had sung in a louder tone:--
"Riber Ulf first dances here,
A king is he without compeer."
She was now drawing near a third time; but he still remained as if in deep thought.
"Are you afraid that your fair hair will get entangled, Sir Rané, that you so long delay leading me to the dance?" exclaimed the courageous Jomfru Kirstine, mockingly, and with a gesture of impatience.
"You are right, noble jomfru," answered Rané: "both head and hair may easily be entangled here. My hair is a little red, as you must have observed; but in this dance it might quickly become redder--"
"And your rosy cheeks might become all too white," interrupted she, derisively.
"You are right in that also, fair jomfru," replied Rané, smiling slyly. "You would have little service of the boldest bridegroom, when his cheeks were as pale as those of a corpse. It is natural that a man should hesitate before he springs into a death-dance, even with a damsel ever so rich and fair."
"If you hesitate a moment longer, Sir Rané," angrily exclaimed the bold jomfru, "I shall consider that I have been shamefully wronged and insulted by you; and then, instead of being the bridegroom of Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, you shall become the laughing-stock of every girl in Norway. Yet, nay," she added, in a milder tone--"you will never heap such shame and scorn on both yourself and me. Shall Ingé's words prove true, and shall her knight behold your weakness and hesitation? See how proudly he dances with her, the brave Drost Hessel!"
"Drost Hessel!" exclaimed Rané with surprise, as the blood forsook his cheeks.
"Drost Hessel, of course. Surely you are not afraid of the name. If you are as brave as you pretend to be, and my father has really given you the stroke of knighthood, convince us now that you are worthy of it, and show the proud drost that you are not allied to rebels and traitors. He is severe, it is said, and old Friser has sworn your death if you deceive us."
"Mistake me not, noble jomfru," said Rané, hastily. "I dread neither the drost nor the ferocious innkeeper--for fear of them I stir not a single step. But for your sake alone, fairest Kirstine, and my own knightly honour, shall I stake my head upon the game, and dance with you even to the castle-gate. When it is opened at my signal, I shall have kept my word; but will you then as truly and honestly do what you have promised, and accompany me from Rypen as my bride?"
"What I have promised I shall perform, like an honest Norwegian maiden," replied Jomfru Kirstine, gladly, as she quickly rose, and gave him her hand. "Dance but through the castle-gate with me, and you are the bold and noble hero I believed you, and worthy of the daughter of any jarl."
Rané seemed transformed as by some sudden inspiration; he sprang nimbly forward with his lady, and placed himself at the head of the dancers, who had now for the third time nearly made the circuit of the area.
Before Lady Ingé had again sung the first verse of the ballad, calling on Riber Ulf, Rané was dancing gaily along, with Jomfru Kirstine on his arm. Lightly tripping it, he sang aloud, while all the damsels and knights accompanied him:
"And on Rypen streets the dance goes light,
With ladye gay and gentle knight--
For Erik the king so young."
"Right!" exclaimed the lively Norwegian lady, whom he whirled along, her silken ribbons fluttering in her plaited hair, as she danced the lightest and nimblest of them all. "Dance thus over the bridge, and I shall praise your courage; and dance thus through the gate, and I give you my plighted troth."
Rané waved his scarf when they reached the drawbridge, and it was instantly lowered.
"Ingé, dearest Ingé, it succeeds!" exclaimed Drost Peter, as he warmly pressed the arm of his partner.
The heavy boots of the knights thundered on the drawbridge, amidst the light tread of shoes, and all sang merrily:--
"On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod;
There dance the knights so gaily shod--
For Erik the king so young!"
Rané now clapped his hands, and the castle-gates were opened. With song and shout and merriment, the whole of the dancers were soon within.
Count Gerhard, who still stood on the bleach-green, laughing heartily, then blew a merry strain on his horn; and in an instant he was surrounded by his fifty men, who followed him with great glee to the open gate. Here he posted one half of his force, and with the other followed quickly after the dancers.
A considerable portion of the castle garrison were dispersed throughout the town. The governor, Sir Tagé Muus, was sitting half intoxicated, with thirty other knights, in the large royal riddersal. He heard, without surprise, the singing and dancing in the castle-court and in the passage of the riddersal; for he had given permission to his good friend Rané and his young knights to conduct the fair daughters of the citizens to him, with dance and song. In a few seconds the doors flew open, and the whole company danced in, the knights holding their ladies by the left hand and carrying blazing torches in their right. The whole of them were linked together by a chain of green May-leaves, interspersed with rare roses. By a sudden movement the ladies formed a cluster, waving the torches, while the knights, in a compact circle, surrounded the table with drawn swords in their hands.
The governor and his thirty knights now first became aware of their betrayal, and started up in alarm to defend themselves. But in an instant, and without bloodshed, the castellan and his entire force were disarmed.
Beyond the circle of knights and their captives, the maidens now began to dance, and with loud jubilation sang:
"And thus we danced the castle in,
With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--
The castle it is won!"
"For Erik the king so young!" exclaimed Drost Peter, stepping forward. He then, in the king's name, took possession of the castle, and sent the rebel governor and his adherents, bound, to the dungeon of the fort.
To the great joy of the loyal Rypen burghers, the royal banner was seen shortly after waving over the castle-gate, where it had been planted by a tall and beautiful maiden. Now was there in Rypen a true feast of gladness. While Drost Peter and Count Gerhard were placing trusty men at every post, and adopting the strictest precautions, the dancing was continued in the castle, as well as in the city, with the utmost rejoicing.
When the necessary measures for the defence and security of the fortress had been taken, Drost Peter returned with longing haste to the riddersal, where he had left Lady Ingé, with Skirmen and Sir Thorstenson, in the midst of a gay dance of victory. The meeting with his childhood's bride, and the whole daring exploit, still presented itself to his imagination like a wonderful dream. The artifice by which the castle had been taken, and Rané's traitorous co-operation in it, did not please him; but joy at having once more seen the brave Lady Ingé, and the hope that her return to Denmark was no more a fleeting vision than the whole night's adventure, inspired him with a feeling of happiness that banished every other sentiment.
Doubt and inquietude, however, soon seized him, for nowhere could he find her. He saw only the cheerful knights and disguised burghers, who, with laughter, song, and merriment, whirled around with the nimble Rypen damsels. He saw Sir Thorstenson, and the otherwise melancholy Bent Rimaardson, glide past him in the mazes of the dance, as if intoxicated with the general hilarity; while Count Gerhard clattered away in his heavy boots, and sang lustily from the bottom of his heart. In the song, to which they were now dancing with so much animation, Drost Peter heard not the mellow voice of Lady Ingé, while both knights and ladies repeated the words of their former bold songstress:--
"And thus we danced the castle in,
With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--
The castle it is won!
"With rosy wreath and ridder dance,
A keep so won I ne'er saw chance--
For Erik the king so young!"
The general delight would certainly have again communicated itself to Drost Peter, had he anywhere caught a glimpse of Lady Ingé. But her sudden disappearance was a painful mystery; and his anxiety augmented when he perceived that Rané, too, had vanished. He knew that this crafty knight had been her attendant from Norway; and notwithstanding the apparent change in his sentiments, and his important share in surprising the castle, he still considered him as the most treacherous and dangerous foe of himself and the royal house. Neither could he perceive the brave Norwegian maiden, whom Ingé had called her friend, and who, with Rané, had led the dancers. That she was the daughter of Jarl Mindre-Alf he knew, and Ingé's connection with this family increased his uneasiness. While he was assailed by these doubts and fears, Sir Thorstenson approached him and extended his hand.
"This, by my troth, I call a merry maiden's victory, Drost Peter!" exclaimed the warlike knight, gaily. "The fair damsels are likely to win the honours of war from us. To-night, at all events, the wreath of victory certainly belongs to them. Next time, I hope it will be our's."
They retired to a corner, when Sir Thorstenson informed his anxious and abstracted friend how, on his arrival at Rypen a few hours before, he had been dragged into this singular adventure, whose important and successful issue might excuse him for not having immediately attended to his proper duty.
"Truth to say, my good friend," he added, "your cool mind and knightly sword, no less than your authority as drost, were required to help us to success; but I would rather dispense with your all too conscientious scruples. Therefore it was that I persuaded Jomfru Ingé to take you by surprise. If this deserves punishment, let the offence be visited only on me. You are my superior, and can now, if you choose, place me in arrest for neglecting my duty, and taking counsel against you with your betrothed--for such, in truth, I suppose she is."
"Know you what has become of her?" inquired Drost Peter, hastily.
"That know I not," replied Thorstenson; "but leave the maidens to dance, and let us no longer lose our wit over this conceit of the fair ones."
Drost Peter was silent, and Thorstenson continued: "The duke's preparations for war, notwithstanding the queen's confidence in him, are regarded by the council as suspicious. Old Sir John considered the young king as no longer safe in Viborg; and, in your absence, I was obliged secretly to convey him to Nyborg. I myself believe that there are evil birds about. Sir John informed me that I should meet you here, and he charged me with these letters for you, both from himself and the queen. I know that you must on to Nyborg. But here you now command. Whilst you follow the king's orders, I must follow your's. I shall do so, however, with pride and pleasure."
Drost Peter hastily perused the letters. "I must depart before day," he said; and, after a moment's reflection, added--"you are governor of Rypen House, Sir Thorstenson. This important fortress cannot be entrusted to an abler knight; and, as a punishment for acting on your own counsel, I require you to defend it to the last extremity, should even the duke and Marsk Stig agree to storm it with their united strength."
"Well," exclaimed Thorstenson, joyfully, "a more honourable punishment could not have been awarded me. You show your displeasure, Drost Peter, in a noble manner. Thanks for your confidence! There are brave men amongst the burghers to defend the castle; and while one stone stands upon another, nor foe nor traitor shall set foot within it. If the king has no other place of security in the country, bring him hither. Rypen House is and shall remain the strongest royal castle in Denmark. Within a month it shall be impregnable."
"Bravely spoken!" exclaimed Drost Peter. "Within half an hour the keys of the castle, with your authority as commandant legally drawn out, shall be delivered to you. Meantime let the festivities be brought to a close, and let all leave the castle who do not belong to it. If you will, at the same time, do me a friendly service," he added, whilst endeavouring to conceal his anxiety, "let search be made, with all haste, for Jomfru Ingé Little. Perhaps she will allow me to be her escort to her kinsman, the counsellor."
Thorstenson nodded, and, warmly pressing his hand, prepared to depart.
"Yet one word!" exclaimed the drost, with much inquietude. "If you encounter Rané, he is our prisoner until his conduct has been investigated. He must be sought for diligently. Let the town-gates be locked, and suffer no vessel to leave the river within the next four and twenty hours. God be with you!"
Thorstenson nodded, and, with the joyful sense of his new dignity, he departed hastily to execute the injunctions of the drost.
The latter proceeded to the governor's private chamber, where he found everything that was requisite to enable him to complete the necessary instructions and authorities. Notwithstanding his anxiety, and the pressure of his own dearest heart affairs, he fully felt the duty imposed on him by his important station, and prepared the necessary formulas with perfect deliberation. He had already put his large signet-ring, bearing the flying eagle, to the wax of Thorstenson's appointment, when the door was opened, and Claus Skirmen entered, in great haste, and almost breathless.
"I have found you at last, stern sir," joyfully exclaimed the trusty squire. "I have been searching for you everywhere; and bring you many salutations, besides a pretty little letter, from Jomfru Ingé. I saw her depart in excellent style, in the town-governor's own carriage, drawn by four horses, with twelve troopers for an escort."
"What sayest thou, Skirmen?" exclaimed Drost Peter, in astonishment. "She travels! and whither?"
"Know you not, sir? Was it not your own arrangement? But you shall hear. When she had placed the royal banner over the castle-gate, she directed me to follow her to the town-governor, to whom she showed a letter, bearing three large seals. He bowed to her as if she had been the queen herself, and immediately ordered the horses to be yoked--"
"Whither, I ask--where does she journey to? But you have a letter--give it me quickly."
"She travels to Kolding, and from thence to Sweden, sir," replied Skirmen, as he handed him a slip of parchment, tied with a rose-coloured silk ribbon.
While the drost hastily perused the billet, he blushed deeply.
"Farewell, my childhood's bridegroom!" it ran. "'For Erik the king so young,' I still sing in my heart, and the torch in the hand of my true knight still gleams before mine eyes. He who is powerful in the feeble, has given me also a work to do. The true Sir John knows of it. Ask of him, but follow me not. In Denmark's darkest night we have danced a victor-dance together; and, God be praised! it cost no blood. When the child-king is Denmark's lord, and the crown sits firmly on his brow, we may perhaps see each other in a happier hour. My father alone can unite our hands. But our hearts, which God in truth hath joined together, no man can ever sunder."
Drost Peter heaved a deep sigh, although his eyes sparkled with a great and glorious hope. He concealed the note in his bosom, and turned again to Skirmen.
"To Kolding, sayest thou--and from thence to Sweden? Who told thee this?"
"I gathered it from what I heard her tell the town-governor, and the Norse jomfru or fru--"
"The Norse jomfru!" interrupted Drost Peter, hastily. "She and Sir Rané have not accompanied her?"
"Nay, the saints forbid, sir! Had I thought so, I should never have allowed her to go, had I been compelled to keep her back by main force. But I thought you knew all, and--"
"But Rané, Rané--where sawest thou him?"
"On the way to the town-governor we encountered the snake. He was leaving the Grayfriars' Chapel with the Norse jomfru, where, it is said, they have already been made man and wife. Jomfru Ingé cried bitterly, and embraced the Norse lady with great emotion; but Rané--the fiend take him!--would not delay. Within half an hour, he said, they must be on the open sea; and he talked of his sea-dogs, and looked about as if they were not far distant. He offered one arm to Jomfru Ingé, while he held fast his young fru with the other. But Jomfru Ingé withstood the indignity. She bade him a cold and formal farewell, and turned hastily away. I was much tempted to measure my squire's sword with the glaive of the newly-coined knight. My sword, I believe, indeed, accidentally left the sheath, and certainly I did not look very mildly at the crafty sir fox. I saw that he perfectly remembered how last I waited for him outside the duke's door at Nyborg Castle; for he suddenly became pale-nosed when he saw me about to spring at him. Jomfru Ingé seized me by the arm; and, before I had time to call him a traitorous nidding, he had disappeared with the pretty fru, whom he has cajoled and stolen."
Drost Peter again breathed easily. "Now, God be praised!" he exclaimed. "the wretch has no longer any power over her!"
"I trow he has, though!" cried Skirmen: "he took her with him."
"What! art thou mad?--Ingé?"
"Nay, Heaven forfend, sir!--Her I held fast by--but the pretty Norse jomfru--"
"In God's name, so be it! She was his wife, Skirmen; and thou hast conducted thyself like a brave fellow. She has set out alone, then, for Kolding--Ingé, I mean?"
"Nay, with twelve horsemen, besides car-swains."
"Very well: let our horses be instantly saddled."
"Already?" exclaimed Skirmen, colouring: "I thought we should tarry here to-night. Truth to say, sir, I have appointed a meeting with little Aasé and her grandfather, by the Stone-gate. They are about to make a pious pilgrimage, and I may not again see her for a long time."
"You can meet them as we go, for we shall pass through that gate. Quick with the horses!"
Skirmen left the room, with a sigh, and Drost Peter threw himself thoughtfully on a seat. He again drew forth Lady Ingé's letter, read it once more, and had just pressed it to his lips, when the door opened, and Sir Thorstenson entered, furious with rage.
"Ha! it was the cursed algrev's daughter!" he exclaimed, vehemently: "and they are gone--Jomfru Ingé, with--"
"I know it," interrupted Drost Peter, concealing the letter as he rose. "Here is your appointment and authority, brave Thorstenson, and Heaven protect you! Rané has escaped us; but this time, however, we owe him thanks."
"Confound him! it was the algrev's daughter he ran away with," continued Thorstenson, with indignation: "they were on the open sea before the river could be blocked. Ha! why knew I not this an hour ago? Death and destruction! The algrev's daughter should have sat a prisoner in Rypen House until Sir Algotson had been hanged, and proud Ingrid had become Thorstenson's wife."
"It was well, then, you knew not the bold viking's daughter," replied the drost, "otherwise you would have had to do with me. It would have been disgraceful to every Dane had not the brave adventurous maiden been permitted to retire from Rypen as freely as she came. Had she not infused her courage into our wily leader of the dance to-night, the bravest Danish maiden had sung her song in vain, and you had not now been governor of Rypen House."
"But, by Satan! she is the daughter of the infernal algrev!"
"What of that? She is a heroine, to whom we owe both thanks and honour; and she has paid dearly enough for her bold adventure, if she has given Rané her troth as its guerdon."
"You are right, Drost Peter," replied Thorstenson, cooling: "the girl was worthy of a better husband, and should surely have had a better father. Let her fly, then, the bold rock-bird! She may yet make a hero, or at least a wily pirate, of our vile knight. But--death and destruction!--had I known she was the algrev's daughter--"
"Even then, you would have respectfully kissed her hand, David Barmhead!" interrupted the drost, smiling.
"The horses are ready, sir drost," cried Skirmen at the door.
Drost Peter took a hurried leave of the brave governor of Rypen House, and left the castle; having first prudently put on a light breastplate under his travelling-cloak. He rode off rapidly, followed by Skirmen, along Green-street to the Market-place, without noticing the noisy merriment of the burghers. In Merchant-street the crowds had dispersed, and Skirmen observed several dark figures stealing about, coffin-bearers apparently of the order of the Dominicans, having hoods with large eyeholes over their faces; although, from their suspicious movements and long strides, they more resembled disguised soldiers. The trusty squire directed the attention of his master to these men, who appeared to be closely watching him.
"Coffin-bearers, about to carry a body somewhere," observed the drost: "what is remarkable in that?"
"It depends on what kind of body they are to carry," returned Skirmen; "and whether it is not the first they meet."
The suspicious hoods disappeared, however, at the corner of Ship-street, and Drost Peter rode over the bridge to the Middle-dam.
"What ails thee, Skirmen?" he inquired, stopping his horse in a by-street. "Since yesterday, methinks thou hast laid thy valour aside. Thou wert quite another carl when the robbers were seized by thee in Daugberg quarry. Now, however, I see thou hast got a sweetheart in thy head; and hast forgotten that the gold spurs are not to be won by timidity and weakness."
Skirmen felt his cheeks tingle. "Had you not taken me for a timid fool on the morning that we rode to Harrestrup, and had you not supposed the grayfriar cloaks covered honest men," he replied, suppressing his emotion, "then, perhaps, stern sir, had King Erik Christopherson last year given me the stroke of knighthood, as on that evening you bade me hope he would. I would then rather have received it from your hand," he added, with a trembling voice; "but, if now you consider me a timid coward, because I fear for your life, I desire nothing more than to remain your trusty squire while I live. Warn you I must, however; for I would rather go with silver spurs to my grave, than with gold ones follow you to your's."
"My faithful Skirmen!" exclaimed the drost, much affected, as he extended his hand to him, "I know it well: thou art more concerned for my life than for thine own. But I am not an outlaw: I am here, well armed, on the king's errand, and every cowl-cloak we see does not conceal a traitor."
"These fellows have been sneaking after us during the whole day, stern sir," replied Skirmen, "and I dare be sworn they are the duke's people. I thought Count Gerhard and his troopers were to follow us."
"The count is his own master," observed the drost: "I know not whether he purposes to attend the Dane-court or no."
"But Sir Rimaardson, then?"
"He goes from hence by sea. So, let us on. In these times, defenceless travellers and princely personages only require an escort."
Skirmen was silent. They crossed the bridge to the Lower-dam, and another leading across the third arm of the Nipsaa to the Stone-gate, at the eastern end of the town. When they reached the gate, they found it closed, by the orders of Sir Thorstenson. At the drost's command and well-known sign it was immediately opened to them; and they were about proceeding on their journey, when Skirmen heard himself called by a clear female voice from above the gateway.
"For God's sake, dear master, let us halt," he exclaimed, eagerly, springing from his horse. "Aasé is certainly in the Gatehouse prison."
"Free us, noble sir drost," cried Aasé from the prison-grating over the arched gateway. "You can bear witness that my grandfather and I are neither spies nor traitors."
On the word of the drost, and his explanation to the watch, the prisoners were liberated; and old Henner, in the long cloak of a pilgrim, and leading Aasé by the hand, stepped forth. He extended his hand to Drost Peter, while Aasé flew delighted into Skirmen's arms.
"One word, sir drost," said Henner, in an under-tone. "If you would ride safely to Snoghoi or Kolding to-night, tarry here till I return, or at least allow the road to stand open for good friends. Run, Aasé! Time presses!"
"What meanest thou, old man?" inquired Drost Peter, impatiently.
But he received no answer; for, with a few tremendous bounds, aided by his staff, in the manner of the old Frisians, the tall pilgrim had suddenly disappeared in the gloom. Shortly after, the strokes of an oar were heard on the river, northward of the gate, and a glimpse was caught of a boat running down the stream towards the castle with incredible rapidity.
At the instant the old man disappeared, little Aasé also sprang nimbly from Skirmen's arms, and was quickly out of sight; but as Skirmen fancied he heard her footsteps on the bridge leading to the Lower-dam, he mounted his norback, and was about to follow her, when his master called him loudly and impatiently the other way. "Come, Skirmen, let us forward. Henner is half crazed, and I cannot wait here to please his whimsies. You may open the gate for the old man, if he again comes," he added, turning to the burgher-guard; "or, should any one inquire for me, do not detain him."
So saying, he rode off hastily. Skirmen followed him with a downcast heart, and looking back every minute after his dear Aasé, to whom he had scarcely had time to give a farewell kiss but in the faint starlight he saw only the gloomy archway, and a long mailed hand projecting threateningly from its walls.
"What means that hideous hand, dear master, on the town-gate there?" he inquired, as a pretext for lingering a little longer, while he continued gazing on the path by which Aasé had disappeared.
"The hand is placed there as a terror to transgressors of the laws," replied the drost, relaxing his speed, as he looked behind. "Whoever, by forestalling, causes a scarcity in the town, loses his hand. But if I mistake not, Skirmen, it is another hand, less stiff and cold, thou art now looking after. Thou wouldst once more take leave of thy little Aasé? Well, she is a fair maiden, and one day shall be thy wife. When we have restored peace to the land, I shall care for your welfare. But meanwhile banish all such weaknesses, and be strong. I dare not take a single step from my appointed course, even for the sake of her who is dearer to me than all."
"True: but you are now both travelling in the same direction, and perhaps you may meet her at Kolding. But thanks, noble sir, for your care for us," added Skirmen, "although lands and wealth I require not. Aasé only desires that I should, like you, be a doughty knight, and do you and our young king honour. Ride on, sir: I shall not longer detain you. Our Lord may yet permit me to see my dear little Aasé again." He hastily passed his hand over his eyes, and set spurs to his norback.
As they rode rapidly forward, Drost Peter tried to conjecture what the warning of old Henner could mean, and why he had requested the town-gate to be left open.
"It was thoughtless, Skirmen," he observed, "to humour the whim of the old man about the gate. If the fellows you spoke of be traitors on our track, we have ourselves opened the way for them to follow us."
Shortly after, they heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind them. They turned, and in the twilight perceived a troop of horsemen approaching.
"Let us turn aside, sir," said Skirmen: "it is certainly the men in cowls."
About an hundred paces behind them, and running into the wood to the right, was a by-road, down which the suspicious troop disappeared.
"They have business elsewhere," said the drost, taking his hand from his sword.--"Let us on!"
They resumed their journey at a brisk trot.
"Perhaps they prefer meeting us at the outlet of the wood," observed Skirmen. "We have still the start; but it were most advisable, I think, to return to Rypen for aid. It was not for nothing that old Henner begged us to tarry."
"Nay, we shall use our advantage," said the drost, in a tone of decision, as he spurred his horse: "if they be foes, they are in a condition to overtake Jomfru Ingé before us, and who knows what her twelve troopers are good for?"
After a sharp gallop they reached the outlet of the wood, where the road became very narrow, and inclosed on both sides by steep banks. Skirmen was a short distance in advance of his master, when he suddenly wheeled about, and rode back.
"The hollow way is intercepted, sir," he cried. "And see, yonder come the same troops again from the wood."
Drost Peter halted, looked around him, and drew his sword. "So much the worse!" he exclaimed: "they have us in a trap. But we shall not suffer ourselves to be caught like rats. Thy norback can climb like a cat, Skirmen: ride up the height, then, and sound thy horn. If Henner brings us aid, he will hear it, and hasten on. With God's assistance I can manage to keep the fellows at bay for an hour. Quick, now!"
With much reluctance at leaving his master in this extremity, Skirmen obeyed; and patting the neck of his norback, he soon reached the top of the steep bank.
In the meanwhile the horsemen were approaching from both sides; but before they could exhibit any hostile intention the horn of Skirmen resounded loudly from the bank above. Both troops paused, apparently surprised; but when they perceived only the single hornblower on the height, they pressed forward rapidly, and had nearly surrounded the drost, who, however, succeeded in placing his back to the steep bank. He now first perceived whom he had before him; and recognised in the band that came from the town the pretended coffin-bearers, with their cowls over their faces, and long drawn swords in their hands. The other band wore the same suspicious dress; and they numbered altogether more than twenty, all on horseback. They maintained a profound silence, and seemed to expect the drost to throw down his sword and surrender.
"Speak, fellows! what would you with me?" he shouted, brandishing his sword on every side: "the first who advances, dies. If you be soldiers, say under whose orders you act, that I may know the traitor; and if there be a spark of honour in you, you will engage me singly, man to man. But if you are robbers and highwaymen, expect no booty from me. Bloody crowns are all you shall get, so long as I can wield my sword."
They answered not, but continued to press closer round him, none daring first to begin the attack; for Drost Peter, as weapon-master of the young king, was well known and generally feared for his skill with the sword. In the meanwhile, the horn of Skirmen continued to sound lustily, and was now answered by another from the direction of Rypen.
"Now, by Satan! quick! dead or alive!" cried a rough voice from among the disguised horsemen, three of whom at once rushed in upon the drost.
One instantly fell wounded, the two others, and as many more as could press forward, warmly continuing the assault. Drost Peter vigorously defended himself, and kept them at bay, the violent plunging and rearing of his steed preventing their blows from reaching him. The irritated assassins, perceiving this, wounded the noble animal, which rushed furiously into the midst of them, and fell.
Drost Peter lay for an instant on one knee, hemmed in on all sides by the troopers, who threatened to crush him beneath their horses' hoofs. He still retained his sword, although the blood streamed over his fingers from a wound in his arm. By a flourish of his weapon he succeeded in driving back the horses, and once more regained his feet.
At the same instant, Skirmen, who perceived the critical position of his master, darted his squire's sword from the bank above, and the leader of the gang rolled from his saddle, mortally wounded. The whole troop then sprang from their horses, to overpower the unaided knight by their united strength; but ere they could accomplish this, the blast of the horn, in answer to Skirmen's, sounded close at hand. The maskers, whom the fall of their leader seemed to have embarrassed, looked behind, and caught sight of a well-armed troop of horsemen, headed by a heavy knight on a white horse, who, with drawn sword, approached at full gallop.
"The count from Kiel!--the one-eyed count!" cried one of the cowls; and, as if by a thunderbolt, the whole band was scattered.
Abandoning the drost, and springing on their horses, in an instant they all disappeared, except the two who lay wounded on the road, and whose horses, with vacant saddles, followed the others.
Count Gerhard on his white steed, with Henner Friser and the Holstein troopers, came up while Skirmen, with much solicitude, was binding up his master's right arm.
"The fiend!" cried Count Gerhard, springing from his horse, "have we come too late?"
"Time enough to save my life, noble count," replied Drost Peter, joyfully extending his left hand.
"Why did you proceed in such haste, sir drost?" cried old Henner, gloomily, from his saddle. "Humph!" he added, in a half whisper, after a moment's thought, "it is on the track of a lady's car that you bleed here. You would rather run the risk of that than follow a gray-beard's advice."
"You are right, old man," answered Drost Peter: "youth and the wisdom of old age do not go together. Besides, I was on my lawful road, and on the king's errand; and if you knew that traitors lay in ambush, you should have spoken plainly. Meanwhile, thanks for rede and deed."
When Count Gerhard perceived that his friend was not dangerously hurt, he would have pursued the fugitives into the wood, but the drost restrained him.
"It is useless," he said: "they have flown like chaff before your storm of troopers. A couple of them only remain--let us be content with them. Here lies their leader, who fell, as if by lightning, without my hand."
"I hit him," cried Skirmen, joyfully, as he completed the bandage on his master's arm. "In three weeks you will again bear your sword, sir; but next time you use it, bid me not make music to your sport."
"Thy music helped me more than mine own good sword, Skirmen, and thou hast the aim of a David," said the drost, extending his hand to him.
They then approached the fallen leader, from whom Skirmen stripped the cowl and cloak, when, in his military buff doublet, they recognised with astonishment one of Duke Waldemar's Sleswick troopers. He died, however, almost immediately, and without uttering a word. The other had a similar doublet under his cloak. He was not mortally wounded; but wore a daring look, and neither threats nor promises could make him speak. They bound up his wound, and set him pinioned upon a horse.
Henner Friser now dismounted from the tall iron-gray horse he had ridden.
"I took your war-steed from the castle-stables, sir drost. You may soon require him," he said, with emphasis. "I shall now go on foot to my grave, and never more set myself on the high horse. I have done it roughly enough in bygone times, I know. Now I have finished with worldly affairs; but I shall say an ave by the Holy Grave, for you and the young king, if I do not fall suddenly into my own on the way. God and St. Christian be with you, noble sir!" he added, with unusual emotion. "Fortune is still with you in the midst of misfortune. But be on your guard. If you are not beforehand with the mortal foe, he will be beforehand with you. The crown you guard has not yet reached his head."
Drost Peter mounted his well-known, handsome war-steed, which had remained in the castle-stables since the last tilting-match. Sad, and in silence, he held forth his hand to the old pilgrim.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Count Gerhard, as Henner saluted him also, before departing. "Thou art too sage a carl, Henner, not to make something better than a penitent. I have learned more from thee to-night than from all my scribes and wisemen in my life. Stay with me: thou shalt carry my banner, and sit at my council. From what thou hast told me of my fortune, I should like to know a little more of it."
"It is not well to know too much of that, highborn sir," replied Henner, thoughtfully, shaking his gray head, as he leant upon his pilgrim's staff. "Neither am I a wizard; but the skilled man knows the world, and an old porpoise-hunter can still tell what weather we shall have to-morrow. Our Lord's Book does not lie, and it does not quite require a scribe to understand it. I know," he continued, looking sharply at the count, "that you will get as far with your one honest eye, as your wiliest foe with two; but, for all that, you must no more depend on Fortune than another. She is a bubble that, as you well know, bursts oftenest when it shines the clearest. I should willingly bear your banner, highborn count, but what a man has promised to our Lord and the Holy Virgin he must abide by. I have a heavy reckoning to make, and death gives not long warning. God and St. Christian be with you!--Farewell, youth," he said, turning to Skirmen: "I shall answer to thee for Aasé, when thou answerest to me and her with thy fidelity and bravery."
Skirmen seized the old man's hand, which he pressed warmly to his lips; but before he could say a word, the old giant had snatched away his hand, and was proceeding with rapid strides on the road to the river.
Drost Peter and Count Gerhard proceeded in silence on their way to Kolding, and, following Henner's advice, took the road to the south of the Skodborg river. Skirmen and the old jester followed at some distance, with the troopers, having the captive highwayman between them.
"For the first time I follow you over the Sleswick border, my good friend," observed the count, at length breaking the silence. "This surprise may import much. In these times every man does not wear his heart upon his sleeve. The buff jackets prove little; but trust me, nevertheless, the duke is the man. There is more under this, too, than thanks for his imprisonment at Sjöborg. The old pilgrim did not boast of my one eye without reason. I see, perhaps, even more clearly than you; and what the wily duke carries on his shield begins to brighten upon me. I should have much pleasure in probing the cunning gentleman a little. Listen, my good drost," he continued, after a moment's reflection: "if the duke does not appear at the Dane-court in proper time, you must be at your post to preserve the queen and the young king from being deceived by him. If he is not in a hurry to be chosen protector, 'tis because he has a higher dignity in view. The old pilgrim explained a riddle to me."
"What means all this, Count Gerhard?" inquired the drost, as he scrutinised attentively his unusually grave countenance. "Old Henner has not been filling your mind with surmises and whimsies? I have every respect for his experience, but he is not always quite sane; and his dreamy fancies I shall disregard. Whatever you may propose to do, noble count, forget not that, for the safety of the crown and kingdom, we must for the present avoid every hostile step against the duke."
"What I take in hand concerns myself, and has nothing to do with the crown and kingdom," rejoined the count, "and so you shall not know it. Will you confide the captured robber to my charge? I shall answer for him."
"Of course," replied the drost: "that treasure you may retain. If it concerned myself only, I should forget the adventure, and set the prisoner loose; but if it has a higher import, it must be inquired into. I believe the wily duke superior to a mere base and personal revenge; and he must know me well enough to be assured that I would not, contrary to the laws, oppose his election to the protectorship."
"He knows you more than well enough, my good friend," said Count Gerhard, with a nod. "You would certainly be a most welcome guest in his tower of Nordborg Castle. Yet you are right: we must keep to the main business. Should I learn anything of importance to the queen and the young king, you shall hear it from my own lips, before the Dane-court is concluded. But," added he, confusedly, while the blood mounted to his cheeks--"if I should hear that Duke Waldemar and the fair Queen Agnes had concluded a private marriage-contract, you must excuse me--"
"You astonish me, Count Gerhard!" exclaimed Drost Peter. "Do you believe probable what I have long feared might be possible? And think you the queen--"
"Of her I think nothing but what is good and fair and excellent," interrupted the count, with much ardour. "But however prudent she may be, still she may err. Why should not she, too, be dazzled by a glittering exterior? Were the handsome, well-spoken duke a squat, one-eyed widower like myself, and a lout at talking with women, perhaps it were better for all of us."
They continued their route thoughtfully and in silence. The usually lively count, with his eye and some of his corpulence, seemed also to have lost a part of his even, contented disposition. The loss of his eye, however, did not disfigure him, but rather added to his martial and somewhat heroic appearance; and the tinge of secret melancholy, that blended at times with his good-natured jests, rendered the brave and sturdy lord yet more amiable.
Drost Peter became so absorbed in his own thoughts, that the conversation was not resumed. The image of Jomfru Ingé often cast its radiance over his dark and gloomy pictures of the future. In every cloud of dust he descried on the road, he imagined he caught a glimpse of her travelling-car; and would then spur forward his steed so rapidly, that the count and his followers had some difficulty in keeping pace with him. But his hopes were invariably disappointed. Frequently it was but a drove of oxen or a troop of horses he had seen, and which, by blocking up the road, would intercept him in his impatient career.
They had ridden more than seven miles across the Sleswick border, and the sun was not yet high in the heavens, when they caught sight of the proud Œrnsborg, or Kolding House, as it was already called. The castle was situated on a rising ground above the sea, on the other side of the river Kolding; and, as it came in view, the drost's war-steed neighed, and sprang lightly forward at his master's bidding.
"But why, in the name of Beelzebub, ride we in such a hurry?" impatiently inquired Count Gerhard, puffing. "It is yet eight days to the Dane-court; and if we reach Nyborg tomorrow, we shall be time enough."
Drost Peter blushed. "I am commanded to make haste," he replied. "The wind is fair, but the passage here is longer and more difficult than by Snoghoi."
"Pokker, then! why do you not cross from Snoghoi?" asked the count. "Yet true," he added, a little crabbedly, "you would fain see your heart's dear again."
"How know you that, Count Gerhard?" demanded the drost, with some surprise and bashfulness.
"Why, every man in the country knows that," replied his companion. "The proud Œrnsborg[[37]] yonder is Drost Peter Hessel's favourite castle; and the eagle on a hill, with its wings displayed, stands on your seal with as much propriety as it does in the town-arms. Here it was you earned your first laurels against Duke Erik; and we have long known that in Œrnsborg you hold the gate and key of the kingdom against both myself and the Duke of South Jutland."
"You are speaking of the castle," replied Drost Peter, smiling, "and now I understand you. It is, indeed, a fortress dear to me, and of some importance to the kingdom. King Erik Christopherson put it in an excellent state of defence. It is an eyesore to you Holsteiners, I know; but let us be good friends, nevertheless. Were the duke as faithful a friend to us as you are, noble count, I should not have been so zealous in completing the defences. To speak honestly," he continued, extending his hand to the count, "I thought you meant to jest with me of my veritable heart's dear; for it is no stone-bride I am hurrying on to see. The castle is in good hands, but at present we have no time to visit it."
"As a prudent drost, you would scarcely venture on that when a count of Holstein is along with you, even although he has but half as many eyes as other people."
"With your one eye you would certainly see more defects in the defences than I should with both mine," observed the young drost, modestly, and with a look of confidence in his companion; "but I know," he added, "you would not betray its weakness to another than myself, and thus both the castle and I would be gainers."
"I take you at your polite word, Drost Peter," exclaimed Gerhard. "Defer your journey but for half an hour, and show me the castle's four giant images, and its defences too."
They were now at no great distance from Kolding river. They rode straight through the Bridge-wood, as it was called; and as they drew near the great drawbridge, which here divides North from South Jutland, they perceived approaching them an empty travelling-car, with four horses, and attended by twelve horsemen.
"There comes back her carriage," cried Skirmen, hastily riding up to his master. "You may still overtake her, as she can hardly yet have left the fiord."
"You shall see the castle another time, noble count," exclaimed Drost Peter, hurriedly, to his companion, and spurring forward his horse. "I may perhaps, instead, show you a fairer image, which I would rather bear on my shield than all the world's eagles and castles to boot."
"What the Pokker!" exclaimed Count Gerhard, laughing aloud, "am I killing my horse by riding along with a lovesick knight? Well, my good friend, if Drost Hessel can think of such follies in these serious times, I am not the only fool in company."
They rode rapidly past the empty car, but were obliged to halt at the bridge, which had been again drawn up. The drost had here established a lucrative toll, and, under pretence of strict superintendence, had recently issued an order, that this boundary bridge should be kept drawn up, as during war, which caused much delay and inconvenience to travellers.
In his impatient haste the drost himself vehemently exclaimed against the captain of the burgher-watch, to whom the knights were unknown, and who, before he would lower the bridge, demanded a strict account of their claims to be admitted with so many soldiers. After some altercation, on the drost announcing himself the bridge was lowered, and, for the delay, the captain pleaded the fair excuse, that it was the drost's own orders that had caused it.
"You are right, my friend," said Drost Peter, recollecting himself, as a slight blush overspread his cheeks--"you have done your duty, and I had no right to blame you."
The pacified captain saluted the drost, who, with his companion and the troopers, proceeded to pass the bridge.
During the short parley, Count Gerhard had with great difficulty restrained his laughter, which now broke forth in spite of him, as he perceived, while crossing the bridge, how the drost hurried on and gazed towards the vessels in the harbour.
"You now see yourself how execrable are your stringent laws, my conscientious good sir drost," he said; "you certainly thought not of a lover's haste when you ordered this bridge-barring."
"This is grist for your mill," returned the drost, who, although somewhat vexed, could not restrain a smile at the good-natured sallies with which Count Gerhard indemnified himself for the grievance of the toll, which affected the relations of Denmark to Holstein as much as it did those to South Jutland.
"If now you overtake not the fair lady, for whom I have ridden so many good horses almost to death," continued the count, in the same vein, "it will be sad enough: you will then regret having founded a toll at this confounded gutter. The deuce take it! it costs me and my brave Holsteiners more silver pieces in a year and a day, than the whole of this paltry place is worth. Laugh I must, from sheer vexation."
"A truce to this raillery, Count Gerhard," exclaimed the drost, hastily. "If I see aright, there is a ship leaving the harbour. If you knew of what this cursed delay has robbed me, you would not have the heart to laugh."
They had now ridden through the South-port and Bridge-street, when the drost, turning to the right, proceeded at a gallop to the Cloister-port, and across the large meadow-ground to the harbour, followed by the count and his train.
In an instant he stood on the quay, anxiously inquiring who was on board the vessel that had just left the harbour under full sail.
"A princess, it was, in sooth," answered an old steersman, as he continued to hammer away carelessly at his rudder. "She came here in a painted cage, with four horses. The town-governor himself was hat in hand, and all were obliged to stand on their pegs before her. It was a Swede that ran out with her. If this breeze continues, she will soon be in the open sea; and if the skiff only holds together, she will reach land; but it is a confounded rotten tub, and wont bear many thumps. With the Swede, however, she would go, even had Satan himself been on board."
"Lay to, with your fastest sloop!" cried the drost. "I shall pay you tenfold. Only make haste!"
"Shall we on a lady-chase, stern sir?" mumbled the old sailor. "Eh, well, I like that. The proud maiden has not offended you, I can see. In half an hour's time I shall bring you alongside. It was, moreover, too good a fare for a Swede."
"True, old man. But be quick!" cried the drost, giving him a handful of money.
In a few moments a small sloop lay close to the quay, and Skirmen immediately led the horses on board. Drost Peter meanwhile took leave of Count Gerhard.
"Heaven prosper you, noble count," he said, as he pressed his hand: "if our own hope be a fugitive which we can never overtake, we relinquish not the great hope of the country and kingdom: 'for the queen and our young king!' is our watchword."
"Well, my good friend," replied Count Gerhard, smiling, "you shall soon hear from me. Meantime, forget not to steer the proper course to Melfert."
Shortly afterwards the sloop, with Drost Peter and his squire, left Kolding Harbour under full sail. Count Gerhard remained smiling on the quay. He perceived the light bark speed like an arrow through the water, and gain upon the skiff with the blue and yellow sails, that conveyed Jomfru Ingé. That she was the lady with whom Drost Peter had danced into Rypen House, and whom he now hastened so ardently to overtake, was a gratifying supposition. Although the suspicion, of which the scar on his breast reminded him, had long since vanished, he was not displeased to observe that his chivalrous rival in the queen's favour seemed disposed to forget, for the daughter of a knight, all the kings and queens in the world.
The two vessels were soon so near, that they could see each other. Drost Peter stood on the prow of the one; and a tall female form, in a red mantle edged with sable, appeared on the stern of the sloop he was pursuing. He knew Lady Ingé and shouted her name.
"For Heaven's sake, slacken sail, and let me conduct you to land!" he cried, "Your boat can never keep the sea."
Lady Ingé only shook her head, and, loosening her veil, waved him a fond farewell.
"If you wish to board, stern sir knight," cried the old steersman, "I can drive in one of the Swede's planks, and I warrant he'll soon strike."
"Nay, nay," replied the drost, "no violence. She is free. Steer past them, and as near as possible."
An instant more and the vessels were side by side. Drost Peter stood, with outstretched arms, a few yards from the beautiful Ingé, whose eyes were fixed on him with a look of inexpressible tenderness.
"For Erik the king so young!" she exclaimed, pointing forwards, and at the same time relinquishing her veil, which the wind carried over to the knight. A piece of the garland from the triumphant dance of the previous evening accompanied it, and alighted on his feathered hat.
At the same instant the vessels parted, and the deep abyss again widened between the two lovers. Drost Peter fancied he saw a tear in the eye of the proud damsel; but the look she had bestowed on him filled his soul with the most joyous hopes. He pressed her veil to his lips, and, with a perfect confidence of her success, and reverence for her firm, immoveable purpose, directed the helmsman to steer for Melfert. "God and his mighty angels are with the maiden," he exclaimed: "we dare not stay her."
The vessels were already far apart. Drost Peter continued to gaze after the retiring skiff, on which he long fancied he could discern a lappet of Jomfru Ingé's mantle; and sad, but wonderfully strengthened and inspirited by this fond adieu, he hastened on his necessary and appointed way.
The almost incredible account was soon spread over the whole kingdom, of the manner in which Rypen House had been surprised, and the song of the maidens--"For Erik the king so young!" soon became a popular ballad. The news was especially gratifying to the queen and the young king, and, as first bearer of the tidings, Drost Peter was received with double pleasure at Nyborg Castle, where important affairs demanded his presence in the council. He also brought better accounts than were expected, respecting the chief object of his journey. He had seen numerous proofs of the attachment of the people to the royal house, and the general hatred of Marsk Stig and his adherents; and he had, moreover, learnt important particulars with regard to the conspirators and the king's murder. The defences of Marsk Stig on Helgeness and Hielm he could describe as an eye-witness, and they were found to be far less formidable than they were represented by the duke's reports, and by uncertain and alarming rumours.
While magnificent preparations were going on in Nyborg for the Dane-court, at which the young king would appear for the first time in the seat of judgment, the privy council assembled daily. Drost Peter did not conceal his distrust of the duke. His wounded arm excited much interest, and his account of the highwaymen's attack gave rise to many conjectures, which he himself, however, regarded as highly uncertain, for he attached little importance to the occurrence. But old Sir John and Master Martinus found in it a strong confirmation of their suspicions regarding the duke, when considered in connection with his doubtful movements in Viborg, which had caused their hasty and secret journey with the royal family to Nyborg.
The chivalrous-minded little king, too, thought they were over suspicious and cautious.
"Is not my kinsman the duke a knight and a prince?" he observed, one day, when the matter was under discussion in the council; "and does he not know that he cannot break faith and promises, without forfeiting his honour, and becoming a mockery to the whole world?"
"If God's law does not bind him, my young king and master," replied Master Martinus, "the laws of knighthood will have still less power, especially as they do not yet properly concern him. True, he is a prince of the royal blood; but the stroke of knighthood he has not formally received. Your late father, from whose hand alone he could worthily accept it, delayed this proof of honour longer, perhaps, than was desirable, considering the relation in which they stood."
"Well, I shall give him the stroke of knighthood as soon as I have myself received it, and have a right to confer it," answered the young king. "My uncle Otto must dub me previous to my coronation; for it is not becoming that I should be crowned King of Denmark, before I am duly admitted into the noble order of knighthood."
Sir John smiled, and shook his gray head; but Drost Peter contemplated his royal pupil with delight. He considered that the desire of the young king evinced his respect as much for the crown as for the order of knighthood; and he observed that it was not unusual for princes in their minority to entertain such a wish, and that they had already, in Charlemagne and his son, an example in point, and an illustrious instance of knighthood being honoured and followed.
"But, by the laws of chivalry, the minority ceases with the stroke which confers knighthood," observed Sir John; "and the constitutional law of the kingdom debars us from shortening the period of the king's minority."
"Tis true, noble Sir John," replied Drost Peter; "but here the laws of chivalry must give way to that greater law, which secures the freedom and welfare of the people. To my mind, however, a minor king is not of less dignity than any of his knightly servants."
The queen and Master Martinus supported the views of Drost Peter, and the wishes of the little king; and, with a shrug, old Sir John gave way, considering the question as one of little importance. The duke's position in the kingdom was, to him, a subject of far graver concern. The necessity of carefully concealing every suspicion, and of entrusting the duke with his full share in the government, as well as with the guardianship of the king, was stated so clearly by the old nobleman, that even Master Martinus, to whom such a course was most repugnant, could offer no objections. On this subject the queen entertained not the least suspicion, and Drost Peter's personal distrust of the duke gave way to the exigency of the occasion, and his respect for the laws of the country.
Whilst these important state affairs occupied the council, Drost Peter vainly sought an opportunity of conferring with Sir John concerning Jomfru Ingé and her journey to Sweden; for, on the slightest allusion to the subject, the counsellor, who apparently knew nothing of it, immediately started another.
The day fixed for the Dane-court had come. The queen's brothers, the Margraves of Brandenburg, had arrived on the previous day, having, two days before, left the duke in his camp near Rypen. The duke himself, however, had not yet reached Nyborg. To delay the Dane-court until his arrival, was repugnant to the dignity of the crown and kingdom. Every one was surprised at his apparent indifference on this important occasion, when his presence was so essential. The queen, especially, was irritated by this want of attention, which seemed to her so unlike the usual politeness and knightly behaviour of the duke.
On the first day of Whitsuntide, the Dane-court was held with the customary formalities. Its general business was conducted by the council, whose decisions were confirmed by the queen and the young king, who, equally with his mother, issued and confirmed charters and grants to churches and convents, subscribing himself King of the Danes and Sclaves, and Duke of Eastland. But the principal business--that which related to the king's guardianship, and the regency of the kingdom during his minority--was still unsettled. The two first days of the court's sittings had passed, and the duke was still absent.
At the close of the second day Drost Peter left the palace, and retired to his own dwelling, intending to devote a portion of the night to a revision of the business which was to occupy the court on the following day. He sat alone in his closet, and, as he recalled to mind old Henner's warning, and the suspicions of Count Gerhard, the daring thought occurred to him, that they might now, perhaps, with justice, pass over the duke's election to the guardianship.
His anxious and uneasy thoughts were disturbed by a noise in the palace-square, accompanied by the clattering of horses' hoofs, and the horns of the castle-guard--a salute given only on the arrival of a princely personage. He hastily approached the window, and perceived the duke enter with great pomp, attended by a considerable retinue of knights. Among these he observed three with locked visors, and these, by their armorial bearings, he recognised as three of the marsk's most audacious kinsmen, of whose personal participation in the murder of the king he had sure and ample proofs. Hastily seizing his cloak and hat, he hurried to the castle, where Sir John, as captain of the trabants, had already received the duke, and, at his importunate request, had admitted him to a private audience with the queen and her brothers.
Drost Peter learnt these tidings with much concern just as he reached the door of the guard-chamber, where little Aagé Jonsen stood sentinel among the torch-pages. The drost hastily entered, and approached Sir John, who was passing thoughtfully before the door of the royal apartments. He did not appear desirous of conversing, as, without stopping, he only nodded silently to the drost. The latter once or twice vainly endeavoured to find an opportunity of communicating his suspicions.
"The council must, of course, again meet to-night," at length he observed in an under tone, as Sir John turned to pass him.
"Its present leader is with the queen," replied Sir John, continuing his walk.
"Can nothing be done?" whispered the impatient drost, when the old man again approached him. "There are traitors in the duke's retinue. The queen's mind is dazzled, and this hour probably decides the fate of the crown and country."
"It is in the hand of God," replied the old counsellor, in whose eye glistened a tear. "He, you know, can cause the blind to see."
He resumed his walk with a lively and careless air, and, in a jesting humour, put a few indifferent questions to one of the trabants.
"Unless a miracle happen here," exclaimed Drost Peter, vehemently, as the old counsellor again stood by him, "either you or I must speedily open the eyes of the queen and people."
"Precipitate man! what think you of?" whispered Sir John. "Your zeal will plunge the whole country into misfortune. Be calm, my young friend," he immediately added, as he took his hand and led him aside, "otherwise you will certainly increase our misfortunes. Some of the marsk's friends are here, to defend themselves, it is said. If, therefore, we were even certain of what we may apprehend, we must still be silent, and submit to necessity."
"What! even if, ere the morrow, it could be demonstrated to the queen and the whole people that our new protector is a traitor to the country?"
"Even then. He now holds the fate of the kingdom in his hand. By an open rupture, we might place him at the head of the rebels. At present, he must condemn and punish them, although against his wish. Until Marsk Stig falls, the duke must stand. He must be honoured as the prop of the throne, if even he be its most deadly foe. All that can at present be done is to warn the queen, and guard well the young king. Appear calm, then, as I do--and lively, if you can."
Their conference was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the court-marshal, who invited them to a supper given by the queen, and intended as a feast of welcome to the duke.
"You perceive," exclaimed Drost Peter, when the court-marshal had retired, "that our wily and eloquent protector is already in high favour."
"'Tis politic, perhaps," replied Sir John. "Our noble mistress is not easily duped. We must, however, seem unconcerned, and in good humour. In this matter let me be your preceptor, my good drost. If you would be a statesman, you must first be master of your own countenance." And, with an expression of good-natured gaiety, the old counsellor, with his grave young friend, entered the royal apartments, after having appointed another trabant captain to take his place.
In a short time all the court officers, the members of the council, and the most considerable noblemen who attended the Dane-court, were assembled in the great riddersal, where the queen's ladies already waited for her. She entered soon after, attired in deep mourning, and accompanied by her brothers and young King Erik. At her left hand walked Duke Waldemar. He, too, wore a magnificent mourning-suit, and his haughty look of triumph betrayed a high degree of self-satisfaction, as he endeavoured to conceal his joy at a success which seemed no longer doubtful, although he saw it yet only in the distance. Sir John saluted him with much politeness and ease, whilst Drost Peter observed merely needful courtesies; the demeanour of the other counsellors being indicative more of fear than of goodwill.
Drost Peter regarded the queen attentively. He thought he perceived in her features a calm contentment, which, with her air of dignity, and a quiet, half-melancholy smile, did not ill contrast with her mourning attire; and as she cast on him a grave look, he fancied he read therein a rebuke for distrusting her sagacity and knowledge of mankind. It seemed to him as if she intended, by her whole conduct, to banish every doubt, which the friends of the royal house might entertain, of the loyalty of the princely personage whom she thought worthy to be distinguished as the most important man in the country.
When the general salutations and the customary formalities of court were over, she led forward the duke, and presented him to the chief men of the kingdom. "Our very princely friend and kinsman," she said, "from regard to the welfare of the country and the royal house, has magnanimously exposed himself to be misjudged, as well by me as by you. He had deferred receiving from this Dane-court his election to the protectorship, on account of a rumour which his enemies have circulated, concerning a grievous want of confidence in him here, and of a party which, therefore, would stir up the people at the Dane-court, and create discord in the kingdom. Having learned, however, that the report is unfounded, he has no longer hesitated to come forward to justify himself. He brings us, moreover, the important and satisfactory intelligence, that the rebellious Marsk Stig has returned to reason, and has submitted his cause and that of his accomplices to the decision of the Dane-court. The duke, by not attacking the rebels, has prudently sought to avoid a devastating civil war; whilst, by collecting a numerous army, he has overawed and restrained them. He has ventured in person within the defences of Marsk Stig, to induce him to submit to the laws of the country; and he brings with him, under his own conduct, to this Dane-court, three of the marsk's friends, that it may not be said that even our most dangerous foes were condemned unheard. I look on this enterprise to be as valorous and upright as it is wise and politic; and it gladdens me that I can reasonably hope for prosperity to the kingdom of Denmark, and at the same time bid the noble Duke Waldemar welcome amongst us."
The latter words she addressed to the duke, who advanced, and bowing profoundly, in easy and elegant terms acknowledged this flattering reception. With apparent animation and sincerity, he avowed his attachment to the queen and the young king, at the same time extolling the loyal adherents of the royal house with a condescension and an insinuating address which were not without effect on the greater part of those who heard him.
The doors of the dining-hall were then thrown open, and the duke led the queen to the table, where the youthful king took his place at her right hand.
This was the first occasion on which any deviation had been made from that mournful silence which, since the death of King Erik Christopherson, had uniformly prevailed at court. And, even now, the feast was in nowise noisy: neither song, nor music, nor loud-voiced joy was heard; and, as soon as the table was removed, the company separated.
The duke retired to the wing of the castle he usually occupied during the Dane-court. Sir John again resumed his station before the royal apartments, as captain of the body-guard; and Drost Peter returned to his own dwelling, his mind filled with painful doubts and fears.
When the grave drost entered, he found Count Gerhard enjoying himself over a goblet of wine; whilst old fostermother Dorothy, who was now her master's housekeeper here, loaded the table with viands of every description. At a signal from the drost, the bustling nurse left the apartment, whilst he greeted his guest not without some uneasy apprehensions.
"Welcome home, my good friend!" cried the count, gaily, as he rose, after having drained his goblet. "I am here, gathering strength from your excellent wine. If your fostermother reared you on this, I wonder not you are so strong and active. She is a capital housewife. You could never be better treated, even had you an angel for a wife. It is lucky she was not hanged or buried alive for her womanly honour's sake. But, what's the matter? Am not I welcome? You look as if you were outlawed by the Dane-court, or cited before the Ribe-Ret."
"You are heartily welcome, noble Count Gerhard," replied the drost, extending his hand; "and if peace and joy are not to be seen in my face, it is certainly no fault of your's. You are true to your word, I see, and no false prophet. The duke arrived this evening. To-morrow he is my master, and that of the royal house. But what have you discovered?"
"A very pretty thing, my good friend. You were as near being buried alive us your nurse was; and Nordborg Tower was to have been your grave. I succeeded in unbinding the highwayman's tongue with the point of a good sword at his throat. He confessed he would have broken your neck if he could not have taken you prisoner, for you had in your pocket important proofs against the regicides."
"And for that reason--ah! I understand," exclaimed Drost Peter. "But what farther?"
"Wait a little, my good friend. A man can't live on talk. Your confounded state affairs have nearly worn me out." So saying, Count Gerhard quietly resumed his seat, and replenished his goblet, whilst the drost impatiently awaited his farther communications.
"The duke is a cunning gentleman," began the count, when he had emptied his goblet, and again praised the wine; "and I am a downright stormer, they say. 'Tis true, indeed, that I mostly cut away right before me, and go straight to my object, without deviation. But now you shall see that I too, at a pinch, can play the fox--"
"I heartily believe it, my dear count; therefore, for Heaven's sake, don't prove it to me now! What know you of the duke? What has he been doing? What could have kept him from the Dane-court? Where has he been?--"
"Softly, softly, my good friend. A man cannot answer everything at once. He has not slept for the last three days--neither have I: you can see it in my appearance. I have ridden three horses to death, and scarcely hang together myself. But listen to all in due order. When we danced with the pretty maidens at Rypen House, the duke lay, you know, on the lazy side, in his camp hard by. But on holy St. Germanus' day--let me see--yes, it was the 28th of May, the first day of the Dane-court here--he was certainly in Sleswick, where, in the presence of his own council and that of the bishop, he issued a trading charter, in favour of the shopkeepers of Lubeck, of the following tenor--"
"Do you jest with me, Count Gerhard? What possible connection has this with the crown and kingdom?"
"More than you dream of, my good friend," replied the count. "The tenor of the charter I will spare you, for I cannot remember it, and it is nothing to the purpose: but mark you--he performed a public, although an insignificant act of government, in Sleswick, on the same day on which he should here have been chosen protector and guardian of the king. There, now, you have a political riddle, which will become a hard nut for posterity to crack; but I can solve it for you. He had, shortly before, been at Helgeness, with Marsk Stig--"
"That we know," interrupted the drost, impatiently: "he has not concealed it; and it has just been explained to his honour, as a proof of his fidelity and zeal for the royal cause."
"I'faith, if you know everything, my sagacious sir drost, then are you wiser than even my Daddy Longlegs, as we shall see--"
"Your jester?"
"Aye--you know him. He is mad enough at times: he fancied he was the dead king, when he knocked my eye out; but when he is not mad, and has a mind to put a wax nose on people, he is a deuce of a carl, and ready to laugh himself to death at--"
"But, min Gud! what has a fool to do with state affairs? Forget not, on account of that good-for-nothing fellow, what you were about to say."
"Respect Longlegs, my good friend. Such a fool can be more sagacious than a whole privy council. For the last eight days he has been clad in iron from top to toe, and has personated the marsk's confidential swain, Mat Jute. He resembled him to a hair, and imitated his Juttish accent in a masterly manner: it was thus he came to know that of which I had already an inkling, and what old Henner had observed during his imprisonment with the marsk. Whilst the duke kept away from the Dane-court, a tumult and an outbreak were to be occasioned here, on the first court-day, by the aid of the marsk and his friends; but I prevented it by causing all the ferries to be closed for three days, so that none of the disturbers could come over."
"My God! what do I hear? What would then have happened?"
"Under pretence of a rising against the duke himself, wherein it was believed the people would take part, the queen and the young king were to be seized during the confusion. We compelled the captive highwayman to report that you were in good keeping at Nordborg, and for that lie he had his freedom yesterday. Whilst the royal prisoners, with the algrev's assistance, were carried to Tönsberg, the duke with his army was to proceed to Viborg, and, in order to save the country, was to suffer himself, from sheer necessity, to be hailed as king. He was, as you have seen, prepared to prove, by a public document, that he was in Sleswick during the tumult on the 28th of May; so that the cunning gentleman could wash his hands of what had then happened. In the meantime, as I expected, he found out the stroke I made in the reckoning; and he must have ridden neck or nothing from Sleswick to be here to-night."
"Come, Count Gerhard," exclaimed Drost Peter, startled, "this is a matter for the closet. I turn giddy at the mere thought of it. If you can adduce me clear proofs of this monstrous treachery, he shall be overthrown, even if it costs me my own life."
Drost Peter hastily withdrew his guest into his closet, where he noted down every word spoken by the count, and every circumstance that could throw light on the truth of his narrative. The jester was also examined, and his statement duly recorded. Count Gerhard set his seal to the depositions, and further bound himself, by his oath and his good sword, to make good what might be deficient in formal testimony. With the utmost gravity of countenance, the jester likewise set his seal to the document with a button of his squire's jacket.
Next morning betimes, before the Dane-court commenced, Drost Peter had a private conversation with Sir John; but almost as early, the duke was with the Margraves of Brandenburg and the queen.
On this last and most important day of the Dane-court, the business, as usual, would be transacted in the open air, in sight of the people, in the area before the palace. It was the third day in Whitsun-week, and the finest spring weather favoured the solemnities with which the young king would, at the same time, be hailed by his Funen subjects. Everything was prepared with the utmost magnificence. On each side of the throne, which the young king would occupy, was a splendid seat, both of nearly the same elevation, provided for the queen and Duke Waldemar. Scarlet cloth was spread on the ground, and two semi-circles of chairs were placed for the princes and knights, as well as for the bishops and prelates; but in the middle of the circle stood a round table, covered with black cloth, with three and thirty chairs around it, which, however, seemed to occupy but a small portion of the large space. This unusual spectacle gave rise to many doubtful observations among the people. From an early hour in the morning, an unusually large number of burghers and peasants were assembled on the site of the Dane-court, and an anxious silence prevailed.
The knights and ecclesiastics afterward assembled, among the latter of whom were the worthy dean, Master Jens Grand, and the Archbishop of Lund, John Dros, together with the bishops of the entire kingdom.
The eyes of all were now directed to the great doors of the palace, from which the royal party was every minute expected to proceed. They were at length thrown open, and two heralds, with lofty plumes in their helmets, and bearing white rods, appeared, heading the procession, as on the occasion of a tournament; although the mourning-dresses imparted to the whole more the appearance of a funeral train. The youthful king walked gravely and firmly by the side of his stately mother, and was followed by Prince Christopher, with the duke and the queen's brothers.
Count Gerhard had unexpectedly placed himself in the princely train. Nor had he come alone; for he was accompanied by his two brothers, the young Counts of Holstein, and the wise and brave Prince Witzlau of Rygen, his private friend, and a loyal vassal of the Danish crown. These noblemen had just been presented to the king; but Count Gerhard, having had no opportunity of approaching the queen, was forced to salute her from a distance.
At the head of the twelve councillors came old Sir John, the Chancellor Martinus, and Drost Peter. No trace of anxiety was visible on the countenance of the aged statesman. Master Martinus also appeared calm; but his head was bowed, and his hands folded within the ample sleeves of his Dominican habit, as if he were engaged in secret prayer. Drost Peter strove in vain entirely to conceal the contest of feelings that divided his soul: his wounded arm rested in a sling; and under his other, concealed beneath his sable knight's mantle, he carried a bundle of documents. When he perceived the proud, triumphant glance of the duke, his eyes flashed indignation; but he had promised Sir John to control his feelings, and he was himself fully alive to the necessity which existed for dissimulation. A bitter smile, however, played for a moment on his lips, as it occurred to him that he might then, perhaps, with a joyous face, be following the freedom and happiness of his country to their grave.
The royal squires, who, after the marsk, under-marsk, and knights, closed the procession, were headed by the favourite of the youthful king, Aagé Jonsen, who, since the catastrophe at the barn of Finnerup, had become singularly quiet and serious. Drost Peter, his own and young Erik's weapon-master, was his model of chivalry, and already he wore, with almost the dignity of a knight, the squire's sword and silver spurs with which his young king had presented him.
When the Dane-court was at length seated, and the people saw the little king upon throne, and beheld the noble bearing of the queen, with so many wise and faithful counsellors by the side of their youthful monarch, the deep, long-held silence was suddenly broken by a deafening shout of joy and loyalty.
As when the homage of the people was received at Scanderborg, Sir John now read aloud the document respecting the election of the king, and the acclamations of the assembly were repeated with redoubled ardour. In the midst of this applause the little king rose, and bowed gracefully around; the childlike pleasure he felt at being thus the object of general homage, adding a grace and simplicity to his natural dignity and early knightly bearing that invested him with an irresistible charm.
When the king rose, the queen likewise stood up, while Duke Waldemar and the other princes, with all the knights and vassals of the kingdom, acknowledged the sovereignty of their youthful monarch, by bending themselves before the throne.
When this act of homage was concluded, Sir John advanced and read that article in the constitution by which the queen and Duke Waldemar were entitled to exercise concurrently the functions of government during the minority of the king. Notwithstanding the discontent visible in many faces, no objection was offered, and the queen and the duke were formally confirmed in this authority. When the document, after being subscribed by the estates of the kingdom, was read to the people, the name of the queen was greeted with loud applause, while that of the duke was received in almost unbroken silence. A few voices only, among which was that of Master Grand, attempted to raise a shout of "Long live Duke Waldemar, the king's guardian, and protector of the kingdom!" And although a considerable number joined in it, it was in a tone indicative more of compulsion and fear than of goodwill.
The duke having bowed with an air of condescension, the young king again arose. A perfect stillness and attention prevailed, while his eye rested on Drost Peter and Master Martinus, in whose encouraging looks he seemed to read what he had to say. Quickly conquering the bashful feeling which for a moment had seized him, he began, with a firm voice, and in a tone so loud that all could hear him:--
"My loyal Danish people, I here promise, before God and Our Holy Lady, that I will be a good and upright king. I acknowledge the constitution, and recognise the will of the people, as just and binding; cheerfully submitting myself to the guardianship of my dear mother and of the duke until I have attained my majority. And as I am, under this legal guardianship, the lawful King of Denmark, and inherit the crown of my father and the great Waldemars, I now, confident of the approval of my guardians and counsellors, order and command, that the cause against the murderers of my late father shall, by this Retter-Ting, be rigidly investigated and decided. Stand forward, Drost Peter Hessel. On my behalf and that of the crown, you are appointed accuser of the regicides."
Drost Peter advanced, and drew forth the documents he carried beneath his mantle.
"With the consent of my dear mother and Duke Waldemar," continued the youthful Erik, whilst, turning his eyes on Sir John, he recited, almost word for word, what that aged statesman had prepared for him, "I propose that my worthy uncle, Margrave Otto of Brandenburg, my trusty vassal, Prince Witzlau of Rygen, the valiant and upright Count Gerhard of Holstein, and his illustrious brothers, together with seven and twenty chief men of the Danish nobility and knighthood, be now constituted a tribunal, to investigate the accusation and the evidence offered by the drost. After which, let them declare who were the men that, on St. Cecilia's night, in the barn of Finnerup, laid violent and regicidal hands on my late father, King Erik Christopherson. With this hand upon his bloody breast, I vowed to his soul and the righteous God that, from the throne of Denmark, this should be my first command, and that the ungodly regicides should receive the punishment due to their crime, according to the strictest justice and the outraged laws of the land."
The warmth and earnestness, no less than the authority, with which this demand was pronounced, excited general surprise and admiration. The latter words, which, to the astonishment of Sir John, had been added by the young monarch himself, had brought the tears into his eyes.
When he had resumed his seat, the queen, who appeared prepared for this announcement, immediately arose, and said--"I approve of the king's proposition. It has already been well considered in the council of the nation, and now requires only the approbation of the illustrious Duke Waldemar."
"I, likewise, approve of it," said the latter, in a tone which showed that he was constrained to acquiesce only by the necessity of his position.
By Sir John's arrangements, seven and twenty noblemen, the eldest and most respected in the assembly, were then chosen, who, with the princes already named, immediately took their seats at the black table within the circle, prepared to hear and examine the accusation and evidence offered by the drost. Whilst thus engaged, the deep silence of expectation pervaded the rest of the assembly. When they had concluded, the three knights, strongly guarded, advanced at the signal of the duke. As defenders of the accused, they had been brought there under his safe conduct. They were completely clad in mail, and wore their visors down.
The princes and the other members of the tribunal now approached the throne. The Margrave Otto of Brandenburg, who, with a parchment in his hand, was at their head, then bowed before the king and the assembly, and read aloud and distinctly, in Danish, though with a foreign accent, as follows:--
"After the charges laid before us, and the witnesses we have heard, we are constrained to name, as proved to have been participators in the murder of King Erik Christopherson, the following persons, knights and Danish noblemen:--The right princely Count Jacob of Halland; Stig Andersen Hvide, marsk of the kingdom of Denmark; High Chamberlain Ové Dyré; Sirs Peder Jacobsen, Peder Porsé, Niels Hallandsfar, Arved Bengtson, Niels Knudson, and Jacob Blaafod; also Chamberlain Rané and Squire Aagé Kaggé. That the abovenamed eleven men, together with a twelfth, who has since appeared before a higher tribunal, were present in disguised dresses, on St. Cecilia's night, at Finnerup barn, near Viborg, and did personally take part in the murder of the king, we do here testify and swear, with our hands upon the holy Gospels, in presence of the all-seeing God, and before the king and people of Denmark."
While the names were read, two of the mailed knights seemed to stagger; but the third, a ponderous and stately figure, remained unmoved, wrapped, with an air of defiance, in his blue mantle, and his clenched hands crossed upon his breast. No sooner had the princes and their fellow-judges sworn to the truth of their verdict, than this haughty personage, advancing a step, struck his visor up, and, turning round, exhibited to the assembly a countenance at once wild and warlike, although somewhat pale.
"Count Jacob!--Count Jacob himself!"--ran from mouth to mouth, in a subdued murmur of astonishment.
"Yes, I am Count Jacob of Holland, kinsman to the royal house, and a general of Denmark," he exclaimed, with an air of pride and defiance; "and here stand my faithful friends, the brave Sirs Arved Bengtson and Jacob Blaafod, who, along with me, are named among the murderers of King Erik Christopherson."
His companions then struck aside the gratings of their helmets, and revealed the accused regicides, who, despite their haughty bearing, were yet deadly pale, and apparently doubtful of their personal security, notwithstanding the safe conduct of the duke.
"We mean not to impugn the decision of so many lords and knights," continued the proud count. "Lying and falsehood we bear not upon our shields. Danish honesty we expect also here. We have been promised, in the name of the king, a safe conduct and just treatment. We demand, therefore, not only the right to withdraw from hence unmolested, but first to be heard in our defence. That which we have done, we feel assured we can defend with our lips as well as with our swords, wherever honesty and justice prevail. To defend the right, in self-vindication, is nowhere forbidden; and that we call right which we have accomplished on a man of violence, who himself had broken every law, before we broke the rod over his guilty head."
The queen had risen, and the young king had sprung up, amazed at this matchless boldness. The rage of the people was great at beholding amongst them the convicted regicide, although his princely rank and his known bravery imposed silence on many. His daring, too, pleased some, and his exordium about Danish honesty was flattering to a considerable portion. The rebels had also secret friends among the people, and a dangerous murmur began to pervade the excited assemblage; while a multitude of the poorer burghers of Nyborg, who were particularly attached to the late king, rushed forward with furious clamour to wreak their vengeance on his murderers. With the greatest difficulty could the rank of knights keep in restraint the infuriated populace, and the uproar threatened to put a stop to the proceedings, when Sir John and Drost Peter restored order by announcing that sentence should immediately be pronounced on the regicides, and their punishment rendered speedy and certain.
"Let them be carried at once to the wheel!" cried Junker Christopherson, as he menaced them with his clenched hand.
The queen's indignation was great; but she remained silent, and sank back, pale and agitated, on her seat. The appearance of the murderers, and the wild faces of the people, painfully reminded her of the audacious visit of Marsk Stig, on the morning after the king's assassination.
"Had I imagined that these gentlemen had personally participated in the deed, they should never have received a safe conduct from me," exclaimed the duke, in some perturbation. "But now, for the sake of my own honour and that of the crown, I must demand that they be suffered freely to depart, whatever judgment may be pronounced upon them."
"You are right, Duke Waldemar," said the young king, suppressing his indignation. "Would we be knights with honour, we must keep faith and promise, even with these most impious murderers; and I have vowed to God and to Our Lady to rule righteously. If, therefore, on behalf of the crown, you have promised them safety, we must suffer them freely to depart. But they shall first hear their doom; and, wherever they may flee to, by the assistance of the righteous God, it will certainly reach them. Read aloud the sentence," he added, hastily, "as it stands in King Waldemar's law-book. If they have forfeited life and honour, so shall we adjudge."
"No punishment seems to me too severe for so heinous a crime," observed the duke, sternly. "But it may assume a different aspect when viewed from another point; and, therefore, before any just and impartial sentence can be pronounced, the Dane-court should hear what the accused have to advance in their defence, and what others, skilled in the laws, can state to guide us. Let the accused advance. The king and the people will hear their defence."
Count Jacob and Arved Bengtson moved not; but Jacob Blaafod, who was celebrated for his eloquence, approached the throne, while the blood again mounted to his sun-burnt cheeks. Having bowed on every side with knightly grace, he began his defence, and immediately quelled the murmurs of the assembly by a short but flattering exordium, in which he extolled the justice of the Danish laws, and the love of freedom and magnanimity of the people. He then frankly admitted the truth of the accusation, but represented the murder of the king as a bold and heroic action, as a great sacrifice to the freedom of the nation, and as altogether a just and lawful deed. He recounted all the violations of his contracts, and of the charters of the kingdom, perpetrated by the late king, by which, he affirmed, he had forfeited his crown, and placed himself on a level with every knight and nobleman in the kingdom, each of whom could defend his own honour and integrity against any of his peers, without being guilty of lese-majesty. He then proceeded to expose, in bitter language, the deep injustice which had been suffered by the chief noblemen in the kingdom; especially depicting, in the strongest colour, the crime perpetrated by King Erik Christopherson against Marsk Stig and his wife, with its heartrending results; and concluded by demanding of the king and the people, in the name of Danish justice, honour, and freedom, that the country's greatest general, the famed Marsk Stig, with his injured friends and kinsmen, should be acquitted of all guilt, and restored to their honours and dignities, which they had never lawfully forfeited.
His words made a deep impression, and no inconsiderable number of voices were raised in favour of the accused.
The queen had veiled her face; and the youthful Erik, in spite of his grief and indignation, could not avoid blushing at the shame of his unhappy father, whilst the tears stood in his eyes.
"Speak, Drost Peter, speak!" he cried: "is it not enough that they have murdered my father? Must I also sit on Denmark's throne, and hear them mock and insult his memory?"
At this heartrending appeal Drost Peter advanced. He exhibited great emotion, and some time elapsed before he could command his voice. "In what our murdered lord and king has here offended," he began, "he has gone to his account before the King of kings. May the Almighty Judge be merciful to him, and all of us! They are not men, but monsters, who demand that his son and his bereaved subjects should justify his actions and defend his fame in the presence of his murderers. It is not as the man Erik Christopherson that he is here in question; but as Denmark's king, as the wearer of Denmark's crown, whose inviolable majesty and sacredness have been profaned by bloody and audacious hands: it is the crime against the anointed ruler of the people and of the kingdom we are here to judge."
Without reference to the king's personality, he then pourtrayed the regicidal crime in language so strong and glowing, that the murderers themselves were abashed, and many of those who most severely censured the deceased king, and who had just been loudest in their applause of Jacob Blaafod's speech, turned away their eyes with horror from the men of blood. The eloquent drost then proceeded to recapitulate some of the most beneficial measures adopted by his late master; and specially pointed out how much that ancient and loyal city owed to his favour and clemency. He further instanced numerous benefits which the rebellious noblemen themselves had received from the late king, whom they had basely and ungratefully murdered, and succeeded in touching the hearts of the whole assembly, and in entirely obliterating the impression produced by the address of the regicide. He availed himself, finally, of this favourable disposition, to unfold the dangerous position of the country, and, with impassioned eloquence, charged them to sustain not only the majesty and sacredness of the throne, but the dignity and freedom of the people, by tearing the mask from the face of every secret traitor who had participated, directly or otherwise, in this rebellions and audacious crime. His eyes sparkling with animation, he then suddenly turned to the duke, as the man bound to the royal house by the holiest ties of consanguinity, and demanded of him, in the name of the people, by virtue of his new dignity, first to pronounce sentence on the guilty, for subsequent confirmation by the estates.
The drost paused; and although the duke had changed colour, he quickly rose at this appeal, and, bowing respectfully to the queen, modestly yielded to her the prerogative of pronouncing whatever sentence she and the council of the kingdom regarded as just and lawful.
"Be it so!" exclaimed the queen, unveiling her face as she rose with an air of calmness and decision. "I shall, then, be the first to declare what the council of the kingdom and myself think just and legal--what must have been already pronounced in the heart of every Dane, if God's holy law dwell there:--According to every law, both human and divine, an ignominious death is due to murderous traitors. Therefore, for the security of the crown and kingdom, let not mercy restrain the arm of justice!"
"Whoever has any legal objections to offer, can do so now," said the duke, as he directed his eyes towards Dean Grand, who apparently was only waiting this summons to step forward.
"In the name of truth and justice, then, I demand to be heard," cried the authoritative dean, as he advanced with an open book in his hand. "Here is the point of law on which alone the accused can be condemned, if, as I maintain they should, they be not with right and justice acquitted of all guilt. If the murder had been perpetrated in God's holy house, or on the property of the victim himself, the sentence of death would be a legal one; but as this was certainly not so in this instance, the accused, at worst, can only be adjudged outlaws, and have their estates forfeited to the king's exchequer. If the law is to prevail here, and not the unrighteous passion of revenge, no severer sentence than this can be pronounced."
On this bold assertion, which had found favour with many, a warm debate arose, in which the duke, with a flattering and not ineffective reference to the great privileges of the people and of the states, and to the violation of charters and engagements, declared himself in favour of this milder interpretation of the law.
Drost Peter opposed him warmly; but Sir John, to his great astonishment and that of the young king, strenuously maintained that, in accordance with the strict letter of the law, they could not come nearer the criminals. Outlawry, however, he continued, was a punishment which could not be regarded as trivial; for it implied no less than civil death, constant peril of life, and exclusion from every social or human privilege within the bounds of Denmark.
The words of the aged counsellor carried great weight with them. Drost Peter, and the other faithful friends of the royal house, quickly perceived that, for some new but sufficient reason, this wise statesman now defended an opinion he had himself opposed in the council a few days before. No further opposition, therefore, was offered to the milder sentence on the criminals; the queen and the young king declaring themselves satisfied with it, since it was considered just and legal by so many able and upright men.
The sentence of outlawry on the regicides was then formally drawn up, and immediately subscribed and sealed by the king and both protectors, as well as by those chosen for that purpose from the estates; after which, it was read aloud by the drost before the assembled Dane-court. Under a strong guard, the three knights were then conducted to the beach, where they were put on board a boat, with some provisions, and thus enabled to escape the enraged populace, against which no convoy could any longer protect them.
This important business being thus concluded, the Margrave Otto of Brandenburg advanced, and, having bowed respectfully to royalty, turned to the assembled knighthood, and said:--"My royal nephew, King Erik Erikson of Denmark, has honoured me by requesting to receive, at this Dane-court, the stroke of knighthood from my hand. A king's son, who has borne the name of king almost from his cradle, may already be regarded as exalted by his birth and position over every meaner dignity. It is commendable, however, in kings and princes, that they do not despise the rank of knighthood, but are generally desirous of being invested with that honour before they are anointed and crowned as sovereigns over their knights and princely vassals. I dispense, therefore, in the case of my royal nephew, with the customary probation which the dignity of the order otherwise requires."
He then turned to the young king, and continued, in a tone of solemnity:--"I now demand, King Erik Erikson of Denmark, before thy loyal people and in presence of the Danish knighthood, in what respect thou desirest to be admitted into our order? Wilt thou promise and swear to defend the holy Christian faith and the honours of knighthood?"
The young king arose and uncovered his head. His cheeks glowed, and his dark blue eyes sparkled with youthful pleasure and animation.
"Yea!" he exclaimed, "I will, so help me all holy men! God and Our Holy Lady know my heart's wish and my intention. I desire the stroke of knighthood from thy hand, my dear uncle, that I may be anointed and crowned King of Denmark with honour, and to show my loving people, and all men, that not only shall I be a good and upright king, but also a knight without reproach, that I may not disgrace the crown of Denmark and of the great Waldemars. That which a squire should understand, before he can wear the golden spurs, my dear weapon-master, Drost Peter Hessel, has already taught me, which I will prove at the first tournament. The laws of chivalry I have learned as the holy text; and I swear, by St. George and the Holy Virgin, that I shall maintain them while I live."
He paused an instant to collect himself; and then continued, with much ardour:--"I will not live careless, but will defend my people, and pour out my blood for the true and holy Church, which I know is the head, whilst the knighthood is the arm, to defend the whole body; and that also shall I strive to do. I will protect the widow, the fatherless, and the needy; I will be the defender of all pure and virtuous ladies; I will be just, valiant, generous, honest, and chaste; I will honour God with all humility, and be truthful and faithful to my word; I will practise the seven virtues of knighthood, and eschew the seven mortal sins, with the assistance of God and the Holy Virgin."
When the youthful king had sworn, as his profession of faith, this epitome of the laws of chivalry, which he seemed to know by heart, he descended from the throne to receive the symbols and accoutrements of knighthood, with which, according to his wish and the usual custom, he was to be invested by the most eminent men of the kingdom, and the most attached friends of the royal house. Drost Peter bound the golden spurs upon his heels, and with tender interest and heartfelt pleasure reminded him of their signification. Old Sir John, with a short and energetic encouragement to manliness and goodness, equipped him in a cuirass of light mail. Count Gerhard, who had requested the charge of binding on his wambraces, did so in his usual gay manner, wishing the son of the noble Queen Agnes success, strength, and victory in every undertaking.
At length the queen herself arose to present him with the glittering gauntlets, and to gird him with the golden sword, which the heralds brought forward. Having first carried the crossed hilt of the weapon reverently to her lips, she girt her son with the gold-embroidered sword-belt, on which was wrought, by her own hands, a lily, a balance, and a heart, as emblems of purity, justice, and Christian charity; and then, kissing him affectionately on the forehead, she exhorted him never to forget its meaning.
The queen having resumed her seat, and the knights their places, the youthful king knelt down, while Margrave Otto, kissing the hilt of his drawn sword, solemnly said--"King Erik Erikson of Denmark, in the name of God, Our Holy Lady, and St. George, I dub you a knight. Be bold, courageous, and true!"
A flourish of trumpets followed, while the margrave, with the flat of his sword, touched the noviciate three times on the shoulder.
Tears stood in the eyes of the newly-created knight, whilst he rose and folded his hands, as if engaged in silent prayer. He then received from the margrave a bright gilded helmet, with a large plume of feathers, which caused his eyes to sparkle with pleasure as he placed it on his golden locks. Finally, the margrave presented him with a golden lance, and hung on the wambrace of his left arm a splendid shield, bearing the same device which he had chosen for his first juvenile buckler.
His friend and playmate, Aagé Jonsen, had meanwhile led forth a proud milk-white tourney-steed, caparisoned in shining armour, with a lofty plume of feathers on his head. The youthful knight instantly vaulted into the saddle, without the aid of the stirrups, and then proceeded to caracol his steed, poise his lance, and exhibit himself in all the pomp of knighthood before the people, who received his graceful and condescending salutations with enthusiastic shouts of rejoicing. Thrice did he thus make the circle of the Dane-court, whilst the air resounded with the braying of trumpets and the loud acclamations of the people.
Even the gravest among the knights seemed pleased at the dexterity and address with which the youthful rider managed his steed; and, although, as old Sir John turned towards Drost Peter, a quiet smile at this exhibition played about his lips, yet the delighted shouts of the people, and the general animation excited by the presence of the youthful monarch, much affected him, and hastily passing his hands across his eyes, he heartily joined in the people's shout--"God bless our young king!"
Without being impeded by his armour and weapons, young Erik now sprang from his steed with as much agility as he had mounted it, and ordering his squire to lead it off, returned calmly and with dignity to the throne.
During these ceremonies the duke remained silent and absorbed in reflection. Drost Peter, however, had closely observed him; and the ill-concealed scorn which he read in his countenance only too strongly reminded him that it was not yet time for rejoicings and gladness in Denmark.
King Erik then arose, somewhat out of breath with his violent exercise, and addressing the duke, said--"As I am now myself a knight, and have a right to confer the stroke of knighthood on whom I choose, my princely kinsman and guardian, Duke Waldemar of South Jutland, shall be the first who receives it from my hand."
The duke rose hastily. He seemed taken by surprise, and his proud mien betrayed that the proposed honour annoyed more than it flattered him. Drost Peter imagined he saw in his constrained smile, an angry feeling of wounded pride, that he should now, in presence of the nation, be obliged to kneel before the youthful king, even to receive a dignity with which he had long anxiously desired to be invested.
The wily duke, however, seemed solicitous to conceal this from himself as well as from the knighthood, and, in a tone of easy dignity, he thanked the king for this gracious mark of distinction. He then knelt before the throne, whilst King Erik pronounced the customary form, and, amidst a nourish of trumpets, let fall three times his golden sword on the shoulder of the duke.
"Be a knight without reproach," he added: "be, as the laws of chivalry command, full of burning zeal for the general good, for the kingdom's weal, for the knighthood's honour, for the people's unity and prosperity, and for the welfare of your lawful king. God, Our Holy Lady, and St. George grant you strength and aid thereto!"
From the lips of the youthful king, this admonition, in which he fancied he could trace the influence of Drost Peter, did not at all please the proud, ambitious duke; although he went through the customary forms with a polite bearing. When he had received his new arms, he leaped upon his tourney-steed, and exhibited himself to the people with much princely dignity and knightly skill. At a prancing gallop he cast his lance aloft and caught it again, at the same time saluting the people gracefully and mildly. The applause he coveted was freely bestowed on him; but he seemed especially gratified when, after he had dismounted, he received the congratulations of the knights and of the royal family.
Thus terminated the Dane-court and its grave affairs, apparently to the general satisfaction. The royal family, with the duke and the other princes present, then returned to the palace, where the king presented rich gifts to the duke, to the Margrave Otto, Count Gerhard, and the Danish knights. Chargers, gold bridles, magnificent mantles, and arms were freely distributed; and all who had participated in the ceremonials received some handsome memorial of the day and of the king's munificence. Neither was Aagé Jonsen forgotten: his royal master presented him with a gilded sword, set with jewels, and bearing as an inscription--"The king's defence." For his fidelity to the murdered king, Erik would fain have given his youthful playmate the stroke of knighthood; but the exception which had been made in his own favour could not, from respect to those of riper years, be extended to any of lower degree, not even to Junker Christopherson, who appeared to consider himself as worthy of being a knight and king as was his brother.
This important election to the regency of the kingdom, and the princely promotion to the knighthood, were celebrated in the palace with magnificent festivities, during which the duke scarcely for a moment lost sight of the royal party, and outshone all present in knightly bearing, and in refined and polished conversation.
The queen's present confidence in him, and her desire to compensate him for the unworthy suspicions she formerly entertained, now led her to agree with him in a conclusion altogether opposed to the wishes of the council. The representations of the duke to herself and her brothers, induced them to consider the juncture too serious for farther festivities; and, to look carefully to the security of the royal house, they unanimously determined that, instead of carrying the young king to Zealand, there to receive the homage of the people, and from thence to be crowned at Lund, they should immediately carry him back to the strong castle of Viborg, and defer the journey to Zealand and Scania, so long as Marsk Stig, with the outlaws and Norse rovers, rendered the Belt and Sound unsafe. This determination the queen, in the presence of the duke, announced to Sir John and Drost Peter during the evening, in a tone so decided as to restrain every objection.
Drost Peter was much alarmed, for he saw in this a new attempt on the part of the duke to draw the royal personages within his own and the outlaws' power, whilst, by his cunning, he would perhaps succeed in deferring the act of homage, and delaying the coronation until he could himself unlawfully seize upon the kingdom. Drost Peter burned with impatience boldly and openly to unmask the mighty traitor, and testify to what he knew of the true reason of his absence from the Dane-court; but on a stern look of warning from Sir John, he restrained himself, and was silent. The journey to Viborg was, therefore, fixed for the next morning, and the company separated.
It was late in the evening. The servants of the palace were busily engaged with the requisite preparations for the journey, the din of which was heard in the castle-court. The duke and his retinue had withdrawn to their own apartments; but it was observed that some of his followers had left the castle, and hastily taken the road to Middelfert. The young king had retired, and the Margraves of Brandenburg had just left the queen in her private apartment. She had taken a farewell of her brothers, who, that very night, were to leave Denmark for the court of the Emperor Rudolph, to induce him to declare the Danish regicides outlaws in Germany. This reason for their sudden journey, they had, however, confided only to the queen.
The beautiful young widow sat, her cheek resting on her hand, at a table of black marble, on which stood two wax-lights. She wore her mourning attire; and, as her dark head-dress was cast aside, her rich brown hair hung in tresses over her arms, and fell upon the marble slab. Her fair white fingers were engaged in turning over the leaves of a beautiful little manuscript volume, the pages of which she frequently crossed and marked with a silver needle. In this book she had, in her lonely hours, poured out her heart with honest self-acknowledgment, and with her own hand had recorded every remarkable circumstance of her life. There stood yet the fair delightful dreams of her childhood, like half-vanished memories of Paradise. They were, however, soon followed by her humiliating espousals. Her early betrothment to King Erik Christopherson had been one of the conditions of his release from Nordborg Castle, after he was taken prisoner in the war with Duke Waldemar's father. The record of this, her alienation to another, was but incoherently set down, and it seemed as if she had not yet understood the proper connection of events; for, in incoherent words, and in traces of tears, she saw the day recorded when, yet little more then a child, she had, in blind duty and obedience, suffered herself to be adorned as a royal bride, and become the unwitting victim of a cold political consideration. Of her wedded state, so void of love and tenderness, there were many records; for at this point she appeared first to become conscious of her dignity, and of the purpose of life. In the midst of the great and glittering world she had often felt herself alone and forsaken, although, with youthful energy, she had availed herself of her lofty position to occupy her thoughts with benevolence, and diffuse peace and joy around her. It was granted her to seem fortunate; and whatever success followed her efforts to suppress the dangerous voice of rebellion, which threatened the king and kingdom with ruin, was due as much to her personal influence as to the exalted splendour of the crown.
The kindly interest she felt in Drost Peter was the first bright spot in this dark portion of her inner life. His brave chivalrous spirit, and the homage he rendered her, had been grateful to her womanly nature; while with prudence and delicacy she had concealed, beneath the imposing cloak of majesty, every feeling of her heart's desolateness.
As she continued turning over the leaves of this her life's-book, the past flitted by her like a dream. At the lively description of the tournament at Helsingborg, she found first mentioned the name of Count Gerhard, with a witty remark on the awkwardness of his homage, but also with expressions of esteem and interest. A few pages farther she saw a bitter memorial of the injurious rumour to which her interest in Drost Peter had given birth, and a memorandum of her determination to avoid for the future every appearance of familiarity with her faithful and attached knight.
As she glanced over the account of the festival at Sir John's, and of her dance with the wounded Count Gerhard, a slight blush crimsoned her cheeks, and she felt that the bold, good-natured dancer had made a greater impression upon her than she was, at that time, willing to believe. The discreet and respectful attachment to her which had that day beamed from his one honest eye, had, in her mind, invested him with greater dignity. Her judgment both of him and of the accomplished Duke Waldemar she now reviewed with much interest. To the duke she had given the preference for his knightly bearing and polished manners; while she had found him deficient in the truthfulness and bold sincerity that enhanced the nobleness of Count Gerhard and rendered him so entirely safe to be relied upon.
Having closed the manuscript, she remained some time in deep thought, and was at length about to summon her ladies and retire to rest, when she heard a gentle knocking at the private door of the apartment which separated her closet from that of the youthful king, and which was accessible to the royal family alone.
"Come in, my son," she said, as she turned towards the door, which was then softly opened, and the trusty favourite squire, Aagé Jonsen, stepped modestly over the threshold.
He remained respectfully at a distance, and, having made his salutation, "Pardon my temerity, most gracious queen," he began, in a low voice: "my master, the king, has commanded me to open this door, to ascertain if your grace was present, and alone. He prays you, for most important reasons, to grant him and the drost an audience here, without witnesses."
"Drost Hessel!" ejaculated the queen, with astonishment--"here, and at this hour? Impossible! What means this?"
"I know not, your grace," replied the grave little squire; "but I conclude that it is on business of emergency and importance. The drost did not pass through the guard-chamber, but entered by the subterranean passage, in company with the tall lord from Kiel."
"Count Gerhard!" exclaimed the queen, as she hastily veiled her face. "Is he, too, here? Has he, also, requested to speak with me?"
"That know I not, your grace. I kept watch by the inner door of the king's chamber, and knew not there was any secret entrance until it was opened, and both the gentlemen stood before me. The drost bade me awake the king immediately. I obeyed, and they were both instantly admitted to his chamber. Shortly afterwards he rung, and, while he attired himself, commanded me to ascertain cautiously whether your grace was alone here, and to deliver the request of which I have just informed you."
"Well," answered the queen, "tell thy king and master that I await him, and whomever else he may think it necessary to bring with him."
Aagé Jonsen bowed and retired; when the queen, who felt some anxiety, arose, and opening a little gilded casket, which stood on the table, concealed therein her journal. She then walked once or twice across the apartment, but at length stopped opposite a large polished steel mirror, in which she hastily arranged her fallen tresses. The secret door was opened a moment after, and King Erik entered, leading Drost Peter by the hand.
"Hear him, my mother!" exclaimed, with excitement, the little king--"hear and read what the good drost and Count Gerhard have discovered. The duke is false! he will entice us to ruin."
"Let not this disquiet you, noble queen," hastily observed Drost Peter, as he saluted her. "The danger is not imminent; although, except on high and important grounds, I should not have dared to approach you at so undue an hour, and in this unusual manner. To-morrow would have been too late. It is necessary, too, for your own and the king's security, that you should thus be secretly apprised of it, as it would be dangerous if the duke conceived the slightest suspicion that we had discovered his daring plans."
"You astonish me, Drost Hessel!" exclaimed the queen, with undisguised solicitude. "Have you certain proof of this, whatever it may be? or is it but another of the learned chancellor's dreams? The duke must either be the wiliest hypocrite under the sun, or he is the true and attached friend of myself and the royal house."
"Read, then, your grace," replied Drost Peter, spreading before her the parchment bearing Count Gerhard's seal: "every word that stands there can be personally attested by the noble Count Gerhard, should you so require his oath. He awaits your commands in the next apartment."
The queen seated herself, and hastily perused the evidence set forth by Drost Peter to account for the duke's absence from the opening of the Dane-Court. As she did so, she became pale, and, rising, exclaimed--"Just Heaven! is, then, the fate of the kingdom and of the royal house in the hands of such a traitor? And this you knew to-day, Drost Hessel, and yet hesitated to tear the mask from the traitor, and exhibit him to the scorn of the whole people!"
"God and my own heart know what it has cost me to be silent, noble queen," replied the drost, laying his hand upon his breast. "But Sir John was right: until Marsk Stig falls, the duke must stand. In his present position he is constrained even to punish the outlaws; but the moment he throws off the mask, he is our open foe--the head of the outlaws, and the leader of the rebels."
"You are right," observed the queen, after a moment's reflection; "and I now understand the complaisance of Sir John to-day. Great God! when has a traitor stood unmolested so near the throne of Denmark? Let Count Gerhard enter."
Drost Peter retired, and in a moment returned with Count Gerhard, who remained by the door, bowing bashfully and awkwardly.
"Approach, noble count," said the queen, as she advanced with blushing cheeks to meet him. "You have probably saved from destruction the kingdom and royal house. But explain how you attained this information. How did you divine the plans of the marsk, or suspect the duke of such base knavishness?"
"I cannot boast my own penetration, most noble queen," replied Count Gerhard, advancing with greater boldness--"that would ill become me. A large portion of my sagacity in this matter I owe to a long-headed old pilgrim whom I met in Rypen, and who seemed to know the world better than the world knew him. I had already noted mischief, and a few hints made me clear-eyed. With the subtle Duke Waldemar I may as little contend in statecraft as in accomplishments and fine manners; but this I dare aver, that when he thought he could reach the throne of Denmark without lifting his hand, or losing the semblance of being a true friend to the people and kingdom, he was willing to let the marsk disturb his election to the regency here, and to bid farewell to the honour and happiness of being the protector of your grace and of the royal house. It may be only my poor opinion, your grace," he added, with some embarrassment, "but that the duke carries a fox on his shield, is certain: indeed, he seems even to entertain the boldest hopes of your grace's sympathy and confidence."
The queen started, while the count continued:--
"I regret that I have no better proofs of this than my own word and sword, and the evidence of my trusty jester. But that many of the marsk's adherents were stopped by me on their way to the Dane-court, is beyond doubt; and that the duke was really in Sleswick on the first day of the Dane-court, he has himself taken care to furnish the best proof. With what view he was there, and whether there really would have been a tumult here, had they not perceived danger, cannot now be further demonstrated. My entire services to your grace and to the royal house, most noble queen, are thus but of small avail; and however beneficial to the crown and country they may appear, I have only given you probable grounds for guarding yourself and the young king against the counsels of the duke."
"For this important warning accept my heartiest thanks, noble count," replied the queen, as she extended her hand, which, while he bent before her, he pressed to his lips with concealed ardour.
Having quickly resumed his former respectful demeanour, he continued:--"I regret that what I and so poor a statesman as my late jester have brought to light, must, for the present, remain a secret, noble queen. At a Retter-Ting, where it can only be fought with words, I am of little service; but I would have willingly proved with my good sword, in honest combat with the duke, before the whole knighthood, that he is a nidding and a traitor, had not your trusty counsellors convinced me that I should thereby only expose your grace and the kingdom to the greatest danger. Indeed, I now see clearly that, for the present, it imports much to be at peace with him; and therefore he shall have peace from me, until a future time. But permit me, noble queen, henceforth to join the ranks of your own and the young king's bodyguard, and grant that the protection of your royal person may also form a portion of my duty."
"I choose you for my knight and protector, brave Count Gerhard," replied the queen, in a cordial tone; "and, as a pledge, accept this remembrance of my bereaved and sorrowful position by the throne of Denmark."
As she spoke, she untied her black veil, which she handed to him; whilst he, kneeling in knightly fashion, pressed the pledge of confidence to his lips, and then concealed it in his bosom.
"My colour was formerly crimson," added the queen, in a sorrowful accent, as she looked mildly towards Drost Peter. "This faithful friend to the royal house once wore it, as you doubtless remember; but no good fortune attended it. It was, moreover, borrowed, and, in truth, did not become me. I then determined that no man should wear it with my consent. The colour of night and disappointment has now become mine, as it has become that of Denmark. If its sight inspires you not with pain, Count Gerhard, as mine and the country's faithful friend wear it until morning again breaks on Denmark."
Count Gerhard, who had again risen, felt more intoxicated with joy than he had ever been before.
"As long as God permits me to live in this fair world," he exclaimed, while a tear glistened in his eye, "so long at least, noble queen, I will think only of showing myself worthy of your confidence, and of being, from my heart's core, a faithful friend to your grace and to the Danish kingdom. For your sake, so I promised long ago to this your brave knight;" adding, as he seized the hand of Drost Peter--"he still wears the rosy red in secret; but now I fight not with him concerning it, for I know it is Lady Ingé's gage and hairband."
A blush suffused the cheeks of Drost Peter, and the queen also seemed perplexed by the indiscreetness of the plain-spoken count.
"True--this is another matter," hastily added the latter, as he observed the embarrassment he had caused: "it was perhaps a secret, respecting which I should have been silent; but this is what I would say, most noble queen, that, next to myself, you have not a more sincere admirer in the world than is Drost Hessel. We two shall now contend in earnest for the privilege of permanently wearing your colour. It imports not to me whether it is black or red, since it is your's; but this I know, that if there exists in the world one who can restore to your mind that joy and happiness you were surely born to possess, I would gladly give my only remaining eye to be that one; and then, although I could never more see your fair face and lovely form, I should still feel happy in knowing that you were pleased with the blind Count Gerhard."
The cordial sincerity with which he uttered these words, caused the queen and Drost Peter to overlook their want of delicacy and propriety. It was evident, however, from the manner of the queen, that she desired to terminate this extraordinary visit, and the direction the conversation had taken. Young Erik, too, who had been listening attentively, seemed to think that the count's speech had nothing to do with the dangerous business that had brought them thither.
"Let this subject be ended, Count Gerhard!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "My mother will be happy enough again when we have taken measures against the faithlessness of the duke, and restored the kingdom to security. We shall not set out to-morrow for Viborg: his traitor-army is there encamped, you say. If I am to be King of Denmark, I will be anointed and crowned forthwith. If it is the will of Providence that I should be betrayed and murdered, as my father and grandfather were, I shall die a lawful king, and it shall not be well for the traitors who dare to lay hands upon the Lord's anointed, young as he may be."
"Thy will shall be done, my son," replied the queen, patting his glowing cheeks. "Thy wish was also Sir John's, and that of the whole council, before, in my blindness, I mistook the smooth words of the duke for sincere attachment. To-morrow we shall set out, not for Viborg, but for Skielskioer; and, when thou art proclaimed in Zealand, we shall proceed to the coronation at Lund. But let me advise. The duke, as my most courteous knight, shall accompany us. He must not perceive the slightest symptom of distrust on our part. To you, gentlemen, I confide our security on the way."
"Yes--let it be so!" cried the young king, joyfully. "The Almighty, and Our dear Holy Lady, will assuredly protect us. Good night, my dear mother. You can now sleep securely, for Sir John is stationed in the guard-chamber, and these trusty gentlemen will remain tonight in the palace."
"God keep his hand over thee, my son!" exclaimed the queen, as she fondly kissed his smooth forehead. "Thank Heaven, with me, for having preserved to us these devoted and faithful friends in our hour of need and danger."
With queenlike dignity she then bowed to the two knights, who, with the young king, retired through the same private door by which they had entered.
At early morning of the following day, the queen's travelling-car, with six milk-white steeds attached, stood before the castle-steps, attended by many smartly dressed outriders and grooms. More than thirty squires were grouped about, with their masters' horses in charge; foremost among whom was conspicuous, by his gray suit, emblazoned with the Sleswick lions, the attendant of the duke, who, with great ostentation, was allowing his master's noble steed, covered with splendid trappings, to prance and gambol about. Near him stood Daddy Longlegs, bearing Count Gerhard's simple shield, in the shape of a nettle-leaf, and holding a strong brown stallion by the bridle. Skirmen, carrying Drost Peter's mantle and shield, stood by his master's horse, apparently lost in contemplating the faces of the ducal lions, which resembled wolves more than the animals they were intended to represent. As he turned with his impatient charger in the direction of the Strand-gate, he was delighted to observe a great bustle among the ferrymen, and to see the royal flag carried from the house of the alderman.
"We are off for Melfert, and then for Jutland," observed Longlegs to him. "I thought, however, your master had a keener nose."
"You might wish your's were half as keen, Longlegs," replied Skirmen; "and then, perhaps, you would not allow your master's horse to turn his tail in the direction he is to ride."
"But I know that people do not ride or drive over the Great Belt in the month of May," returned the old jester. "It might be quite as well, however, while the wind sits in this quarter."
"What mean you, Longlegs? The wind is in the right quarter for the Great Belt."
"Ay, but not for the Little. The boatmen say it is the duke's wind; and when we have that against us, a sagacious nose, like that of your master, should smell the straw from the barn of Finnerup."
"Turn the car and horses!" ordered Drost Peter, who suddenly appeared at the top of the steps: "the royal family ride to the haven."
When the squires had obeyed, Drost Peter re-entered; and in a few moments the queen, leaning on the arm of the duke, and the little king, with his sister Mereté and Junker Christopherson, issued from the palace and entered the car. Notwithstanding the polite behaviour of the duke, an air of displeasure was visible in his smile.
"We dare not offer you a seat in a lady's car, Duke Waldemar," observed the queen; "and, besides, you are too good a horseman to desire it."
The duke replied by a polite bow, and vaulted into his saddle.
When all were mounted, "To the quay!" cried Sir John to the postilions; and, followed by a long train of knights, the royal car rolled across the castle-square, down to the old Strand-gate by the canal, and from thence to the harbour, accompanied by a great crowd of curious spectators, shouting with joy, while the young king saluted them, and the queen cordially returned their greetings.
"They are going to have him proclaimed at Skielskioer, and then crowned in Lund," they cried; and a thousand shouts of homage and blessing ascended from every quarter.
The following day was fixed for the proclamation in Skielskioer; and, by the arrangement of Sir John and Drost Peter, the Archbishop of Lund had departed over night, in a swift vessel, to prepare everything for the king's reception and coronation in Lund.
At Nyborg Haven all was ready for the embarkation, and they were speedily on board. In the royal smack, on which the duke had embarked, were also the drost, the chancellor, and Count Gerhard, together with Sir John and the royal trabants. To the duke's astonishment the royal smack was accompanied by six large galleys, strongly manned with soldiers. His own numerous train of knights and retainers, with Dean Grand, and many ecclesiastics, who had attended the Dane-court, in three smaller vessels, followed the king's smack, which, with a brisk and favourable wind, left the fiord.
Almost at the same time, a light-built sloop ran out from the coast, which Skirmen informed his master he took for a Norse freebooter, and on board which he had observed the duke's squire to spring before they left the haven. Drost Peter strictly scrutinised the suspicious vessel, which, however, was speedily out of sight.
The weather was fine; and as the queen stood at the stern, gazing back on the Funen coast, which was still crowded with people, waving their caps and cheering lustily, the duke approached her with an air of boldness and candour.
"This sudden change in your determination has surprised me, noble queen," he observed, in a tone intended for one of reproach more than of displeasure: "but I must suppose your grace has weightier reasons for it than those you have deigned to communicate to me. I cannot believe that a restless night and a singular dream could have such an influence on our wise and strong-minded mistress. That, as your dutiful knight, I respect and obey as commands even your most inexplicable humours, you now perceive. I must, however, observe that, at this critical juncture, by these frequent gatherings of the people, and by this coronation journey, we expose the kingdom to the greatest danger, and afford the outlaws the opportunity they pant for of revenging themselves--nothing being too daring for them to attempt, in the first flush of their enraged feelings."
"To entertain any such fear, in your presence and that of so many bold knights, would but insult you," replied the queen. "Besides, as you may observe, I have considerably strengthened my body-guard. I am not insensible to your delicacy or your chivalrous submission to what you deem my humours and weaknesses," she continued; "and I certainly owe you a better explanation than you have yet received of the reasons which have led me to change my determination. In important affairs of state, it may seem truly unwise to be guided by dreams, presentiments, and all such considerations as are held in contempt by your stronger sex; and weaknesses of this description have not hitherto been imputed to me. But still you must allow, that a dream of warning, in connection with the dark remembrances of my life, may justly carry with it a considerable weight. Neither is it so unwise to hasten the completion of a ceremony which, in the popular estimation, can alone sanctify and protect the crown against the vindictiveness of traitors. Besides, without any whimsey, as you may term it, the actual sight of the regicides, at the Dane-court yesterday, might well dissuade me from approaching at present the crypt chapel of Viborg, or the barn of Finnerup."
The duke rapidly changed colour. "Most noble queen!" he hastily exclaimed, "your dreams and presentiments are surely not connected with these horrible events?"
"Partly. You are aware, Duke Waldemar, that grayfriars' cloaks concealed the traitors on that fearful St. Cecilia's night. I dreamt last night of these twelve men, and that they bore the crown of Denmark on the points of their spears. They seemed to me like wolves in sheep's clothing, and at their head stood one whose face was entirely concealed by his hood."
"And him you took for Marsk Stig?" hastily interrupted the duke. "You have reason, indeed, to beware of him, and therefore---"
"And therefore have I changed my resolution," she continued "I saw you, too--"
"Me?" ejaculated the duke: "you do me great honour; but I hope that, in this dream, you did not find me among those whom your grace knows I abhor and condemn."
"Methought you stood by my side, and, by your paleness and agitation, I perceived that you, too, trembled at the sight of the tottering crown on the murderers' spears. I fancied that the guardian saint of Denmark, the holy King Canute, stood before me, and said--'The anointed one shall wear the crown until his death.' Can it surprise you, then, that such a warning should determine me to accomplish what is already desired by the council and by the whole people? Before your arrival in Nyborg, it was so resolved; for to delay the proclamation and act of homage in Skielskioer, and to defer the coronation, would have but the effect of exciting popular discontent."
The queen paused, and looked scrutinisingly at the duke. "If I see aright," she added, "one portion of my dream is already fulfilled: you are now, assuredly, standing quite pale by my side."
"I cannot at all times bear the sea-breeze," he replied, passing his hand across his face. "But indeed, noble queen," he added, in a careless tone, "if you consider these ceremonies as so important, I shall not persuade you to delay them. Since, however, Denmark's patron saint has condescended to make you a revelation, I can only wish that he had been somewhat more explicit: to wear the crown until his death, is saying little; to wear it long and happily, would be better worth revealing. But whether this is the road to it, I know not."
"I know not either," rejoined the queen; "but, in Heaven's name, let us try it."
As the young king, accompanied by Sir John and Count Gerhard, now drew near, this subject was broken off, and the conversation turned on indifferent topics. Sir John was jocular, and the royal party soon assumed the appearance of great gaiety. Drost Peter remained silent and reserved. But Count Gerhard felt so happy with the secret pledge of the queen's confidence which he carried in his bosom, that he yielded himself entirely to the current of his natural humour, and far excelled the others in amusing the queen. The duke strove in vain to regain his pre-eminence; but the endeavour to conceal his uneasy feelings deprived him of his usual sprightliness, and his forced compliments and pleasant conceits, with Count Gerhard's dry additions, often provoked a laugh, by no means flattering to him, but in which he was nevertheless obliged to join.
They were now approaching Skielskioer, where multitudes of people crowded both sides of the fiord, which divides the town into two almost equal parts. Young Erik was standing at the prow, by the side of Chancellor Martinus, listening attentively to what that learned gentleman was relating concerning Henrik Æmeldorf's rebellion against his grandfather, King Christopher Waldemarson.
"It is now five and thirty years ago, my young king and master," said the chancellor, "but it appears to me as if it had happened but yesterday: it was the very week after I had gained, in the chapter-house, my first palm in logic. Here your late grandfather landed with his army, to force the proud rebel to submission, and compel his homage. The town and castle, you must be aware, were legally in the power of the general, having been given him in pledge by King Abel for military pay; but he was grievously wrong in refusing homage to the king, and in stirring up the people to rebel against him. That deep trench there, across the town's-field, was cast up by the rebellious Æmeldorf, and on the other side he had a strong garrison to defend it."
"And my grandfather was beaten, and compelled to fly from the rebels?" exclaimed the youthful monarch. "That was truly provoking. Had he, then, no brave and trusty men in his army?"
"Many," replied the chancellor; "but what avails our strength, when the Lord intends to chastise us? The godless traitors, however, did not long retain their advantage. The following year your royal grandfather again came, like a stern and mighty judge, and the Lord was with him then. The city was taken and burnt, the leader of the rebels obliged to fly, and his adherents received the punishment due to traitors on yonder field--there, where the Retter-Ting and diets are now held. Soli Deo gloria!"
"And there shall homage be rendered me to-morrow," observed King Erik. "It is strange! If this occurred but thirty years ago, there must be many still living whose friends and kinsmen were then executed."
"It certainly may be so," replied the chancellor: "the race of the ungodly man is not uprooted from the earth. Might I counsel you, my young king, I would say, remove the Zealand Dane-court to another city, to avoid those gloomy recollections and forebodings of evil to which the superstition of the people will easily give birth. 'Tis true, the power and fortunes of kings are in the hands of God alone; but shortsighted men will sometimes see evil, where the Lord purposes only good; and, on what they deem an unlucky spot, they will not easily rejoice or be filled with faith in temporal prosperity."
"Entertain you any distrust of my dear subjects here, reverend sir?" inquired Erik. "See how joyfully they wave their caps. And, listen--they already salute me with shouts of welcome."
"The people, thank Heaven, are faithful and ardent," replied the chancellor; "but should the outlaws appear here, to protest against their sentence, they would, I fear much, find many adherents; for where, indeed, are not the sons of Satan? Still, you have with you faithful men, sir king; and, with the assistance of the King of kings, you have nothing to fear. If I see aright, Rimaardson also is here."
The royal smack had now reached the quay, where the royal party were received by the town's-governor and the burghers, as also by Sir Bent Rimaardson, who, with his galley, had newly arrived from Taarborg. The kinsman of the queen, and a faithful friend to the royal house, he was justly held in the greatest respect. The execution of his brother, along with Niels Breakpeace and his band, had rendered him yet more melancholy than before; but he sought, by the most vigilant activity, to efface the ignominy that thus attached to his noble race. Since the surprisal of Rypen House, in which he had taken an active part, he had been cruising about the coasts, for the purpose of protecting them against the Norse freebooters; and a pirate-vessel, that he had recently captured, now lay in Skielskioer fiord. When he had saluted the royal family, he begged to be permitted to accompany them to the Hovgaard, as the castle is called, where, he said, he had some tidings to impart.
"If your tidings are good, Sir Rimaardson, let us hear them here," exclaimed the youthful king. "Yet, nay," he added, "this is not the place for that."
The air of suspicion which Sir Rimaardson wore did not escape old Sir John, who also, as well as the chancellor, had observed the duke and Master Grand exchange uneasy and significant glances, when they discovered the captured pirate in the fiord.
Whilst the royal personages, amidst the acclamations of the people, repaired to the castle, Rimaardson hastily took Drost Peter aside. "There are traitors in the town," he whispered: "guard well the king, and keep an eye upon the duke. Had you crossed the Little Belt to-day, you had fallen into the hands of the marsk. A Norse fleet, with, it is rumoured, the Norse king himself, is lying at Ekeroe. The marsk, at this instant perhaps, burns one half of Funen with--"
"Just Providence!" exclaimed Drost Peter, "when stood a Danish king so surrounded by foes and traitors! Would only that he were anointed and crowned!"
"Would only that the duke had never left Sjöborg Tower!" whispered Rimaardson.
"He may again be there," exclaimed the drost, with flashing eyes; while the approach of the duke, at that moment, put an end to their private conference.
When the royal party were alone in the castle, they learned from Sir Rimaardson what he had just confided to Drost Peter. He produced, at the same time, a packet of intercepted letters from Drost Tuko Abildgaard in Norway, and from Marsk Stig, to Duke Waldemar, Master Grand, and Count Jacob of Halland, by which the league of the outlaws with the King of Norway, and their entire plans for overturning the Danish throne, were clearly discovered. Of the letters from the duke's drost, some were addressed, under ecclesiastical seals, to Dean Grand of Roskild, directing him to attend to the duke and the disaffected nobles of the kingdom. From these it appeared that Marsk Stig and the outlaws intended to place the duke upon the vacant throne, if he would faithfully join them, and seize the opportunity of getting the royal family into his power. By the letters to Count Jacob it appeared, on the contrary, that the marsk and the outlaws could not depend upon the duke, and that they had promised the crown of Denmark to the Norse king, if he would assist them with a fleet, and promise to reinstate them in their rights and dignities. These important letters were found on board the captured freebooter, the crew of which were then lying bound in the castle-dungeons.
This discovery excited the greatest alarm in the minds of the queen and her son, who immediately called into their secret council Sir John, Drost Peter, and Master Martin. Every necessary precaution was instantly adopted; and, by Sir John's advice, the duke was to be admitted only in appearance into their councils, and but half informed of what had been discovered. The intercepted letters, which betrayed his connection with the outlaws, were carefully concealed; and it was deemed prudent to communicate to him only the letters to Count Jacob, respecting the marsk's audacious proposals to the Norwegian king.
When this resolution was adopted, they requested the attendance of the duke, whose astonishment at the discovery they made to him seemed real and natural. The marsk and the other outlaws he reprobated in the strongest terms, and cordially approved of all the measures which the council had taken to defend the country against the Norwegians.
In the meanwhile, Count Gerhard had disembarked the royal troops, and quartered them in the town; and stationing a considerable body of them at the castle, he himself took his place in the ante-chamber, as captain of the guard.
When Drost Peter and Sir John left the royal closet, the cheeks of the former were flushed with anger, by which, and his flashing eyes, it was evident that some bold project was in his mind.
"Wretched weakness!" he exclaimed. "Have we not now sufficient proofs of his treachery? Why should we not arrest him, as a traitor, on the spot?"
"Prudence, my young friend," replied old John.
"Your prudence drives me mad!" exclaimed Drost Peter. "I can no longer bear to see the traitor amongst us, as our master and the ruler of the kingdom. If we be not beforehand with him, he will be beforehand with us, as old Henner said. It must now break or bear--"
"It will break unless we are cautious," interrupted the old knight, emphatically. "So long as he contrives to wear the mask, he is of service to us; but the moment he casts it aside, he must be overthrown."
"Good: one word will suffice for that."
"Beware of that word, Drost Peter, for by it you may perhaps overturn the throne of Denmark. Yet one thing," added the old man, in a sorrowful tone, as he cast a look of anxious concern on his excited friend: "are you aware that the father of our faithful Ingé was the bearer of these treasonable letters, and now lies a prisoner in the tower?"
Drost Peter seemed horror-struck. "Merciful Heaven!--Sir Lavé!" he exclaimed. "I can hardly doubt it. But is his crime quite evident?"
"He was on board the freebooter, and in his care the letters were found. What he can urge in his own defence, I know not. To-morrow he is to be heard before the council; and on account of our relationship with him, I have requested that you and I may be then exempted from sitting as his judges."
"Poor Ingé!" sighed Drost Peter. "Where is she? What have you done with her? She referred me to you, who have coldly and sternly avoided every question on the subject. But I can no longer refrain. What does she in Sweden, while we imprison and condemn her father here?"
"You shall know all, and will approve of it," replied Sir John, as he seized his hand. "Follow me to the chancellor. For the sake of Ingé, I could wish that Sir Lavé might, to-morrow, frustrate us all; although, were I his judge, there were small hopes of his deliverance. But that office lies with the duke, and one raven does not pick out the eye of another. As far as this goes, we may rejoice at the miscarriage of justice, and that we have a traitor for the kingdom's protector." So saying, he passed his hand over his eyes with much emotion, and drew Drost Peter along with him.
In the middle of the castle-yard stood a small gloomy tower, the stone vaults of which served as a prison. In one of these subterranean dungeons lay Sir Lavé. He stirred not but with dreadful apprehension, and seemed terrified at the clank of his own chains. At every sound he huddled himself up, and gazed earnestly on the securely bolted iron door; but it opened not. A small grating, looking forth upon the castle-yard, was situated high in the wall. This, with the aid of an old block of wood, which some wretched captive had formerly dragged after him, and a few loose stones, he succeeded, after considerable labour, in reaching. Here he saw Sir John and Drost Peter pass by; but he was afraid to meet his kinsman's look, and indignation choked his voice as he was about to call on Drost Peter to save him. He wept and wrung his hands, but regained courage when he perceived several of the duke's people passing to and fro. He then drew out a little note, which he had concealed in his sleeve, anxiously hiding it at every suspicious noise, and pulling it forth again when a follower of the duke appeared.
The young king showed himself for a moment on the balcony and was received by the curious spectators in the court below with shouts and waving of caps. This spectacle greatly agitated the captive, who, again concealing the letter, shortly afterwards became absorbed in deep and gloomy thought, in which he remained until the moonbeams, penetrating his cell, announced to him the approach of night. At that moment he perceived the duke descend the castle-stairs, and proceed to that wing of the castle appropriated to him. Preceding him was a royal page, bearing a torch, and six of his knights attended him at a little distance. His air was thoughtful; and, as he approached the grating of the dungeon, a gleam of hope inspired with courage the despairing prisoner. He coughed. The duke heard it, and looked towards the grating.
"Drop your glove, Duke Waldemar," whispered the captive knight, as he rolled the letter up, and threw it forth.
The duke dropped his glove as desired, and, in picking it up again, also secured the letter.
"There lies one of the traitors from Norway, awaiting the gallows," he exclaimed aloud, as he threw an indignant glance towards the dungeon, and passed on, regardless of the deep sigh that burst from the heart of the despairing prisoner.
Skirmen, who, by his master's orders, was observing every motion of the duke, was at this instant concealed in the deep shadow of a corner, near the tower. The moment the duke had disappeared, the trusty squire came forth, and was hastening to his master, when he was arrested by a voice from the grating.
"In the name of the merciful God, listen to me, young man!" exclaimed the captive knight. "Art not thou Drost Hessel's squire?"
"At your service," answered Skirmen, as he stopped.
"Inform your master, then," stammered the prisoner, "that the man who once saved Drost Peter Hessel's life and preserved his freedom, would now converse with him a moment for the sake of his own mind's peace. Tell him that I can reveal to him something of great importance. But time presses."
"I shall deliver your message," replied Skirmen, as he hastened away.
The prisoner descended from his dangerous seat, and carefully removed the means by which he had reached the grating. He then seated himself sorrowfully on the block beneath it, and listened anxiously to every sound he heard. Some time elapsed thus, when at length the rattling of the gaoler's keys, and the withdrawing of the bolts one by one from the door, announced a visitor. In another moment Drost Peter stood in the cell with him.
The moonlight through the grating fell upon the pale face of the prisoner, who remained in a crouching posture, without daring to raise his eyes. The drost stood for an instant, silently contemplating him. In the half-despairing countenance before him, there was that which reminded him bitterly both of Lady Ingé and the brave Sir John--some of the lineaments of the noble race of Littles. Tears stood in his eyes.
"Miserable man!" he exclaimed, at length, "what can I effect for your peace? And of what have you to unburden yourself to me?"
"Tell me truly, Peter Hessel," asked the prisoner, in a trembling voice, but with a tone of parental familiarity that reminded the drost of the relation in which they had stood in his youthful days, "are thou and Cousin John to be my judges?"
"Nay, Heaven be praised! Our relationship to you exempts us from that duty."
"I may, then, hope for mercy; for from thee and Sir John I could expect only what you call justice. But God help us all, if we must be treated according to our deserts!"
"Sir Lavé," interrupted Drost Peter, "think you, then, that there is not a powerful, perhaps an all too-powerful voice, which pleads for you both in my breast and that of old kinsman?"
"I believe it, and will prove to thee my sincerity," replied the prisoner, "since, as thou art not to sit in judgment on me, I can venture to unburden my heart to thee."
He arose, and threw on the drost a penetrating look, while he continued in the same familiar tone:--"Misfortune has now taught me what thou in vain wouldst have had me believe in time. I now perceive that no success or blessing attends rebellion against lawfully constituted authority, even when instigated by the purest attachment to freedom and fatherland. By the law, my doom is death; but the prerogative of mercy lies with the king, in whose hands I place my life and fate. I had no share in his father's death, and he can therefore pardon me. Had I seen him before, as I have seen him to-day, I should not now be in this dungeon. The stern Marsk Stig himself, I firmly believe, could not look the youthful monarch in the face and deny him the name of king. I cannot now blame thee, Peter Hessel, who wert his tutor and weapon-master, for entertaining the greatest hopes of him. If he spare my life, I will swear fealty to him, and reveal matters of importance. Tell him I will confess my sins to the chancellor, and atone for my crimes in a state-prison. Tell him--"
"Kind Heaven!" exclaimed Drost Peter, joyfully, as he seized Sir Lavé's trembling hand, "dare I believe? Has, then, the Almighty heard my petition, and inclined your heart to faith and honour. You will be loyal and attached to our young king--you will confess all, and swear him fealty--you will atone your treason--and he will--he must pardon you. But he does not govern alone," he added, with a sigh; "and, without the concurrence of the queen and the duke, his wishes will avail you not."
Sir Lavé's pale cheeks flushed, and for an instant he remained silent. "The duke cannot condemn me," at length he whispered, with a smile of confidence: "I have taken care of that. The will of the king I know thou canst easily determine, and a favourable word to the queen would perhaps also find a willing ear. There was a time when Peter Hessel was all-powerful with the fair Queen Agnes--"
A frown gathered on Drost Peter's brow, for the expression of Sir Lavé's features did not please him. The joy he had felt at his conversion quickly disappeared, while the discovery that Skirmen had just imparted to him suddenly presented itself to his mind.
"As a man, I may perhaps venture to speak, where, as drost, I must be silent," he replied, sternly; "but I can only venture to do so when I am convinced of your sincerity, and that you are not, even here, taking counsel against the king and country."
"What! do you still doubt me, Drost Peter?" asked Sir Lavé, in a tone of terror and bitterness. "I say I am converted to your state-creed. Must you see me howl in sackcloth and ashes before you believe me? Intercede for me, Peter Hessel! and you will find that I am not ungrateful," he continued, fawningly. "Thy father was my friend, and what I promised him on his deathbed I have not forgotten. Save my life now, as once I saved thine, and my hand shall no longer separate what a mightier than mine hath joined together."
Drost Peter was much affected; but observing a cunning smile on Sir Lavé's restless features, he felt, with wounded self-esteem, how nearly he had been befooled.
"Not even for that prize, Sir Lavé, shall I forfeit my fidelity," he exclaimed, warmly. "If, without self-abasement, I intercede and promise for you, I must first be convinced that we dare trust you. What connection subsists between the duke and you? and what was the purport of the letter which, but half an hour ago, you bade him pick up with his glove?"
Sir Lavé became pale with terror. "Letter!--what letter?" he stammered out. But perceiving the uselessness of denial, he continued:--"Well, as you appear to be omniscient, it was so: but I swear it contained nothing but what was true--that I was an incautious fool, and had brought letters to land which would perhaps occasion the duke embarrassment, if I did not explain the nature of them. I can testify that they were written by his enemies, and, being intercepted, might lay him under the suspicion of having private intercourse with the outlaws."
"Wretched man!" interrupted Drost Peter: "on the brink of a gulph you are still playing with two sharp-edged swords, both of which will fall with deadly force upon your head. I cannot--I dare not, now intercede for you. I should myself be an enemy to Denmark and the royal house, and a traitor to my country, should I do so. But I will provide for the peace of your soul. Within an hour the chancellor will visit you. Confess yourself sincerely to him, and bethink of your eternal weal. He may then, perhaps, beg mercy for you from the pitying God."
"Alas, alas! let, then, the chancellor come, and prepare me for death!" groaned Sir Lavé, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I must now put my hope in God, for in man there is no mercy! Alas! could my Ingé see how hardhearted you are, Drost Peter, she would never love the man who can treat so cruelly her unfortunate father."
"Heaven is my witness," sorrowfully exclaimed Drost Peter, laying his hand upon his breast, "that it cuts me to the soul that I cannot trust you better. You would win the duke with false witness, and me with a false hope; and would, if you could, make my affection traitor to my loyalty. Nay, Sir Lavé Little, you are not thus to be saved. Truth only can save you, the country, and us all. God give your unstable mind constancy and strength to resolve earnestly on that to which you now only pretend for the purpose of saving yourself before a human tribunal!"
With these words he left the dungeon, and Sir Lavé sank with a groan upon the stone floor, where the fear of death wrung a sincere prayer from his bosom.
Half an hour afterwards, Chancellor Martinus, in his Dominican habit, with his breviary and a candle in his hand, was admitted to the anxious captive, whom he found in a state of such bewilderment and mental conflict, that the philosophical chancellor found it impossible to understand his incoherent and contradictory expressions.
"Is it you who are to prepare me for death?" asked the prisoner, starting up with a wild stare. "Ha! it is time. The wheel and stile are ready. Drost Peter will not intercede for me; and my child, my poor child, she will die of shame for her miserable father. But my punishment is just," he continued, sinking his voice to a whisper: "I nodded--see, I nodded thus--in that horrible council. That nod cost me perhaps my salvation, and King Erik Christopherson his life. Was I not among the twelve in Finnerup barn? Nay, nay, that was but a dream!" he exclaimed, vehemently--"that night I only betrayed my master's castle--his blood is not upon my hand, and will not be visited upon my head. But I heard the woe-cry from his coffin: from the grave it came--nay, from hell itself! It yet rings in my ears. To be doomed an outlaw by men is nothing--but outlawed, eternally outlawed from heaven, I became at that hour. I am an unfortunate man!" He paused and sighed. "Ha! but misfortune shall not strike me down," he continued, strutting boldly across the dungeon--"I am of noble birth, and die not as a traitor, but as a patriot and the foe of tyrants. What wilt thou with me, clerk? Thou art no confessor of mine--thou art not the bold dean who bids defiance to kings and kaisers. I know thee well: thou art the book-worm from Antvorskov, the learned chancellor--thou wert the tyrants' friend, and now wouldst outlaw and put under the ban every free-minded Dane. Comest thou hither to shrive me to-night, ere thou doomest me to the wheel to-morrow? Nay, nay--that thou mayst spare thyself, my very learned sir. A wise statesman can hold his tongue, and die like a heathen, without shrift or penitence."
He continued for some time raving in this wild manner, now accusing himself as the greatest criminal, and now boasting his high birth and political sagacity, but at length recovered himself, and burst into tears.
The learned Master Martinus had several times vainly attempted to stop him, to point out the rules in logica against which he was offending; but the zealous carer for souls now triumphed over the philosopher, and he seized this favourable opportunity of exhorting to repentance the despairing sinner before him; and, in the supposition that he had been among the regicides, he became stern and vehement, and thundered forth the most fearful threatenings of the law against traitors and man-slayers.
"Nay, nay!" exclaimed Sir Lavé, "I am no regicide; but still I must surely perish, unless there dwells pity with Heaven and the Holy Church. Listen, and I will shrive!"
He then threw himself at the feet of the chancellor, and confessed every step he had taken, relating how he had been inveigled into the conspiracy, and protesting that he had, however, taken no share in his kinsman's sanguinary revenge.
"Drost Peter was right," he exclaimed: "the truth alone can save me and all of us. Even at that hour I would have deceived him, and he cannot trust--he cannot sue for mercy for me. Let justice, then, overtake me. Here I must be condemned; but save, oh save my soul from the eternal death!"
"Your sin is great," answered the chancellor, who was much affected; "but those who abused your weakness, have more to atone for than you have." He then, in the blessed words of the Gospel, exhorted him to repentance, and in the name of the Holy Church granted him indulgence for his sins, should he continue firm in his repentance, and true to the change of conduct he had promised. "Even your earthly judges," he added, "I hope to soften, after this your confession. What you have confided to me no man shall know without your own permission; but allow me to reveal it to the queen and our young king, and I promise that time shall be accorded you for repentance in a bearable state-prison."
"Reveal it to all!" exclaimed Sir Lavé, embracing his knees with trembling arms. "In the wall of my closet at Flynderborg is a secret depository, where lie the proofs of my greatest crime. Let all the world know it, but let me not die thus in my sin. Spare but my life--this wretched life--and I will gladly hide myself and my shame in Denmark's darkest prison. Reveal all!" he continued, in the accents of fear and anxiety--"tell them, too, that there will be a tumult here to-morrow, if they take not means to prevent it. The outlaws are here, and, with the assistance of the duke, will possess themselves of the king's person. I have even brought the duke the letter respecting it."
"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed the chancellor, who, terrified, suddenly rose and knocked violently at the prison-door, which was quickly opened for him.
The prisoner attempted to escape with him; but a violent blow from the sturdy turnkey threw him backwards on the stone floor, without consciousness.
An innumerable multitude of people from all quarters of Zealand were assembled in Skielskioer, to see and do homage to the young king. All the villages in the environs were thronged, for the town, which had been half burnt down in the feud between King Christopher and Henrik Æmeldorf, had not yet recovered its former prosperity, and could with difficulty accommodate but an inconsiderable portion of the strangers.
These throngs were further augmented by the friends and adherents of the outlawed noblemen, who had assembled in great numbers, in consequence of the rumour that the murderers of King Erik Christopherson had been personally cited to hear their doom, and that they intended to defend their cause before the people, and protest against the sentence of outlawry.
As evening approached the tumults and contentions which occurred between these partisans and the populace became so frequent, that the town-governor was compelled to call on the royal landsknechts to assist him in keeping order.
On the following morning, when the matin-bell had rung from the lofty spire of St. Nicholas, the people were already assembled in the Thing-place, and in the large area before the Hovgaard, to witness the procession of the royal family to the Dane-court; but hour after hour elapsed, and the royal party appeared not. The castle was encircled by the royal landsknechts and a body of the burgher-guard, whilst, posted before the gate, at the head of a small party of the queen's life-horse, were Drost Peter and Count Gerhard. Both appeared thoughtful. Drost Peter still carried his right arm in a sling; but, like a skilful swordsman, he knew how to support at need his weapon with his left.
As it appeared, they had hoped to prevent all tumult at the proclamation, and had found it impolitic to break with the duke. The inner courts of the castle had, in the meanwhile, by the drost's arrangements, been secretly filled with the remaining portion of the queen's life-horse, which were supposed to have been left on board the ships. These, the most trusty of the royal troops, had orders to advance and secure the duke, the instant they saw the drawn sword in the drost's hand.
Not far from Count Gerhard and Drost Peter, in a magnificent suit of armour, was the duke, seated on his charger, in the midst of his knights and a considerable body of Sleswick horsemen. His looks, as he surveyed the multitude, seemed anxious and uneasy, and the dark, earnest countenance of Drost Peter did not appear to please him, any more than did the bold bearing of Count Gerhard.
The people now began to display symptoms of impatience at the long delay; and, with visible discontent, Drost Peter whispered to Count Gerhard--"This is the fault of our good, thoughtful chancellor."
Murmurs and expressions of anger speedily followed.
"How long must we remain here upon our pegs, before we see either wet or dry?" growled a corpulent burgher, who was standing sentry.
"There is good reason for the delay, Faerlil," answered a long-bearded Sleswick horseman: "your king, to be sure, has no need yet to stop to polish his beard; but he must be swaddled and suckled. The queen, too, must be trim and spruce, that your maids and wives may not tempt Drost Hoseol to prove untrue to her."
A boisterous laugh from the horsemen accompanied this coarse joke.
"The people are becoming merry--that pleases me well," observed Count Gerhard, who heard the laughter, but not the disgraceful words which created it.
Drost Peter, however, had heard them, and burned with indignation, which he endeavoured to suppress, looking with apparent inattention in the opposite direction; whilst the merriment continued, and was kept up with other expressions of a like nature.
"Peace, fellows, or speak of royalty with greater respect!" exclaimed the duke, with apparent severity, to his people.
"Yes," added one of his knights, "take care, you fellows! The drost's left arm is not to be laughed at. And you, my good man," he observed to the burgher--"you should remember the consequences of grumbling in Skielskioer at a royal proclamation."
"I'faith, that is true, stern sir knight," growled the burgher: "unless we would have our houses again burnt over our heads, we must howl with the wolves, and submit to boy-rule and petticoat government."
"Fie for shame on every Danish man," cried another, "that they should patiently submit to be ruled by a king in slippers and baby-clothes."
"Thou hast a mind to be outlawed before night, my bold fellow," observed a tall personage, in a monk's habit. "A good word now-a-days may bring that on a man."
"Know you the news, holy sir?" exclaimed an awkward, heavy mass-boy to the monk: "Marsk Stig and his friends have to-day been put under the ban of the Church by the Archbishop of Lund."
"The ban--the ban!" was muttered around from one to the other, with increasing discontent.
"They could never be so infatuated," observed a tall man, enveloped in a large blue cloak.
"He begins sharply, this little master," exclaimed a jeering voice close by the side of the last speaker; "and his pinafore must be as wide as a church-door, since he can carry an archbishop in his pocket."
"The apple doesn't fall wide of the tree," remarked the corpulent burgher; whilst his neighbour began humming:--
"And so grows up the little wolf,
With sharp teeth in his jaws."
"What else could you expect?" demanded the Sleswick horseman: "all that come of the wolf, howl like the wolf, as they say in our country."
One of the queen's horsemen, who was stationed next to the Sleswicker, had long sat in his saddle as if on glowing coals. "If there be wolves' cubs amongst us," he now at last broke out, in a broad Jutlandic accent, "they are rather in your troop than ours, my dainty Sleswicker."
"It needs a good dog to smell that out," retorted the other.
"In our country the dogs are as keen as they are true," rejoined the North Jute; "but down by Gottorp they ought to be keen indeed, as the late King Abel, your duke's grandfather, must well know, seeing that three fiery hounds hunt him every night to the infernal regions."
"Whoever says an ill word of my duke or of his race, shall have his neck broken!" exclaimed the Sleswick horseman, drawing his sword.
"And whoever slanders my queen or the drost, shall have his nose and ears cut off!" vociferated the other, already brandishing his glaive.
As the contention thus grew hot, several joined in it; and although it was strictly forbidden that any one should draw his sword before orders, many weapons were already seen gleaming among the troopers, both of the queen and of the duke.
"Peace, there!" now cried the latter, as, with some uneasiness, he examined the multitude around him.
"Whoever strikes a blow without his officer's command, is a dead man!" shouted Drost Peter; and the swords were again sheathed, whilst the noisy quarrel subsided to a murmur.
A cry of "The king! the king!" was now heard, and the most perfect silence instantly pervaded the restless crowd.
At that moment the queen and the young king issued on horseback from the castle-gate, escorted by twelve trabants, and attended by Sir John, Rimaardson, and Chancellor Martin. The ecclesiastic, who was mounted on his palfrey, and wore his Dominican habit, with polished shoes and white heels, looked very pale and apprehensive.
Nearly the entire multitude instantly greeted the king with a shout of homage, and the quarrel between the troopers was apparently at an end, when a powerful voice, from amidst the crowd, exclaimed--"Long live Marsk Stig and his friends! Down, down with the tyrants!"
The duke looked hastily around him, whilst Drost Peter narrowly watched him, with his left hand on the hilt of his sword.
Although the cheering for the king continued, the shout of "Long live the duke! Long live Waldemar Erikson!" still gained ground: it was repeated by great numbers of the burghers, and by all the Sleswick horsemen; and, as it increased in vehemence and extent, the duke again looked round, lifting his hat, and saluting the assemblage with an air of bravery.
Li this salute Drost Peter perceived a preconcerted signal; for the duke was then cheered on every side, by the same voices that had just raised the seditious cry in favour of Marsk Stig. The drost could no longer retain his indignation. "Down, down with the traitors!" he shouted, as his sword flew from its scabbard, and gleamed in his left hand, whilst, at the same instant, the concealed horsemen, rushing forward, surrounded the spot.
Duke Waldemar beheld this unexpected movement with astonishment and consternation. "Rebellion! treason!" he exclaimed: "defend your protector, brave Danes! Seize the drost! He is the traitor.--At them!" shouted he to his horsemen; who, however, before they could, in the general confusion, range themselves in any order of battle, were, with the duke, charged with so much impetuosity by Drost Peter and Count Gerhard, at the head of the queen's horsemen, that they were compelled to seek for safety in a rapid flight; the whole body hastening from the town through a narrow street, which had not yet been blockaded.
"After the duke! Seize the traitor! He is the chief of the regicides!" shouted the drost, as, at the head of the queen's troopers, he pursued the fugitives.
During this uproar, the noise of which was augmented by the cries and clamour of the people, Sir John and Rimaardson, with the chancellor and the twelve trabants, had instantly formed a close circle round the king, and, without awaiting the issue, had hurried with him across the castle-square, and through the excited crowds, down to the fiord.
But the queen had boldly ridden forward amidst her faithful body-guard, and soon found herself at their head, between Count Gerhard and Drost Peter; whilst before them, and without once looking behind, fled the duke and his horsemen, as if panic-struck.
"Noble queen," exclaimed Drost Peter, "here you are exposed to too much danger."
"I think myself safer nowhere than between the brave Count Gerhard and yourself," was her confident reply.
"Shame befall us," cried Count Gerhard; "if we are not now invincible, we never deserve success."
Outside of the town, on Trandrup Field, where Henrik Æmeldorf engaged King Christopher, the duke first commanded his troopers to halt; and, availing himself of his start, he wheeled about, and hastily placed his men in order of battle.
The drost, who, with his troop, was rapidly pushing forward, now heard the wild shout of assailants behind him, and, on looking round, perceived a large body of mail-clad horsemen in his rear, in the leaders of which he thought he recognised Count Jacob and the two knights who had been outlawed at Nyborg.
"You have ventured too far, most noble queen!" he exclaimed. "The traitors have out-manœuvred us. Fall into a circle, lads--place the queen in the centre--and you, Count Gerhard, stir not from her side."
"By Beelzebub!" muttered the count, "must I be only a peg in this confounded game of skittles? Stay you here, rather, with your wounded arm, Drost Hessel."
But the drost heard him not, while the queen's troopers immediately obeyed the order of their chief, and formed a circle around their mistress, who, although pale and apprehensive, yet retained her firmness, and closely observed every movement of the enemy; whilst Count Gerhard rode around the circle like a wild beast in a cage.
The foe, meanwhile, had been pressing on from both sides, when the drost, commanding the circle to extend, slackened his bridle, and, with his sword in his left hand, dashed against the duke and his horsemen.
"Turn you now against the outlaws, Count Gerhard," said the queen, calmly.
This was precisely the intention of the skilful warrior, who sprang from the circle, shouting;--"Forward, carls, in a line! Follow me!"
The circle, thus dividing, soon formed compact lines, which fought in opposite directions against the twofold superior foe. The queen remained between the lines, a witness of the sanguinary conflict, which cost many of her faithful men their lives. Her checks glowed with ardour and excitement whilst she glanced now towards Drost Peter, and now towards Count Gerhard; but her eye most frequently rested on the valiant count, who had engaged in the fray with the greatest spirit and ardour, every stroke of his good sword appearing to drive the enemy a step before him.
The space between the two lines of horsemen was every instant increasing, and the queen, with lively satisfaction and joy, beheld the success of Count Gerhard's bold attack; when, turning her eyes once more towards Drost Peter, she uttered a cry of alarm. His troopers were in disorder, and he himself was unhorsed in the midst of the duke's people, who cast themselves upon him with a savage shout of triumph.
"Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "they will murder him! Save, oh save Drost Peter, noble count!" and, heedless of the danger, she rode into the midst of the mêlée, where Count Gerhard's horsemen were on the point of beating the outlaws from the field, and, pressing close up to the side of the count, repeated her request.
"In God's name, be it as you command, noble queen!" he replied. "Forword, lads! Think not of me!" And turning his steed, he hastened to the assistance of Drost Peter, and endeavoured to restore order to his broken ranks.
But his own troops now fell into similar confusion, and the outlaws, inspired with new courage, again pressed forward with shouts of triumph; whilst, on the opposite side, the all-victorious duke continued to pursue the drost's chiefless band.
The attempts of Count Gerhard to rally the flying horsemen, and restore them to order, were vain: he found it impossible to collect the scattered soldiers; and the enemy pressed on victoriously from both sides. The confusion was now at its height, and the slaughter around him was dreadful.
"All is lost--we must fly, noble queen!" he at length cried, turning to the spot where the queen had stood only a moment before. But he now beheld her not. One of her troopers had thrown his cloak over her, and in the confusion she had disappeared, whilst the count, who could nowhere discover her amidst the tumultuous bands of contending horsemen, then became furious, and his blows fell fast on every side, directed indiscriminately at friends or foes. His glaring eye sought only the queen; but, at last, even his sight began to fail him: the scene appeared to whirl around him, and he became unconscious. When he recovered his senses, he found himself alone on the dreary battle-field, with only dead and wounded around him. His eye was safe, but that which was yet dearer to him had disappeared. He looked around once more; and then mounting his steed, which had remained near him, he proceeded rapidly in the direction of the town.
The tumult there had not yet ceased. Soldiers and armed burghers were scouring the streets, and scenes of bloodshed were everywhere enacted. Some shouted the names of Marsk Stig and Count Jacob, and exclaimed: "Vengeance for the outlaws!" Others had for their rallying cry the name of the duke, cutting down all who refused to join in it; whilst a great portion of the burghers and badly armed peasants vociferated: "Long live our young king! Death to the traitors!" The adherents of the duke and those of the outlaws did not seem to be quite certain whether they should regard each other as friends or foes; although, in general, they made common cause against the royalists.
Meanwhile, the duke, at the head of his Sleswick horsemen, returned triumphantly to the castle. The report of his victory, and the defeat of the royal party, soon became known, and greatly alarmed the trusty burghers and peasants, who had assembled in defence of their youthful king. The duke was accompanied by a crowd of savage-looking butchers, with blood-stained axes, and by many strangers in disguise, who applauded him loudly. A band of mailed horsemen, wearing their visors down, and who were supposed to be the outlaws and their followers, closed this triumphal procession.
The duke dismounted at the castle, and immediately occupied it with his troops.
"Where is the king?" he demanded.
"Out of the fiord, on his flight to Nyborg," replied a heavy butcher.
The duke's triumphant look changed suddenly to one of disappointment. He gave a private order to one of his knights, who instantly rode off for the haven, with a troop of horsemen.
"And where is her grace the queen?" again inquired the duke.
But this no one knew; and all he could learn was, that Prince Christopher and the little Princess Mereté had been taken from the castle by Sir Rimaardson's seamen.
"Let there be tranquillity now, brave burghers," he said, addressing the noisy crowds that surrounded him; "and let every one retire to his abode, for the Dane-court and proclamation are postponed. I have succeeded fortunately in quelling this tumult, and the ringleader is now in my power. He is the queen's presumptuous favourite, Drost Hessel, who so far abused the ear of his royal mistress as to create in her distrust of me. His object was to obtain possession of the king's person, and so be master of the nation; but you have nothing now to fear from the traitor, for he shall never more see the light of day. I am still your lawful protector, and shall watch carefully over your good and the welfare of the country."
When he had finished this address, which was received with noisy acclamation, he saluted his uproarious adherents with all the condescension and bearing of a sovereign, and entered the castle, accompanied by his gay knights, and the tall mail-clad warrior with the closed visor and blue mantle, who had led on the outlaws. With this individual, in whom many thought they recognised Count Jacob of Halland, he had a short and private conversation, at the close of which the unknown warrior left the castle; and, an hour after, not one of the outlaws or their followers was to be seen in the town. They had departed in anger, it was said, threatening to return with fire and sword within a twelvemonth and a day.
The duke himself soon began to think of leaving a town where the king possessed many faithful subjects. He therefore directed that the captive and sorely-wounded drost should be carried in chains on board the ducal vessel, which, with the exception of a lugger, supposed to contain some of the queen's people, was the only one then in the haven.
The duke, however, delayed his departure till the evening, as he did not consider it advisable to leave the castle until the town was entirely quiet. The disappearance of the queen, whom he had himself seen, and again lost sight of, in the midst of the fray, gave him much uneasiness. He ordered a minute search to be made of the battlefield, but no trace was to be found of either the queen or of Count Gerhard. A portion, also, of his Sleswick horsemen, who had been separated from him in the engagement, had disappeared.
Night began to fall, whilst, with anxious thoughts, he paced up and down the riddersal. He felt proud indeed of his victory; but the escape of the king altogether thwarted his project, and he feared, with reason, that he had prematurely thrown off the mask, and exposed his daring plans. Since he had learned the promise of the marsk to the Norwegian king, he felt he could not depend on the outlaws; and hence his thanks to Count Jacob had been cold and reserved. He now appeared wavering and undecided as to the next step towards the object of his proud ambition.
"Seize the spirit-compelling sceptre, and thy crown shall be bright as the sun," he whispered to himself; feeling as if he were again in Sjöborg with his owl, and looking fearfully around the large gloomy hall, almost as much afraid of his own words as if the dead bishop had spoken.
"Lights! lights!" he now shouted; and his servants, who knew their master's great aversion to darkness, instantly produced them. He then issued some farther orders respecting; his departure, and again despatched messengers to ascertain whether the town was tranquil, and the road to the fiord unobstructed.
Shortly after, two of his knights entered with a prisoner, who had demanded to be conducted to their master. The captive, who stood closely enveloped in a horseman's cloak, with a rainhood over the head, for a moment or two seemed to scrutinise the uneasy conqueror, when suddenly the hood fell back, and the cloak dropped upon the floor; whilst the duke started with surprise, as he beheld before him the fair and majestic Queen Agnes, in her magnificent robes of ceremony.
"They say I am your prisoner, Duke Waldemar," she said, with an air of calm dignity; "but I maintain that you are mine, as certainly as that you are an audacious rebel, and I at this moment the reigning Queen of Denmark."
The duke requested his astonished knights to withdraw.
"Noble queen," he then began, courteously and respectfully, "you are, in truth, partly right: I am, now and for ever, your knightly prisoner; but rebel I am not. On the contrary, I have been attacked by Drost Hessel and your men in a manner at once treacherous and unprovoked. At your own request I accompanied you hither as joint protector; and here, against all faith and law, have I been suddenly set upon, at the moment I intended to proclaim the king, and was about to quell the popular discontent at the sentence pronounced upon the outlaws. I beheld, with astonishment, your grace yourself at the head of my assailants, which may plead my excuse if, for a moment, I left the king's side, and sought to avoid a conflict in which your precious life would have been placed in danger."
"What do I hear!" cried the queen, in amazement. "You deny that you were the leader of this tumult, and even dare to impeach me as the cause of it!"
"Nay, not you, illustrious queen, but the ambitious and arrogant Drost Hessel. On his head lies every drop of blood that has this day been shed. He is the rebel and traitor--not I--and Heaven forbid that I should accuse you of his faithlessness! He has shamefully abused your clemency and grace; and has caused me to suspect that, by my fall, he hopes to soar to the regency, or perhaps even to the throne of Denmark."
Retiring a step, the queen scrutinised keenly the crafty lord. For an instant she appeared in doubt; but, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon her, she again approached him, with an air of apparent confidence.
"You have revealed to me what may perhaps prove a matchless piece of treachery," said she, unable completely to master the tones of her voice; "and should this be proved to have been really the drost's design, he must be brought to a severe account. Before the king and people he must be condemned as the most deceitful of traitors. But where is he?"
"In my power," replied the duke, with a polite smile; "and there, with your permission, he must remain, while I am protector of Denmark."
"For his life you shall be responsible to me," said the queen, with ill-concealed uneasiness. "Be his crime as great as it may, by the king and people only can he be tried and doomed; and that in my presence and in your's, at the Land-Ting."
"Believe me, your grace, that even my bitterest foe shall have justice! But suffer me first, most gracious and illustrious queen, to lay my own cause before your judgment-seat," he politely added, as he bowed profoundly, and drew forward a gilded chair, upon which the queen seated herself. "I clearly perceive that you suspect me," he continued. "You are brought here as my prisoner, although, in truth, as I have already said, I am your captive for ever, and can easily prove to you how innocent I am of this tumult." As he spoke, his air of politeness suddenly changed to an expression of intense and passionate admiration, and he added, with warmth--"I can give you proof, clear as the sun, how foolishly, nay, how madly, I should have acted, to place myself in a position of hostility to you." He paused, and appeared to hesitate. "It must be dared!" he again broke forth: "I shall now reveal to you what has long been the dearest and boldest wish of my heart, and what, as a princely scion of the race of the great Waldemars, in my proudest moments I have sometimes dared to hope."
He paused again, and looked inquiringly at the queen, over whose countenance had passed a sudden change, which caused him to hesitate; but the consciousness of his handsome person banished every doubt, and the flush of indignation on the queen's cheeks he mistook for an indication of bashful surprise.
"Your noble and lofty mind, fairest queen," he continued, boldly, "cannot feel offended at a wish which unites the desire for a kingdom's happiness with the most respectful attachment to womanly worth--a wish which words fail me to express, but which springs from chivalrous esteem for your beauty, prudence, and elevation of soul, and which has received ardour and strength from those feelings that reduce the prince to the man, while, in truth, they exalt the man to the prince."
"You speak prettily and politely, Duke Waldemar," replied the queen, with much composure, "and seem to think that when the Queen of Denmark is your captive, she cannot refuse her ear to a suit of love, nor buy her freedom too dearly by presenting her conqueror with her hand and heart?"
The duke started. "Mistake me not in this also, noble queen," he resumed, with less ardour. "If I chose this moment for so important a declaration, it was but to convince you, in the clearest manner, how impossible it is that I should be your enemy. Your captivity here is altogether a blunder of my people, and is at an end when you command. Here you are equally queen and mistress as if surrounded by your own soldiers. But," he added, boldly, as he perceived a proud smile on her countenance, "you are too sagacious not to perceive, that, at this moment, I hold in my hands your fate and that of Denmark. Far be it from me to abuse this accidental advantage. But, if even no responsive voice pleads for me in your heart, your keen political sagacity might still counsel you not to despise such a proposal at so critical a moment."
As he thus spoke, his air of pride and complacency betrayed a wooer who intended to allow his prisoner not even the freedom of denial. To soften, however, this stroke of policy, he suddenly changed his tone and manner, for he felt the importance of bringing the heart of the fair queen, or at least her vanity, to favour the considerations of political prudence which he had suggested. He therefore again became the chivalrous lover, and with much eloquence and apparent ardour broke forth in admiration of her beauty and in flattering compliments to her lofty mind.
"My life and happiness," he at last exclaimed, as he knelt before her, "I place in your hands, most noble queen!"
Agnes remained silent, but bestowed a glance on her kneeling suitor that seemed to pierce his soul; and a bitter answer hovered on her lips, when the door was suddenly opened, and a knight of the duke's retinue entered.
The duke arose, and, stamping furiously--"What means this?" he cried--"who dares to--"
"Count Gerhard, stern sir," hastily replied the knight--"Count Gerhard of Holstein has surrounded the castle with a superior force, and threatens to storm and pull it down, if the Queen of Denmark is not instantly set at liberty."
The duke seemed thunderstruck.
"You come right opportunely, sir knight," observed the queen, rising with calm dignity. "Your illustrious master was in a posture for which he needs not blush: he has acknowledged that a blunder of his soldiers has made him appear a rebel, and guilty of lese-majesty, thus placing his life and fate in my hands. You are witness, however, that I forgive him an error in which he had no share. Your arm, Duke Waldemar: I intend to travel within an hour; and the noble Count Gerhard expects me with my train."
A loud noise outside the castle was now heard; and the duke, bowing profoundly, gave the queen his arm without hesitating. The knight preceded them, bearing two lights, and at the duke's signal his pages hastened forward with torches. To Count Gerhard's surprise, therefore, the queen was thus led forth with the greatest pomp and attention, and, without opposition, confided to his protection.
A few hours afterwards, the queen sailed with a fair wind into Nyborg Harbour, and Duke Waldemar, with the captive Drost Peter, departed in the direction of Alsen.
While Drost Peter lay a close prisoner in Nordborg Castle, unable to serve in any way his king and country, the measures of old Sir John, Count Gerhard, the chancellor, and the trusty Rimaardson were unceasingly directed to secure the royal house, and to strengthen the minor's throne. The duke no longer found it advisable to assert his authority as regent. The plan of the outlaws for subjecting Denmark to the crown of Norway, and his own fear that he had too soon betrayed his daring project, so completely embarrassed him, that he did not even appear at the Danish court. Annoyed by the unsuccessful issue of his attempt, as well as by the failure of his love-suit to the queen, which he felt as a mortifying humiliation, he shortly after withdrew into Saxony, and it soon became publicly known that he had suddenly espoused Duke Johan's daughter, the pious Princess Sophia.
At the same time, an accidental occurrence averted the invasion with which the country was threatened by the Norwegian fleet, which lay at Ekeroe; the armament from which, as was reported, was to have been conducted by the rude Jarl Mindre-Alf, and the favourite of the Norwegian king, Halkell Augmund. The jarl, however, had quarrelled with Halkell at the drinking-table, and killed him with a wine-stoup in the presence of the king. This led to a sanguinary strife on board the fleet, in which two hundred and sixty of the jarl's men were slain or executed; he himself being outlawed, and forced to fly to Sweden.
The expedition against Denmark was therefore deferred; but the outlaws incessantly ravaged the Danish coasts--burning Middelfert and Hindsholm in Funen, and visiting nearly every seaport town in Denmark with blood and rapine. The name of Marsk Stig became a terror to every Dane. Nor did Rané Jonsen hold the least conspicuous place among the boldest pirates who disturbed the country. His castle, Giordslöv, in Stevn's Point, where he maintained a garrison, served as a place of refuge for his rover-crew. To mislead his pursuers, he always, when on shore, rode a horse whose shoes were reversed; and, to warn him of danger, was constantly attended by a large, ferocious hound, which could easily master the strongest soldier. Rané, as well as the marsk and the other outlaws, was included in the ecclesiastical ban pronounced by the Archbishop of Lund; but they appeared to despise excommunication as much as they did the sentence of outlawry. Most of them had again fled to Norway, where they endeavoured to incite the Norwegian king to a decisive expedition against Denmark. The marsk, however, continued boldly to occupy Hielm, whence he extended his forays to North Jutland and the adjacent islands. The proud Count Jacob fortified Hunehal, in North Halland, and, like the marsk, prepared to defend himself in the country to the last.
The queen and privy council meanwhile had deferred the coronation only until a severe winter rendered the Belt and Sound inaccessible to enemies and pirates. On Christmas-day, 1287, the young King Erik Menved, as he was already called,[[38]] was solemnly anointed and crowned at Lund. This was the last important transaction in which the aged Archbishop Johan Dros was engaged, as he died shortly afterwards, and before his prayer for the security of the crown was fulfilled.
Not long after the coronation, a treaty of friendship was concluded between King Erik and the powerful Swedish king, Magnus Ladislaus, and the double alliance ratified which had previously been privately agreed upon: the little Princess Mereté, who had been betrothed to Birger, the crown-prince of Sweden, was conducted by Swedish ambassadors to that court; and, about the middle of March, the betrothal of King Erik of Denmark to the Swedish Princess Ingeborg was publicly declared. On this occasion there were great festivities at Helsingborg, where the royal betrothals were to be celebrated with a tournament.
The whole Danish and Swedish courts were present at these rejoicings, where the youthful King Erik exhibited himself in all the pomp of chivalry before his future queen, the beautiful Princess Ingeborg, whose childlike beauty and graces none could sufficiently extol--the bards of Denmark in their transport having already named her Danebod--the hope of the Danes.
The tournament was conducted with great magnificence, and in the manner of those of France and Germany. On the preceding day, the arms of the different knights were displayed on the cross-walk of the Dominican convent, where a stately herald announced the names of those to whom they belonged. Here they were visited by Queen Agnes and Queen Hedwig of Sweden, Count Gerhard's sister, with the princesses and noble ladies at court, for the purpose of touching the shields of those whom they judged to be unworthy knights, and who were by this means excluded from the lists.
Two shields were thus touched, one of which belonged to the powerful Swedish knight, Sir Carl Algotson, who, with the assistance of Jarl Mindre-Alf, had abducted Sir Thorstenson's rich and distinguished bride, Jomfru Ingrid. The Danish queen, who had heard of the affair, and of the brave Thorstenson's loss, had touched the shield, which was immediately removed by the herald, and an order issued by the Swedish king that the matter should be strictly investigated.[[39]]
The second shield, which had been touched by a noble lady as an impeachment of its owner, belonged to a Danish knight--John Rimaardson, another brother of the trusty Bent Rimaardson. Although related to Queen Agnes, he was instantly excluded from the tourney; and, being threatened with the vengeance of the law, as a ravisher and murderer, he was forced to seek safety in flight.[[40]]
At the tournament itself, everything was conducted with the greatest pomp and ceremonial. The Queen of Beauty, the fair-haired Princess Ingeborg, sat, full of childish joy, between Queen Agnes and her mother, the gay, good-natured Queen Hedwig, who strongly resembled her brother, the valiant Count Gerhard. On the right of the Swedish queen sat the mighty King Magnus Ladislaus, a tall and spare but majestic figure, with a stern and warlike air, and wearing a golden crown and a mantle of purple and ermine.
Many there were, among the ladies of Princess Ingeborg, who attracted looks of homage and tenderness from both Danish and Swedish knights; but the tall silent maiden who sat nearest the royal personages, excited the greatest attention. This was Jomfru Ingé Little, who observed not the interest she awoke, but, with melancholy countenance, gazed upon the gay lists, where, as her eye ran over the line of knights, she missed the noble figure of Drost Peter. She had heard of his imprisonment, and entertained but little hope of his release from Nordborg, so long as the variance existed between the duke and the royal house of Denmark. Another still heavier sorrow oppressed the brave maiden: she knew that her unhappy father lay in Kallundborg Castle, awaiting his sentence as a dangerous state-criminal. At times, nevertheless, a light spread over her melancholy features, as she looked upon the Princess Ingeborg and the young chivalrous king: she appeared then to forget her own heart's sorrow in the fair hopes of her fatherland; and again the sounds of the song, "For Erik the king so young!" echoed in her bosom.
Nearest the barrier, and as judges, sat the oldest of the Danish and Swedish knights, chief among whom appeared old Sir John. Within the arena were seen a stately king-at-arms, and numerous heralds bearing white staves and feathered hats in their hands, whose duty it was to preserve order, and, together with their subalterns, the pursuivants, closely to attend to every thrust and motion of the antagonists.
The tourney was opened with a joust on horseback, with blunt lances, between the Danish King Erik and the little Prince Berger, who carried light armour suitable to their years and strength. The Danish king wore the sky-blue colour of Princess Ingeborg, and displayed her little glove fastened to his helmet. Prince Berger also wore the colour of his bride, and his armour was white as Princess Mereté's silken kirtle. They both showed themselves active and dexterous; but reciprocal courtesy forbade that either should be regarded as the vanquisher.
The jousts were accompanied with song and music, numerous Swedish and Danish skalds[[41]] being present to celebrate the exploits of their respective knights, nearly all of whom wore gloves, veils, pearl-bands, or some other female ornament in their helmets; while, during the battle, they would often shout their peculiar watchwords, which their own ladies only understood. Many lances were broken in the fray, and many knights unhorsed; but as they fought with blunt weapons, no dangerous or serious blow was received. It seemed, indeed, that the Danish and Swedish knights, at this joyful festivity, only sought to outvie each other in gentle bearing and knightly courtesies.
But the most distinguished on this occasion was Count Gerhard of Holstein, who good-naturedly unhorsed six knights without himself being shaken. With the black veil of the fair Queen Agnes, he felt himself invincible; whilst his watchword was the burthen of a song he had heard at Sir John's on the evening he first spoke with the queen. One word in it only he changed every time he thrust a knight from his saddle shouting delightedly:--
"For so chaste a dame I dree."
All competitors having withdrawn, he was declared victor in the tournament; and springing gaily from his saddle, he received, kneeling, the prize from the hands of the fair Queen Agnes.
The tilting appeared to be ended, when a strange knight, in bright gilt harness, with a crown upon his locked helmet, and mounted on a snorting war-steed, presented himself at the barrier. He flung his steel gauntlet at Count Gerhard's feet, and, without uttering a word, tore, with the sharp end of his lance, the black veil fastened to the count's breastplate.
Queen Agues became pale; for by this action he attacked the honour of the lady whose gage he had thus outrageously insulted. All eyes were instantly turned with surprise and amazement on the strange knight.
"'Tis the duke--Duke Waldemar!" whispered one to another; although none was sure that this surmise was well grounded.
Count Gerhard, burning with fury, sprang upon his charger, and resumed his place in the lists, having first taken up the stranger's gauntlet, to intimate that he accepted the challenge without farther explanation. The heralds then opened the barrier, and admitted the strange knight, who advanced, proudly manœuvring his steed, and brandishing a sharp lance. Count Gerhard, too, armed himself with a similar deadly weapon, when the judges reminded them that the present was a festive tournament, where no serious fighting was permitted. But the exasperated count having demanded that the combat should be as serious as the insult, the objection was urged no further.
Like thunderbolts the knights rushed against each other, and in the shock Count Gerhard's lance was splintered against the gilded breastplate of his antagonist, from whose weapon he received a violent blow on the chest, but remained immoveable in his saddle.
The strange knight, who had been lifted slightly from his saddle by the violence of the shock, laughed scornfully behind his visor. He cast away his lance, and, following the example of the count, drew his sword. The blades met, and in the fierce combat that ensued, both exhibited great skill and courage. By one blow, Count Gerhard had struck the crown off the gilded helmet of his antagonist, who, however, lost no advantage offered by the unbridled ardour of the count; while the varying fortunes of either combatant were watched by all with the most intense interest.
"For the honour of my exalted lady!" shouted Count Gerhard, aiming what he intended as a finishing stroke, but by which he exposed himself to his antagonist; who, avoiding the blow, had raised his sword against the count's unprotected head, when suddenly he became motionless, gazing rigidly the while towards the barrier.
At the same instant a powerful voice cried out: "An infamous knight fights here!"
All looked in astonishment towards the spot whence the voice proceeded, where stood a tall and elegant knight, in steel-blue mail, with closed visor, and displaying a magnificent dagger in his outstretched hand.
"Knowest thou this witness, traitor?" he continued, in the same mighty voice, while in his hand he turned the dagger, on the hilt of which the golden lions gleamed in the bright sunshine.
"That dagger was drawn from the corse of King Erik Christopherson, on St. Cecilia's night," cried a loud voice among the people.
"That dagger armourer Troels of Melfert sold to Duke Waldemar," shouted another: "I can swear to it."
"It is the marsk's dagger--Marsk Stig's dagger!" cried a third.
The battle had ceased; for the knight in the gilded mail sat as if petrified, staring through the grating of his helmet at the blue knight and the dagger. The sword fell from his hand, and he was becoming faint and giddy, when, at a signal from the young Erik, the king-at-arms advanced and cried aloud--"No one shall interrupt the combatants by word or gesture, under the penalty of death!"
At this announcement the blue knight bowed respectfully, and placed the dagger in his bosom, but remained calmly gazing at Count Gerhard's antagonist.
"Hand him his weapon again!" cried the count to a pursuivant: "I know that I fight with a false and dishonoured knight; but one of us must here lose his life."
Whilst the pursuivant stooped to take up the sword, the golden knight suddenly gave the spur to his steed, and cleared the barrier at a bound. Every eye followed him with amazement, and a deathlike stillness prevailed until he was no longer visible; and when they then turned to look for the blue knight, he too had disappeared.
Count Gerhard therefore remained alone in the lists, and was declared victor in this conflict of honour; while the unusual occurrence caused many and various surmises among the spectators. The tournament was then declared to be ended, and the royal party returned to the palace, where, as old Sir John passed Lady Ingé, he whispered to her softly--"Drost Peter!"
She nodded in silence, while a deep crimson overspread her lovely cheeks. She had indeed perceived a rose-red pearl-band on the breast of the blue blight, and fancied she recognised in it her own fillet; but by what means her captive knight could have been present there was to her inexplicable.
Scarcely was the tournament at Helsingborg concluded, before an important message summoned the youthful Danish king, with all his knights, to Zealand. A Norwegian fleet had been seen in the Cattegat, and a landing was apprehended at Elsineur, where the fortress of Flynderborg, surrendered by the treachery of Sir Lavé Little, still remained in the hands of the rebels.
When Sir John took leave of the faithful Ingé, she whispered a few words to him, and placed in his hand a little parchment scroll, on which had been hastily sketched a building, and apparently an entrance to it, denoted by small crosses. He seemed astonished, but listened with attention to what she said. She repeated a few words, and pointed to the scroll, which he then, with a sign of well-pleased assent, carefully put up, and, imprinting a kiss on her forehead, hastened on board with the royal family.
They landed unmolested on the coast of Zealand, in the neighbourhood of Elsineur, whence Count Gerhard immediately conducted the queen and Junker Christopherson to Rypen House, which, in these unsettled times, was considered the most secure abode for the royal family. The young king, who could not be induced to accompany them, set out with Rimaardson for Tornborg, by Korsöer, for the purpose of inspecting that important fortress, and to hasten in person the equipment of the fleet; while Sir John prepared to defend North Zealand against any hostile attack.
The king ordered the cruizers lying at Korsöer to be manned, and stationed opposite the coast of North Jutland, ready to act in unison with Sir John. To all the operations connected with these movements the young monarch paid close attention, and found time also to examine the defences of the castle, which in many points he condemned as inefficient. Rimaardson, in acknowledging the correctness of his opinions, could not restrain admiration of his early knowledge of fortification, which he had acquired from Drost Peter.
Four days after the king's arrival at Tornborg, he was on the ramparts early in the morning, attended by Rimaardson, and a knight who had brought important tidings from Elsineur. The Norwegians, he informed the king, had effected a landing at Orekrog, and burnt the town to ashes; but the burghers had received succour from Sir John. Through a subterranean passage, to which he had led the way, they penetrated into Flynderborg, with the old knight at their head, and, overpowering the garrison, had from this strong point repulsed the enemy. The knight narrated circumstantially the whole occurrences, and informed the king that they had sought in vain for the letters from the outlaws, which Sir Lavé Little was accused of having received before the murder of the king.
"By all holy men, this pleases me well!" exclaimed young Erik. "The faithful Sir John has not wasted a word for his cousin's life; but now he has wiped out a portion of his crime. Let the chancellor announce to the prisoner at Kallundborg, that his doom is again deferred for a year, and this because his trusty cousin has retaken Flynderborg, and the proofs of his worst treachery have not been discovered."
Rimaardson eyed the king with a melancholy look. "Would to God and Our Lady," he exclaimed, "that every trusty knight you possess could so atone for the errors of his relations! There is now scarcely an honest man in the country some one of whose kindred is not in tower or on gibbet--and the end is not yet come."
The sorrowful knight was thinking of his brother Lavé's fate, and of his brother John, who then stood impeached with crimes affecting his life.
"The law is supreme over every man," observed the youthful monarch, with a sigh: "it was not by my own will that I became king so soon; yet, Heaven be praised, I have still many loyal and valiant men. Would only that Drost Peter were with me again!"
The king then returned to the castle, attended by the strange knight from Elsineur, and Rimaardson proceeded to examine the defences. Whilst thus engaged, he observed a short stout figure in the black mantle of a mass-boy, and a high cap drawn over his brows, waddling along the ramparts with a prayer-book in his hand, seemingly engaged in his morning devotions. The rolling boatman's gait of this individual struck the commandant, who observed him more narrowly, when, discovering traces of a badly-shorn beard, he recognised, to his astonishment, the rude Jarl Mindre-Alf.
"Good morning, my son," he exclaimed, approaching him. "Whither away so early?"
"To fetch wine for the priest, that he may pray for your soul," muttered the clumsy-looking mass-boy, in a deep gruff voice.
"Tarry a little," said Rimaardson, while he beckoned a couple of landsknechts to approach. "Methinks I should know thee. Did not we two once sit on the same bench in Lyse school-house? and didst thou not in those times play the tyrant over us all? Methinks thou shouldst be a count and jarl; and art thou only a poor mass-boy?" So saying, he raised the jarl's cap, and looked him full in the face.
"Betray me not, Bendix Rimaardson, for old acquaintance' sake," whispered the detected algrev. "We are relations, and I behaved to thee at school like a brother. I am now done with countship and jarldom. I am an outlawed man, and fain to seek protection with the pious. Be a good fellow, Bent. Pretend thou dost not know me, and let me run."
"Bind him, lads!" cried Rimaardson to the landsknechts: "he is a riever and an incendiary!"
The sturdy viking-chief threw aside his prayer-book and mass-boy's mantle, and stood in his knight's dress, prepared apparently to defend himself with desperation. The landsknechts, however, succeeded in disarming him, when he was instantly chained and fettered, and conducted forthwith, under a strong guard, to the criminal prison of Haraldsborg, having attempted in vain to bribe Rimaardson for his freedom.
The latter cared not to disturb the king with a report of this discovery, which might perhaps draw upon himself a reprimand for having allowed so dangerous a foe to find his way into the fortress. He considered, besides, that the castle was quite secure, and did not waste a thought on the insolent and sardonic laughter of the pirate-chief while he was dragged to prison. Rimaardson, amidst his pressing cares, had not observed that, on the previous night, a freebooter had run in close to Tornborg under Danish colours. Not only had the daring Jarl Mindre-Alf landed unnoticed, bat Marsk Stig himself, with a crew of bold pirates, had privately come on shore; and on the evening of that day, Mat Jute, disguised as one of the king's landsknechts, stood as sentinel outside the door of the royal apartment. The watch was set, and, in the confidence of security, the garrison retired to rest.
In the middle of the night the young king was awoke by a fearful noise. The whole castle was in flames around him, and the terrible cry--"The marsk! the marsk! the outlaws!" was shouted in every direction by the surprised and bewildered soldiers. Screams and the din of arms resounded from all quarters, while the youthful Erik stood alone, half dressed, in his chamber, which was already enveloped in smoke and flame.
"Merciful Heaven! must I now be burnt alive by my father's murderers!" he exclaimed, whilst he hurriedly threw his cloak around him, grasped his little sword, and prepared to rush through the flames.
He now distinguished the voice of his faithful Aagé Jonsen, mingled with the clash of weapons, outside his apartment; but the fire at that moment burst furiously forth, and the smoke so blinded him that it was with difficulty he could find the door. Suddenly he felt himself seized by a powerful mailed hand, and at the same instant he became unconscious. When he recovered, he found himself in a little open boat, speeding through cloud and storm with the rapidity of an arrow.
"Where am I?" he cried. "Am I among my father's murderers?"
"You are with faithful friends and subjects," replied a familiar voice by his side; while, through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a knightly figure in full armour.
"Drost Peter! By all holy men, is it you?" he asked joyfully.
"Who I am I dare not say," replied the other; in whom the king now thought he recognised the blue knight of the tournament.
"A pledge of honour binds my tongue," continued the knight, "and I must hide my face from my king and the whole world. I shall convey you safely to Rypen House, but I must myself withdraw to a place of darkness. I entreat you, sir king, believe what you will, but tempt me not to break my knightly promise."
"Be silent, then, in God's name!" exclaimed the monarch, as he pressed the mailed hand of his companion. "Thou art assuredly Drost Peter. Thinkest thou I know not thy voice? Thou hast saved my life to-night; and if thou still remainest in the power of the duke, I shall set thee free, cost what it may."
"Proceed not violently against the duke," replied the knight, with a deep sigh: "his prisoner's life is in his hands."
The young king remained silent, while the skiff sped on, and quickly disappeared beyond Sporgoe, where the new tower of Marsk Stig stood gloomy and frowning in the night.
In a few days the news became generally known that the famous Jarl Mindre-Alf had been made prisoner; that Marsk Stig had captured and destroyed the castle of Tornborg, in defence of which the faithful Sir Rimaardson had been slain; and that the young Erik, mysteriously saved, was then in security at Rypen House.
The first important act of the king, after his arrival there, was his nomination of the bold commandant of the castle, Sir David Thorstenson, to fill the office of drost, so long as Drost Peter was in the duke's power. And it was soon known that, in accordance with the new drost's advice, the queen had subscribed the death-warrant of Jarl Mindre-Alf.
The duke was reported to be lying sick in Sleswick, to the great grief of his young wife. His mind, it was said, was affected, and the rumours of his connection with the world of spirits were again revived. Some time previously he had disappeared for a few days, and, on his return, after having visited his important prisoner, Drost Peter Hessel, at Nordborg, whom he found secure in his chains, he was seized by this singular malady, in the paroxysms of which he asserted that he had, with his bodily eyes, seen the accusing angel, and that his prisoner in Nordborg was in league with devils and mighty spirits against him.
The Norwegians and the outlaws long continued to disturb the repose of Denmark; and although the Norse king nowhere succeeded in effecting a landing, yet, in the then distracted condition of the kingdom, he was no contemptible foe. He had committed ravages at Amager and Hveen; made a descent on Aalborg, which, however, proved unsuccessful; and had not spared even the towns belonging to Duke Waldemar. The council seriously thought of entering into a treaty with him; but the negociation appeared beset with difficulties, as he had promised the outlaws, in a letter of protection, that he would never conclude peace with Denmark without the consent of the marsk.
One calm autumn evening, the vaadesang rose mournfully from the crypt under King Erik Christopherson's tomb, in Viborg Cathedral. When the wind blew from the cathedral across the lake, the deep tones of the vigil, which was thus to be chanted night after night until doomsday, for the soul of the murdered king, could, at times, be heard at the ferry-house on the opposite side. The road to the convent of Asmild lay near the ferry-house, where, upon an upturned boat, sat a tall, aged pilgrim, his head bent upon his breast in deep thought. By his side stood a young girl, also in a pilgrim's habit, and holding by the hand a gay-looking dark-haired youth, equipped as a squire, in a buff jerkin and steel cap, and bearing, besides the usual arms, a long, gilt, flame-shaped sword, apparently intended more for ornament than use.
"Shall we proceed to the convent and knock for admittance, father Henner?" asked the youth. "Neither thou nor Aasé can go farther to-night."
"Tarry here, Skirmen," replied the old man. "Here we can rest well; for many a night have we watched under God's open sky since last we met. Until I have seen the arrogant marsk, and have delivered him the warning that I have been entrusted with, my penance is not ended. Until I have done this, no roof shall cover my head. So have I sworn."
"But, dear father Henner," exclaimed Skirmen, "what, then, dost thou here at Viborg? If the marsk be not in either of his strongholds on Hielm or Spraa, he must he out on some marauding expedition against the king's towns and castles. At Stege he was frustrated," he continued, as the old man remained silent; "but Skielskioer and the fortress on Samsoe have experienced the fate of Tornborg. Ah, Heaven help us!" he added, dejectedly, crushing a reed he held in his hand--"since the powerful Ladislaus as dead and gone, there is not a king in the world of whom the marsk is afraid, and, least of all, of our young King Erik."
"There is one King, my son, that neither the marsk nor any man may defy with impunity; and if He is with the young king, the power of the marsk is not greater than the reed you have crushed." As he uttered these words, the old man pointed solemnly towards the sky. "I may soon encounter him," he continued, after a thoughtful pause: "he may be nearer us than thou seemest to imagine. He is not on Hielm, but on his way to Halland, with his good friend the new archbishop. They were to meet in Viborg, or in Asmild convent; where, perhaps, at this very moment, they are plotting the ruin of the country."
"Methinks thou knowest everything, father Henner!" exclaimed Skirmen, in astonishment. "But what brings the marsk to Halland? Does he carry succour to Count Jacob at Hunehal?"
"Canst guess no better than that, Skirmen? thou, who hast had a statesman for thy master! No. The council desire to conclude a treaty with the Norse king at Varberg; but it cannot be done without the marsk's consent; and the fate of two, perhaps of three kingdoms, is now in the hands of that incendiary. It is high time he had a message from the King of kings."
The old man again relapsed into deep thought; whilst Aasé and Skirmen exchanged some tender words, without disturbing him.
"It is odd, however, that we should have met, Skirmen," resumed old Henner, as he looked affectionately at the youthful pair. "Aasé and thou remain good friends, I perceive. But thou canst not greatly boast of fortune, Skirmen. Gold spurs grow not on trees; and a knight thou must be, before thou hast her. Yet, courage, my son! If St. George help thee not, perhaps St. Christian will. Thou hast my pilgrim-sword, with which thou shalt succeed: the holy Michael has borne it for a century on a church-steeple. It belongs more to a dancing-slipper than a pair of red shoes; but if the cat would catch fish, she must wet her paws. What hast thou been about at Harrestrup, whilst thy master is lying in chains at Nordborg?"
"Alas! dear father Henner," replied Skirmen, "there is no excuse so poor that people will not fly to it in their extremity. My master's trusty old nurse, who lies sick at Harrestrup, sent me word that she had something important to confide to me, and--"
"Hum! there is but little to be learned from an old woman's gabble," muttered old Henner.
"Well, but what said she to thee?" inquired Aasé, curiously. "It is plain that the old nurse made thee feel ashamed of thyself, since thou wilt not out with it. She has certainly cared better for thy master, than thou--"
"Upbraid me not, dearest Aasé!" replied Skirmen, dejectedly. "On the unhappy day that my master was taken prisoner at Skielskioer, he had sent me on a message to Rypen House; and, ever since, I have thought of little else besides the means of setting him free. Three times have I been on Alsen; but the infernal prison-tower is strongly guarded night and day. Twice I was caught, and should certainly have been hanged, had I not contrived to escape."
"Thou dear, trusty Skirmen!" exclaimed Aasé, throwing her arms around him. "That would have been a vile death for a squire who has been so long in a fair way of becoming a knight," she added, waggishly. "Yet be not angry, Skirmen. I like thee all the better for this; and, indeed, thy exploits are quite enchanting. But what said the old nurse?"
"Alas! she is in her dotage, poor creature, and her mind is filled with whims and extravagances. She would have me believe that she had lain for eight days in my master's prison, instead of him. On Alsen, she said, they took her for a witch, and the guard would not deny her access to the prison, which my master left, disguised in her clothes; having first sworn a solemn oath that he would return and release her within eight days, and that during that time he would not show his face nor discover himself to any one. The carlin must have been in a dream. It could not possibly be as she says."
"Wherefore not, son?" asked old Henner, who had listened attentively: "it could easily be done. It is, at least, characteristic of thy true and chivalrous master, for the good woman I know not. Yet what purpose could it answer, since the faithful drost had to return, and, like a wizard, again creep into his prison-hole?"
"I know not: that is the most incredible part of the story, and makes me disbelieve it all. Besides, I know that Dorothy could not have remained quiet for eight days, nor help betraying herself by song and chatter. Yet it is surprising how much she knows concerning the prison. She described the exterior exactly as I had seen it myself; and, moreover, she gave me this key, swearing deeply and solemnly that it would open the innermost prison-doors."
"Ah, then, Skirmen, if thou doubtest longer, thou art an incredulous fool!" cried Aasé, joyfully. "If thou believest not that we women-folks can be silent to serve a good friend, thou little knowest us; and, if I mistake not, thy master could effect more in eight days, than many others could in a year. But, at any rate, he had one dear object to visit. Give me the key. I, too, can play the witch; and, since the good people on Alsen have so much respect for the weird sisterhood, we can easily hit on an expedient. We have been to St. Peter's prison, in Rome, thou must know, and have there received absolution of all our sins, and a dispensation from going to the holy sepulchre. I have not sinned greatly since, I believe; and if now our dear Holy Lady or St. Christian will make use of me to open a prison, they may well do so, though I am not altogether an angel--"
"Be silent, children, and conceal yourselves," suddenly exclaimed old Henner. "I hear horsemen on the road from the convent. It may be the marsk."
Aasé and Skirmen quickly obeyed, and retired to the thicket near the lake, where many a tender word was ex-changed between them.
A troop of well-armed horsemen now appeared, approaching the ferry-house from Asmild convent, having two tall personages at their head. One of these, who sat with a proud air on his quiet palfrey, was the haughty Master Jens Grand, who, after the death of the aged Johan Dros, had been, much against the wish of the king, chosen Archbishop of Lund. His mail-clad companion, who was stately and warlike, and mounted on a champing war-steed, was no other than the famous Marsk Stig himself. They halted on the road, while the attendant horsemen descended to the lake to water their horses.
"As I observed, sir marsk," said the prelate, "they must restore you your rank and estates if you will but allow the boy for the present to retain his throne. He is still preferable to your powerful King Priesthater."
"Out upon it, your reverence!" exclaimed the marsk: "you are afraid of the name priesthater, although it is one he does not deserve. He is the ablest monarch that ever sat on the throne of Norway, and possesses indeed the lofty soul of a king. When before, without showing fear or tyranny, has any northern king endured by his side a powerful brother, such as is Duke Hakon? Under such a king, Denmark and Norway will become unrivalled for power and greatness. Let me but wield the general's staff for ten years, while you bear the crook, and the world shall see that the ancient race of Skjalm Hvide have not degenerated since the days of Absalom. In Sweden, too, there is now a boy-king on the throne, but he will never become a man. What say you to an earthly trinity, most reverend father?"
"You will bend the bow until it breaks," replied the archbishop. "You forget that you are beyond the pale of the law, and that your large estates are in the possession of the crown."
"My will and this good sword is now my law," replied the marsk; "and as to estates, my friends and I have ample while all Denmark is in our hands."
"Still you must remember that you are an outlaw," observed the archbishop, emphatically, "and that you are also under the ban. If, then, I obtain you release from the latter, you must not set the priesthater as king over me and Denmark. I would rather you mounted the throne yourself--a step almost as easy of accomplishment."
"Mean you to tempt me, Grand?" observed his companion, with a smile. "Were Marsk Stig to sit on the throne of Denmark, Master Grand might occupy St. Peter's chair, and keep his royal kinsman in awe."
"No need of that, sir marsk," rejoined the imperious archbishop. "You despise not Holy Church and her chiefs, as does the proud Norseman, and you would be too prudent to deny the first prelate of the north that obedience and reverence he could extort. I meant not to tempt you; and, whilst I know and respect your self-control and magnanimity, you cannot be ignorant that it is my prerogative, not your's, to place the crown upon the head of him who is to wear it. Hear me, Marsk Stig!" he continued, proudly: "that I am your friend, you have had sufficient proof. I am now, after the king, the greatest man in Denmark. Acquitted of every part I took in your affair, I have even been admitted to his confidence, and am commissioned to negotiate a peace with Norway. In zealously attempting to effect this, I am labouring, not for the king's sake, but for that of the Church and kingdom. I know well, that, with a single word, you can annihilate the treaty. But be advised by me, Marsk Stig, and do not so. Demand what you will, and rely upon me; but remember that I it is who shall hereafter crown Denmark's kings, and I need not the authority of St. Peter's chair to bind or loose the monarch's soul, any more than those of his knights."
The marsk gazed for some moments with astonishment at the bold prelate. "You possess great power, it is true," he at length said; "but I believed, of a surety, that the son of Erik Glipping had no greater enemy in Denmark than yourself. After his death you persecuted his adherents, and caused even their corpses to be dug up from your churchyard, and thrown like dogs into a dung-pit. How is it, then, that you now cling so zealously to the boy-rule?"
"The boy is now anointed and crowned."
"Were he a thousand times anointed, 'tis the same. I have sworn his downfall, and he or I must perish! Upon you I trusted, Grand; but I now see that the Archbishop of Lund thinks not as did the Dean of Roskild. It is strange that changing his seat should so alter a man. But the highest elevated are the soonest giddy. Have you forgotten, reverend sir, in the archbishop's chair, what you swore to me in the dean's?"
"That I have not, most valiant marsk," replied the prelate; "but you have forgotten what we both promised to Duke Waldemar. He deserves truer friends than those who agreed to bestow the crown of Denmark upon the priesthater. That I do not support the boy's crown for the boy's sake, I have shown; but I was not in your councils when you broke promise to the duke."
"Ah! is it thus, your reverence? Now, for the first time, do I comprehend you. I had forgotten that you were confessor to the duke. But had you desired that I, or any honest man, should depend on that wily gentleman, you had trained up your shriveling otherwise than you did. As he was so base and faithless as to subscribe my sentence of outlawry, he would certainly not have hesitated to sign my death-warrant."
"Him you have to thank that you escaped so easily," replied Grand. "The duke acted as your most discreet friend, when he subscribed that sentence which, as regent, he has still the power to remit; and, if you will assist us in effecting this treaty with Norway, you shall no longer remain an outlaw. The time may come, too, when you shall sue for the saving blessing of the Church, and tremble at its ban. Despise not, valiant marsk, the lightning of its curse, which, ere now, has melted crowns and overthrown heroes stronger than you."
"A truce with your lightnings and your bans!" indignantly replied the marsk, as he erected himself proudly, and rode on. "You see, in me, that a brave man can thrive and be strong, despite your thunders of excommunication, launched against him from Lund Cathedral. Spiritual weapons avail not with Marsk Stig, nor shall they turn him a hair's-breadth from his course."
At that moment the vaadesang, from the tomb of the murdered king, sounded clearly across the calm lake.
The marsk paused. "What was that?" he asked.
"It was the blood of thy murdered king, crying aloud to Heaven for vengeance!" replied a hollow voice beside him, while the tall pilgrim-form of Henner Friser rose from the side of the boat, where he had been sitting, and, in the moonshine, stood menacingly before him.
The life-stream became cold in the warrior's veins while he gazed on the pilgrim as on some horrid spectre, and the mournful tones of the vaadesang were again wafted over the lake.
"Listen--listen!" exclaimed the pilgrim: "thus shall that song complain and mourn, till, at the last day, King Erik and his murderers stand before God's judgment-seat."
"Fiend! who art thou?" cried the marsk, unsheathing his sword.
"A king-killer--as thou art!" was the reply: "but I have atoned for my sin; and to thee I bring this last warning--Despise not the ban! despise not Heaven's weapons, Marsk Stig! Man's strength is but a reed; but the Lord's hand is mighty, and vengeance is his. Repent thee, Stig Andersen, or thine hour is near. 'Twas thus the holy father bade me warn thee: wash the king's blood from thine hands, and do penance; or set thine house in order, and prepare for death and perdition. Thy soul is weighed and found wanting--thy day of grace is but short."
"Henner! is it thee?" cried the marsk, as he brandished his sword. "But beware! thy crazy grayhead shall not always protect thee."
"Listen--listen!" calmly resumed the pilgrim, who shrunk not at the threat, whilst a gentle breeze again bore the vigil-tones over the lake, and the mournful chorus swelled louder and louder, vibrating overhead in the calm night. "Listen!" he exclaimed: "the tones from the grave ascend to heaven: they plead for the soul of the king, hurried away in the midst of his sins; but woe and eternal perdition they sound to those of his murderers!"
"Peace, accursed one!" exclaimed the enraged marsk, and his sword flashed in the direction of Henner's head; but at the same instant it was struck violently from his hand, while a sword of flame, as it were, gleamed before him in the air. Seized with terror, he spurred his steed forward, and galloped away, followed by the ecclesiastic, who, pale and frightened, continued to cross himself, as he disappeared along the dark road.
Shortly after the marsk's troop of horsemen rode past the pilgrim, who, leading Aasé by the hand, strode leisurely along the highway, whilst Skirmen still remained silently and gravely by the boat, leaning upon the long flame-shaped sword.
Four weeks had elapsed since the night on which the inflexible marsk encountered Henner Friser by Viborg Lake, and heard the tones of the vigils ascend from the tomb of the murdered king. It was evening, and the last golden rays of the sun rested on the turrets of Hielm Castle, when the stern marsk, accompanied by his troopers, rode across the little island in the direction of his stronghold. He had been attending the meeting between the Danish and Norwegian kings at Varberg, at which his unyielding pride and imperious demands had entirely frustrated the conclusion of the treaty; and although he now returned to Hielm with the proud consciousness of his formidable power and influence, his haughty features were pale, and his lofty figure seemed to rock in the saddle.
In presence of Archbishop Grand, he had concealed the strong impression made upon him by the occurrence which we have related, and, indeed, laughed at himself and the whole adventure, which he characterised as a mere accident, or a piece of trickery, got up by the half-crazed Henner. But during his homeward journey, when no longer sustained by the archbishop's presence, he had not spoken a word; nor could he shake off the conviction that the sword had been shivered in his hand by lightning. He still imagined that, while the vaadesang from the royal tomb rang in his ears, he had heard death and perdition announced to him by a spectre, and that a mighty cherub-sword had struck him with its lightning, while the accusing chorus swelled to heaven over his guilty head. With heavy soul he rode through the dark gate of Hielm Castle, and, dismounting from his steed, entered the arched hall of the keep, where sat his daughters.
The quiet Margarethé advanced affectionately to meet him, and proceeded to unbuckle his armour; while the impatient little Ulrica overwhelmed him with inquisitive questions, as to where he had been, and whether he had brought home booty and jewels.
"Hast thou not gold and jewels enough to fill thy young raven's maw?" asked the gloomy warrior, without looking at the child. "I have brought thee more than ever king's daughter in Denmark possessed. But the time may come," he added, in an under tone, "when thou must be contented with less. Go to the chamberlain, Rikké," he continued, in a sterner tone: "he will open the treasure-closet, and give thee the rosary on which King Erik Christopherson told his last prayer. Keep that as thy patrimony."
"Thanks, father--thanks!" exclaimed the innocent, rosy-cheeked child. "But, why dost thou always seem so angry when thou art kind to me? I may, then, now take the handsome string of pearls and diamonds to deck myself? Thanks, father--thanks!" she again cried, as she skipped away, clapping her hands with delight.
"And thou, my pious Margarethé," continued the marsk to his eldest daughter, as with emotion he gazed on her pale and quiet features--"thou carest not for my treasures; therefore to thee I give my blessing--if haply it carry not with it the weight of a curse!" he added, mentally, while he laid his hand upon her head. "Go, my child," he said, aloud, as he felt himself becoming giddy--"go, and send hither the chaplain."
"Art thou sick, dear father?" inquired the daughter, with deep concern: "thy hand is cold, and thou art quite pale."
"It will pass," he exclaimed, moodily, throwing himself into a seat. "Do as I bid thee, and remain in thy chamber until I call. God bless thee!"
Margarethé retired, with tears in her eyes; and in a little while a timorous-looking clerk entered, and bowed humbly before the master of the castle, without uttering a word.
"I have not long to live!" exclaimed the marsk: "prepare me for death, if thou canst, and administer to me the holy sacrament. We must at last, I perceive, make peace with Heaven, and think of our soul's welfare. Shrive, however, I shall not," he continued: "the world knows well what I have done, and the Omniscient best of all."
The trembling clerk began a discourse he was wont to use on similar occasions, concerning the seven mortal sins and purity of conscience, when the marsk impatiently interrupted him.
"This jargon helps me not," he said. "I wish not to hear thy word, clerk, but God's word. Prepare the sacrament--there is virtue in that! King Erik had it not before his death," he added, softly, "but he took it with him in his coffin. Haste thee, clerk! why lingerest thou?"
"Alas, stern sir marsk," stammered the clerk, "I cannot--I truly dare not. The canonical law, the chapter, and the holy father will condemn me, should I administer this holy rite to one who is excommunicated."
"Death and perdition!" exclaimed the marsk, grasping his sword, "thou shalt, base clerk, or thou diest!"
"Alas, most gracious master, while the ban of the church is on thee, thou hast not the power to--"
"Not the power! By Satan, I swear that, if thou bringest it not quickly, thou shalt die!"
The trembling clerk departed hastily, with a humble and obedient mien. But he returned not; for, hurrying from the castle as fast as he could, he instantly took to flight.
The marsk grew paler and paler, and, as he gazed on the door by which the priest had departed, it seemed to him an avenue of heaven, from which he expected an angel to bring him redemption. But it opened not. He endeavoured to rise, but sank back powerless. He would have shouted; but his voice was weak, and no one seemed to hear it.
At length his henchman, Mat Jute, entered. "A stranger of rank is here, stern sir marsk," he said, as he remained erect by the door, with his hand at his steel cap; "and he seems determined on entering, by fair means or foul, and that immediately."
The marsk beckoned for a cup of wine, which somewhat revived him; and "The clerk--the chaplain!" he anxiously cried, as his voice returned.
The trusty Mat now perceived with terror the condition of his master, and rushed out to bring the priest and a physician.
Scarcely had he left the door, when the stranger he had announced appeared. He was tall, and wore a lofty feathered hat, whilst the ample folds of a purple mantle, in which he was enveloped, concealed his face. They now fell aside, however, and revealed a countenance, pale and restless indeed, but on which the stamp of a daring cunning was ineffaceably imprinted.
"Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed the marsk, as he endeavoured to rise, but again sank back on his seat. "Come you hither to see how the man dies whom you have doomed an outlaw?"
"Do I come at an hour so solemn?" asked the duke. "Since, then, the angel of retribution has found you first, my design is frustrated. Know, however, that I came to defy you to mortal combat."
"You may still have your wish," replied the marsk, erecting himself. "But wherefore seek you this? Tell me quickly!"
"Like a perjured traitor, you have broken your knightly word, and have promised to the Norwegian king the crown which is mine."
"Ay, but not until you had broken our paction, and declared me an outlaw."
"That I did so to save you, you know well; but any excuse is welcome. Yet what fidelity could I expect from a regicide?"
"By that word you accuse yourself, Duke Waldemar. That sin--if sin it is--you share with me. Deep injuries had I to revenge, which you had not. If King Erik's blood stains not your hand, it yet lies as heavy on your head as it does on mine. Your counsel and wishes were in Finnerup barn, albeit you yourself were absent."
"A mightier Power has judged between us," replied the duke. "I will not curse you in your dying hour; but one thing you must tell me--you must solve to me a riddle that has driven me mad:--where is the dagger I gave you when we swore the tyrant's fall?"
"I left it in his bosom," replied the marsk, "that it might be known you were our head and prince. Your name I even had graven on it, that no doubt might exist of your participation in the deed, and that thus our fortunes might be indissolubly linked together."
"Shameless traitor! And thus it is that you would drag me with you to perdition! But say, who was the accuser that displayed the dagger of the bloody paction before the eyes of king and people?"
"If it was not Drost Hessel, let your confessor teach you the name of the angel who accuses the faithless!"
"It was not the drost," exclaimed the duke, while his brain began to reel: "he lay then in chains at Nordborg. But you it was--even you, accursed regicide!--or it was the foul fiend himself!"
"Priest, priest! where art thou?" cried the marsk, glancing fearfully, around him. "Name not the Evil One, Duke Waldemar! In our bloody council we invoked him often enough."
At that instant the door was hastily opened, and Mat Jute entered, much excited. "Sir marsk," he cried, "what is to be done? The priest has fled, and the island is surrounded by the king's ships. The troops are about to land, with Thorstenson at their head, to storm the castle."
"Let the priest speed to the infernal pit!" cried the marsk, rising. "Now, I will not die. Come on, King Erik's men! You shall once more see what Marsk Stig can accomplish!" He grasped his weapon with the suddenly returned strength of a giant. "Away!" he shouted, in a fearful voice: "every man to his post! We shall crush them with brynkiöls and glowing stones."
In an instant he was gone, and Duke Waldemar remained alone, agitated and undecided. The din of arms and soldiers was soon heard outside the castle, when at length, seizing his sword, he hurried out.
In the attack on Hielm, the royalists were repulsed with great loss; but Thorstenson still continued to beleagure the castle, and was making preparations for another assault, whilst the most marvellous stories and reports began to circulate among the people. The rumour that the marsk was dead spread among the besiegers. It was said by others, that he had mysteriously vanished, and that a stranger of eminence, who had been with him, had also suddenly disappeared. From this circumstance it was generally believed among the people, that the devil had been at Hielm, and carried off the awful king-murderer.
Meanwhile, the castle was defended with great bravery by the marsk's seven hundred mail-clad men. It was asserted that they were now commanded by the former lord of the castle, the outlawed Chamberlain Rané; and that his wife, the algrev's daughter, was with him. About the same time, too, a small female form, in white garments, with a crucifix in her folded hands, was frequently seen upon the ramparts of Hielm, where the dark warriors knelt before her as she passed them. The chiefs of the besiegers knew it was the marsk's eldest daughter; but many of the common soldiers looked on her as a supernatural being, who protected the castle, and rendered it impregnable.
One night, shortly after the rumour of the marsk's sudden disappearance had been spread abroad, a funeral train, bearing torches, landed from a ship lying off the parsonage of Stubberup, on Hindsholm,[[42]] and proceeded with silence and solemnity towards the churchyard. The maid-servants of the clergyman, assisted by some maidens from the village, were engaged in carding wool, forming what was called a carding-guild, which, when the work was over, terminated in dance and merriment. The girls were cheerfully at work, in the servants' room, where were a number of troughs, with a large tub in the centre, while a single dull lamp hung in an iron hook from the rafters, and two men-servants lay on a bench asleep.
The busy wool-carders were amusing themselves with singing ballads and telling ghost-stories, and were in the middle of a fearful tale concerning pirates who infested a wood in the northern part of the peninsula, and who had been captured one yule evening by Drost Peter. This was the band of Niels Breakpeace and Lavé Rimaardson, whose chiefs had then escaped, but who were next year taken and executed at Harrestrup. Twelve of these men had perished in captivity on Hindsholm; on which achievement there existed a ballad which was generally known, and which the maidens were now all engaged in singing with the greatest glee. The kitchen-maid, who took the lead, was at the fourteenth verse:--
"It was Drost Peter Hessel,
He called unto his band:
Wake up! wake up! no longer stay.
For news has come to hand.
Wake up! for now the time is come
To don the trusty mail--"
when the ballad was suddenly interrupted by the brewer's maid, who rushed in, with terror in her looks, exclaiming that she had seen a funeral company bearing torches. The maidens dropped their cards, and the wool fell from their laps; whilst the men-servants aroused themselves, and rubbed their eyes: but none dared to venture forth to behold the cause of their fear.
"What scared fools you are!" at last exclaimed a little black-haired maiden, who superintended the work. "It must be one of the outlaws again, whom his comrades desire to bury in christian ground. Thus it was they did with Arved Bengtson, who was slain by Tulé Ebbesen."
"But they don't carry torches, and come with a long train--they sneak along, quietly and in darkness, when they go to bury a malefactor," observed the brewer's girl. "This must be a king, or some great man, unless, indeed, it is a procession of ghosts, like what old Anders Gossip has seen so often."
"Oh, what is it he cannot see, when the ale is in his head?" replied the other, laughing. "They are living men, I dare wager; and he is a milksop that dares not venture out to see."
"If thou darest venture out to see it, Elsie," rejoined the brewer's maid, "do so, and prove to us that thou art as bold as thou boastest! The fright has not yet left me: I feel it still in my knees."
"Go, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid: "thou must, in truth, have a man's heart and courage, for the marsk's swain, long Mat Jute, is thy sweetheart, and I would not be alone with him, for all the world."
"That I can well believe," replied Elsie, with some pride. "Mat Jute is not to be jested with. Indeed, you cannot show me his match, in all Funen."
"You dare not let Christen Fiddler hear you so speak!" cried one of the girls.
"Why not?" replied Elsie, briskly. "I have told him so more than once. Had Mat Jute not fallen into misfortune, along with his master, and become such a ferocious strand-fighter, I should have had no fear of taking him for a husband. But the Lord preserve me from him now!"
"Aha!" laughed the kitchen-maid: "he kills folk, they say, for the smallest ill word said against his master. He must be a perfect fiend."
"Say not so," cried Elsie. "Fierce he is, it is true, but he is still an honest fellow. He is true to his master--more's the pity!--and I cannot bear anybody to speak ill of him."
"Old love doesn't die," remarked one of the men-servants; "and if Mat Jute knew that thou hast now another sweetheart, little Elsie, he would yet come and bite thy head off."
"As for that," returned Elsie, "I am truer to him than many Funen lads are to their lasses; and, besides, I have only one sweetheart at a time."
"If thou wouldst see the show, Elsie, haste thee, or it will be gone," cried the brewer's maid. "It went up to the churchyard; and, if I saw truly in my fright, there was a light in the choir."
"Let us call the master!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid: "it is really awful. They may be church-robbers; and if they be ghosts, the father can read them away."
This was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master.
"It is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his treasury at Eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps of gold and jewels there, it is said."
"How long you think about it, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou who hast been in a fortress. When thou wert at Flynderborg, thou wert afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy jomfru."
"I did not say that," replied Elsie: "the brave Jomfru Ingé showed more courage than I, when the algrev and Niels Breakpeace paid us a visit. But you shall see, for all that, that I am not afraid to look at a funeral. A dead man can't bite my nose off. If it be an outlaw of mark, there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. Come along with me, girls--I will go first."
Her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did not seem at all to relish the adventure.
"Very well," exclaimed Elsie, "I shall have all the treasure to myself. See it, I will, at any rate."
So saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches, exactly as described by the brewer's maid. As the procession moved slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk to the churchyard. She trembled as she plainly perceived the tall, muffled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound.
Elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the procession had disappeared in the church. She now ventured to look around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then boldly advanced a little farther. With a beating heart she stood by the door of the choir, and peeped in. All was still and deserted, although lights were burning on the altar. Gliding noiselessly inside the church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature was visible. The trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was reflected upon the arches of the roof. She stood a moment, hesitating whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the trap-door, where, through a chink between the hinges, she was enabled to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she scarcely dared to breathe. Twelve armed men, with torches in their hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. A solemn silence prevailed. The priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the clergyman of the parish. The lid of the coffin was then raised, and she perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a knight.
"Now, priest, lay God's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before his death, although he loudly prayed for it. But now he shall take it with him, even were he banned by the holy George and all the archangels to boot."
"I do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as I have already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it."
"Perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. The lid of the coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church.
"Amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be deeply affected.
The procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl, springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in the church-door. She had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-passage--not until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from her lurking-place.
The church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still burning on the altar. The trap-door of the vault remained open, and she perceived that there was still a light below. She again stole forth, and peeped through the crevice. A lantern stood on the coffin, but all the warriors were gone. She took heart, and ventured a step or two within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with silver and jewels. Under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems.
"This would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she whispered to herself. "What wants the riever with it in the grave?"
The lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays, when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. But the rustling of armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror, and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave, cried--"Accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" She was now entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards insensible, into the vault.
"Rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and all the young men of Stubberup, who meanwhile had assembled to dance at the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in his hand.
"Go thou first, Christen Fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father; and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with a dozen."
While they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared.
The terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their paternosters; none doubting but that it was the Evil One himself whom they had seen. At length, recovering their courage, they ventured within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with horror the little Elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin, over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. They bore the maiden to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated, caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that night.
What the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but, three days after, Elsie was committed with all silence to the grave; and for many a day the story was told on Hindsholm, that she had been murdered by her old sweetheart, Mat Jute, because she would have plundered his master's grave.
The priest of Stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one after, wards dared to open it. Some time after, it was rumoured that Marsk Stig had been secretly buried in Rörvig Kirk, in Zealand, where, probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. In a short time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain, lest, as a man who died under the ban of the Church, his remains should be persecuted and maltreated. Some even propagated the report that the marsk did not die at Hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; by which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his memory.
But the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their wedding-night.[[43]]
The vehement Thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom during Drost Peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence that Drost Peter would not have sanctioned. This was in a great measure attributable to Junker Christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their accomplices were concerned.
The death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. Rané Jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon known that Hielm Castle had been stormed and demolished by Thorstenson. One evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near Helgeness, begging for shelter. These were the orphan daughters of Marsk Stig, who, in their flight from Denmark, found refuge and protection among the compassionate peasantry.
About this time the commandant of Sjöborg, the honest old Poul Hvit, was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being opened, gave admission to a troop of royal horsemen and two bound prisoners. Poul Hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners.
One of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together with a rope of coarse hair. As the commandant held the lantern to the prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty Jens Grand, who remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded position.
His companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous Provost Jacob of Lund. They had both been seized in Lund, in the king's name, by Junker Christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country in this humiliating manner.
The captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant, undersigned by Drost Thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest durance.
"Herregud! we are all sinful men!" ejaculated the castellan, as he obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before they were fettered.
Jarl Mindre-Alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in Haraldsborg. He had been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to the commandant of Roskild, new and important information respecting the outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete investigation.
On a dark night in November, a vessel, bearing the Danish flag and pennant, ran into Roskild Fiord. On the forecastle stood one whose long brown hair was partially concealed by a shaggy cap, whilst a pitched wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. A huge dog lay growling at his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes.
"The attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the knight: "should I be recognised, it will cost me my life."
"But 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a Norse accent, a youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever be, my crafty Rané. Yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free, and to-day thou refusest. It would cost thee but a word to the castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where thou hast so often landed for plunder. Nay, nay--this time, at least, thou shalt keep thy word."
It was Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, the brave Kirstine, who thus spoke, while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but affection. In conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she had compelled Rané personally to undertake in earnest what he had convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which no one except himself could accomplish. Rané had given the viking's daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered, with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she had dreamt of, when she followed him from Norway, and danced with him over the castle-bridge of Rypen. The chivalrous wooer soon became the rude and imperious spouse; and Kirstine's affection changed to contempt and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident participator in the king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw.
The only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped asunder. A ballad was already composed and sung in Norway on the unloving pair. It subsequently became popular in Denmark; and it has thus been recorded that the faithlessness of Rané to his former king, and the sympathy which Kirstine felt for the royal house, was frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. Their quarrel now took this complexion, while steering into Roskild Fiord.
"Beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered Rané: "he can see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake."
"Pity it was," replied Kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his chamberlain."
Rané was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to throw her overboard. "I betrayed not the king!" he cried. "Were they even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes."
The ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master, growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady.
"Have a care, Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, holding fast by the cordage. "Twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again happen. A single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee overboard. Had I known what kind of a knight thou wert, assuredly I should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide."
Rané ground his teeth with rage, and again assumed a threatening attitude.
"Beware!" whispered Kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage. "Think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of Finnerup! Dost hear the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? They know my sir husband, and apprehend mischief."
Rané, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the Norse boatmen singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:--
"'The wood has ears, the field has een,
And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'
"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared,
We need not from the land have fared.'
"Across the table he struck her sore--
'Beware this speech our guests before!'
"And he struck her on the cheek so red--
'I did not wish King Erik dead,
Though spurned by kith and kin.'"
"Dost hear?" again whispered Kirstine: "thou shouldst know the ballad well! If thou desirest not a worse ending, assist me now to save my father, and then I bid thee farewell for ever. But if thou shouldst act treacherously now, my trusty countrymen shall bind and carry thee to the King of Denmark."
"Be still, dearest Kirstine! I will do as thou desirest," whispered Rané, as he cast a fearful glance towards the sturdy boatmen, who appeared to be as faithful and vigilant a body-guard to their lady, as was the hound to the faithless knight.
The vessel soon lay to at a remote part of the fiord, where Rané and his wife landed, and proceeded in silence to the town. The hound followed; and, at a little distance behind, by a signal from Kirstine, the two sturdy boatmen.
They passed thus through the streets of Roskild, until they reached the prison-tower of Haraldsborg, near which a crowd was collected, listening to an old crone singing street-ballads. She was seated on a stone, and, although apparently blind, carried a lantern in her hand, while on her arm hung a tin-box, on which she accompanied her song, and into which her hearers now and then dropped a piece of money. The moon, which had now risen, shone brightly on the tower and on the people, who apparently had gathered there to catch a glimpse of the famous prisoner, and to amuse themselves with the gossip of the town.
"Saw you the drost?" asked a soldier: "such a carl!"
"Ah, Heaven help us!" exclaimed a burgher; "he is under bolt and bar at Nordborg; and, until he is free, we shall have neither peace nor luck in the land."
"Meanest thou Drost Hessel?" replied the soldier. "Ay, he truly was a brave gentleman; but 'twas the new drost I spoke of--he with the long beard: he's a tough carl, and, while he advises, neither rogues nor traitors shall long be safe in Denmark."
"How long stays he here?" asked the burgher.
"Only till the fleet is ready, and the landfolk assembled," answered the other. "The king then comes from Helsingborg, and we shall at the duke."
"Bravo! Drost Thorstenson is no fool!" cried a seaman: "he well knows there is no road to land except by sea."
"How so, friend?" asked a landsknecht: "was it not on land we got the holy banner, without which there is no road, either by sea or shore? Now, however, we go together; but if the Norsemen should land again, without leave, where were we without the landsmen then?"
"Well, my countryman," replied the seaman, "we will drink to good fellowship both on sea and land. You laid by the heels that sea-bear in the tower, where he shall no longer plunder and burn our sloops. Sing us the ballad anent the corbie in the tower there, carlin!" he cried, turning to the crone, "and thou shalt have a silver groat."
"How long will they allow him to remain there, and befool both bailiff and hangman?" inquired a burgher.
"Have you not seen the wheel outside the town?" replied the seaman: "he'll be safe anchored there in a week hence, for Drost David has sworn it. He was, to give the devil his due, a daring sea-cock; but two such rievers as the marsk and he would soon have sunk the country."
"Say you the algrev will be executed in a week hence?" exclaimed a young girl. "Alas, it is still a sad end for such a rich and distinguished gentleman!"
"Come, carlin, sing now!" cried the seaman: "here's my groat. Look! there he is, poking his head out of the hole. He wants to see if there be any good friends here to help him."
"Merciful Heavens! within a week. Heardst thou that, Rané?" exclaimed Kirstine, weeping, and involuntarily grasping the arm of her hated husband. "And, see, there he stands looking down to us. Haste thee, Rané, and save him! I will forgive thee all, and remain with thee, outlaw though thou be--only save him! save him! Thou canst if thou wilt."
"Be silent, or, by Satan, thou wilt betray me with thy whimpering!" quickly whispered Rané, as he looked anxiously around him.
And his fears were not unfounded, for some of the townspeople had already been suspiciously watching the two strange figures; although now the attention of all was attracted to the blind crone on the kerb-stone, who began to sing:--
"Sir Alf was born in Norraway,
Yet lists not there to bide,
Though fifteen lordships he doth own,
To keep his state and pride.[[44]]
"Alf wends upon the rampart green,
And cons with care his book;
There meets him Bendit Rimaardson,
Who is so dour of look.
"'What brings thee here, carl Mindre-Alf?
Thou art of courage rare:
If now thou'rt made king's prisoner,
The land no worse shall fare.'
"'But I am not Sir Mindre-Alf--
That is no name of mine:
A mass-boy, as thou seest, I am,
And fetch the priest some wine.'
"Bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap,<.p>
And looked him in the een--
'An I see right, thou art the Norse
Sir Mindre-Alf, I ween.'
"'And thou wert once a clerk with me,
I knew thee well at school,
And thou mayst not deny, that oft
Thou wrought'st us pain and dool.'
"'An be it thou, Bent Rimaardson,
And thou be kinsman true,
An oath, I wiss, thou'lt swear to-day,
That me thou never knew.'
"But now they've ta'en Jarl Mindre-Alf,
His feet in fetters bound--"
"Away!" shouted the landsknecht who guarded the prison-tower: "finish your screaming, carlin, and draw not the whole town hither; for whoever comes three steps nearer the keep, will assuredly have a lance run through his body."
The crowd drew back, and, with them, Rané, dragging along his wife, who still clung to his arm, assailing him with urgent entreaties to redeem his promise and save her father.
"Nay, it cannot be done!" exclaimed Rané, in an under tone: "I know well he has sworn my death and destruction, and now let him help himself!"
So saying, he attempted to shake off his wife, but she held him tightly. He then pulled his cap over his eyes to avoid being recognised; for, with increased terror, he now observed near him some of the late king's servants, whom he had been the means of disgracing at court.
"Leave me, woman!" he whispered "thou hast betrayed me--I am discovered!"
A growing murmur arose among the crowd, and the cry of "Rané, the outlawed chamberlain!" ran from mouth to mouth.
"Thou desirest, then, to cause my death, obstinate woman!" exclaimed Rané, with subdued vehemence; while, with a violent effort, he succeeded in freeing himself, and immediately took to flight.
"Seize him--seize him!" shouted the crowd: "it is Rané, the outlawed chamberlain! Seize the traitor!" And he was followed with loud cries by the enraged populace, who threatened to tear him in pieces. His hound, however, by furiously attacking his pursuers, several of whom he bit and frightened, enabled Rané to escape, both master and dog having suddenly disappeared in the vicinity of the Grayfriars' Convent; whilst Kirstine, amidst the confusion, was fortunately extricated from the crowd by her faithful boatmen.
Rané remained undiscovered for some days, during which, as it was known that he had many relatives among the grayfriars, the convent was strictly searched by Drost Thorstenson's orders, but no trace was found of the dangerous fugitive.
In a narrow street, and under a wooden shed that projected from the convent-wall, was a well, out of which a large, ferocious-looking dog had been observed to leap, by a girl who went there one morning early to draw water. She related the circumstance to her neighbours, who, from the description, inferred that it was the hound of the outlawed Rané. The authorities were forthwith apprised of the circumstance, and the well was examined; when, in it, and against the convent-wall, was found a ledge, which was reached with some difficulty. Here was discovered a strongly-barred door, which was soon broken open, and revealed a low narrow passage, leading to a dark and noisome hole between the double convent-walls. The first who ventured into this mysterious hiding-place was furiously attacked by the dog, which, however, after a desperate encounter, was at last overpowered and killed. By the aid of their lanterns, they then carefully searched the hole, but no trace of a human being was perceptible.
In one damp corner, swarming with toads and lizards, lay a heap of stones and gravel, into which, before leaving the spot, one of the soldiers accidentally thrust his lance. This action was followed by a smothered cry of pain: the gravel-heap was then speedily removed, and a sad and miserable spectacle exposed. Close in the corner, and huddled quite together, lay the outlaw Rané, so disfigured by mire and blood that he scarcely resembled a human creature. He sprang up, apparently irresolute whether to fight or fly, and was instantly seized and conducted to Haraldsborg, where the stern Drost Thorstenson, without further form or delay, sentenced him to death, in the king's name.
Three days after the capture of Rané, the new Dean of Roskild was returning, late in the evening, from a farmhouse in the neighbourhood, where he had been administering the last rites of the Church. Two young choristers rode before him, carrying torches; and the holy pix and anointing-cruse; under a screen, were borne by a couple of lay brothers. Their way lay by the place of execution, which was in a waste field outside of Roskild, and where the algrev and Rané had suffered the same morning. When the boys reached this spot, they became alarmed.
"Sir dean," said one of them, "it is not well to come this way."
"Proceed, children, in God's name!" answered the dean. "They cease now from troubling; and, with the Holiest in the midst of us, we need fear nothing."
The lads obeyed in silence; but, after advancing a few steps,
"See, see!" cried the younger of them--"there is something stirring up yonder."
"And look!" added the other, "now there is a light--candles are burning by the dead men."
"Ghosts and devilry!" exclaimed one of the lay brothers. "Read, reverend sir, read!"
The dean, who now also became alarmed, halted, and gazing towards the mound, on which the fatal wheels were distinctly visible, saw a female form, holding in her hand a torch, the light of which, falling full on her countenance, revealed an expression of the deepest grief, united with so much calmness, that she resembled a Niobe in marble; whilst a number of clumsy-looking fellows, in the garb of seamen, were quietly but hastily engaged in releasing the bodies of the two malefactors. This being accomplished, they deposited them in coffins, and, forming themselves into a procession, left the mound, bearing the two corses in their midst. The grave female figure preceded them with the torch; and the dean, who, with his subordinates, had not stirred, now perceived that she wore the scarlet mantle of a princess, or of the lady of some knight of eminence.
The funeral train took the road to the fiord, approaching close to where the dean was standing; but the calm, melancholy features of the lady remained unchanged, nor did the others who composed the procession seem at all concerned at the presence of the ecclesiastic and his assistants. The latter, folding their hands, remained in silent prayer; while, as the train passed by, and the holy pix glittered in the torchlight, the grave seamen bowed their heads, and the knight's lady knelt down, while tears streamed along her pale cheeks.
As if moved by sympathy, the dean, accompanied by the choristers, then commenced singing, in a deep clear voice, a holy vigil for the dead men's souls; which they continued until the whole procession had passed. The mourners soon disappeared at the fiord, whence, shortly afterwards, a vessel departed under full sail.
After the death of the marsk, Duke Waldemar had openly allied himself with the brave Norwegian king, and had sent to the young Danish monarch, and his mother the queen, a declaration of war, grounded on the demands which he himself, and his brother Prince Erik, advanced for the possessions of Svendborg and Langeland. The duke and the Norwegian had agreed to commence the war with their united fleets and armies; but the impatience of the duke would not allow him to wait the arrival of the Norse fleet; and he ran out boldly with his own, which he conducted into Grönsund, between Falster and Möen.
Sir John and the council resolved to take advantage of this imprudent step, and immediately issued orders to man a number of long-ships and cutters, for the purpose of attacking the duke. This fleet, with young King Erik himself on board the long-ship Old Waldemar, early one morning ran out of Issefiord, and proceeded through the Great Belt to Grönsund, where the vessels of the duke had come to anchor on the Falster coast. Sir John and the chancellor were on board the king's ship, together with the royal trabants, and a numerous body of knights, who, in full armour, only knew each other by their helmet jewels and armorial bearings.
Close to the king's vessel followed Count Gerhard, in his own long-ship, accompanied by a few sloops from Kiel, manned by brave Holsteiners. Thorstenson himself commanded one of the largest long-ships, and, in conjunction with Sir John, directed the movements of the whole fleet.
The commanders still pursued the ancient Danish mode of attacking a hostile fleet, seeking to break the position of the enemy by a vigorous and combined movement, and, by coming as soon as possible to close quarters, to allow the fate of the engagement to be decided, as in land battles, by numbers and personal courage. To this end, they immediately ordered the whole royal fleet to form in order of battle under the coast of Möen, and opposite the duke, bringing all the ships together in a single compact line, in the centre of which was the royal vessel, from whence the position of both fleets, which were nearly of equal force, could be easily seen. The duke, however, put only his largest long-ships into line, and these he brought into an advanced position; whilst he allowed the lighter and smaller sloops and cutters to remain behind, with sails unbent, close under the coast of Falster.
In all the vessels of the king's fleet, the awning was then taken down which served to protect the deck from the inclemency of the weather. On the poop of the Old Waldemar, surrounded by the most valiant of the royal knights, himself the tallest and strongest amongst them, stood the standard-bearer, holding aloft the royal banner--the dark parti-coloured standard of the murdered king, with its numerous keys, wheels, and other remarkable symbols. The hold was filled with the common soldiers, who, besides sword and javelin, were armed with bows and slings, while a portion of them had the superintendence of the heavy war-machines; and at the stern, having the command of the whole vessel, stood the steersman, whose office, in the king's ship, was filled by old Sir John.
The young king, who, with the Chancellor Martinus, stood by his side, now exclaimed--
"Explain to me, Sir John, why the duke allows his sloops to lie detached behind the long-ships? Drost Peter, I remember, once informed me that Waldemar Seier and old King Waldemar did the same, when they had to deal with a stronger foe, and feared to hazard their whole force at once. But cannot the duke now surround us with his sloops, and fall upon our rear?"
"We will not give him time for that," replied Sir John. "When we have first saluted him at a distance, we will row rapidly forwards, working our slings and rams; and when we are once alongside of him, the engagement can be terminated sword in hand."
"The Almighty grant us victory!" exclaimed the chancellor. "Before you give the signal for battle, Sir John, we must permit our people to think of their souls, and to pray the Lord of victory to aid us."
"In God's name! But let it be soon and short, for there is little time to spare, and the Lord shields his own."
The chancellor then, accompanied by several ecclesiastics, began a war-hymn, in which all the soldiers and fighting-men joined; whilst many, including the young king, followed the example of the chancellor and clerks, and reverently bent the knee.
Scarcely was the solemn war-hymn ended, before the standard-bearer, at Sir John's order, gave the signal for battle by waving the royal flag three times over his head; and in a moment, although it was clear noon, the sky was darkened with the arrows and stones, projected simultaneously from every sling and bow on board the royal ships. This attack was answered by a similar discharge of missiles from the duke's fleet, the foreign soldiers in which now sent forth their wild war-cries.
Sir John had ordered a shieldburg[[45]] to be formed around the young king and the clergymen, through which, however, many arrows pierced, while the stones and other missiles rattled on the bucklers with a frightful din. On the royal vessel there alighted such an enormous mass of stones, that it was evident the duke had concentrated his attack on it alone. A few men fell, and many were wounded; but the distance was still too great for these missiles to take much effect.
On board the king's ship, the standard-bearer now again waved the royal banner, and the entire fleet rowed rapidly forward, while the heavy engines of war were put in preparation. At the stern of the king's vessel was placed an immense prow-hog, which, with its spiked and sharp iron crest, broke into the centre of the duke's fleet, and, at the first blow, parted two long-ships, thus forcing the duke to fight his own vessel without aid from the others.
At the same instant, the sea-rams were vigorously worked. These consisted of heavy beams, cased in iron, which, suspended by chains from the masts, were swung with crushing effect against the enemies' vessels. The duke possessed no such heavy machines; and it was soon apparent that the royalists had gained a considerable advantage in this first assault, great confusion having been produced in the enemies' fleet, the line of which was already almost entirely broken.
It was, however, speedily evident that the lighter arms of the duke were not less dangerous. He seemed not yet desirous of boarding, but, with his light vessels, evaded the advancing line of heavy battle-ships; whilst, besides arrows, stones, and bolts, he continued to shower upon them great numbers of caltrops, and of fire-pots, filled with pitch, brimstone, and oil. The latter were set on fire with tow, and, as they fell, cast forth flames, which, seizing upon the sails and cordage, created great damage and confusion in the royal fleet.
The duke immediately availed himself of this to order an attack on its rear by his smaller vessels. When he heard, by the shouting, that this was in execution, and became sure that the royalists would have to fight in opposite directions and with divided strength he no longer avoided the attempt to board, but ran his own long-ship close up to that of the king.
Thorstenson, who had quickly perceived this cunning manœuvre, commanded the cables by which the royal ships were bound together to be immediately cut asunder, in order that he might secure a more advantageous position; but the caltrops had produced so much disorder, and the fire-pots taken such effect, that the men were fully occupied in extinguishing the flames, and in defending themselves against the boarders, who now threatened them on both sides.
In this extremity young Erik, who stood by the side of the chancellor, with his sword in one hand and a javelin in the other, observed the duke near him, preparing to leap on board the blazing vessel. The sight of the duke enraged him. "'Twas an unchivalrous piece of cunning, Duke Waldemar!" he cried, at the same time dashing at him his javelin, which struck the feather of the duke's helmet, and carried away its jewel.
At this a shout of delight broke forth on board the king's ship, and, abandoning their efforts to extinguish the fire, the whole crew rushed forward, to repulse the duke's boarders.
"Be calm, brave countrymen!" shouted Sir John. "Let us first quench the fire, and then reckon with them for our house-warming!"
Both fire and attack raged most fiercely at the prow, and the standard-bearer, forced to defend himself, had been obliged to fix the banner in a plank by his side, where it was soon caught by the flames, and fell hissing into the water. This incident, while it raised a wild shout of joy on board the duke's fleet, greatly disheartened the royalists, who regarded it as an unlucky omen.
"My father's banner has fallen!" exclaimed the young king, in a tone of melancholy; "no good fortune attended it."
"That of your great ancestor was always victorious, my royal master!" exclaimed the chancellor.
"But it, alas, lies in the duke's stronghold in Sleswick," sighed the king. "The Lord, however, can still aid us."
"His help is near when we call upon Him," replied the chancellor: "therefore be comforted, sir king!--But see you yonder fisherman, and in what he is engaged?"
While the king was gazing in the direction indicated by the chancellor, the duke saw with astonishment that the crews on board his vessels were slipping and reeling about like drunken men; and he now first perceived, running boldly to and fro among his fleet, a small fishing-boat, in which stood a tall man, in a black leathern mail, casting pots of soap on board the ships. On some of the vessels, too, fell pots of finely powdered lime, which blinded the fighting-men; while, to increase his dismay, some of the vessels began to fill and sink. In the midst of the terror and confusion thus occasioned, a daring black-haired swimmer was seen, with a large auger in his hand, diving here and there under the ships.
"Shoot the accursed fisherman! crash the swimmer's head!" furiously cried the duke. "Board--storm--all hands!"
The boarding soon became general. No one could any longer stand on the slippery deck of the duke's ship; and as the fire had fortunately been extinguished in that of the king, there then commenced a hot and serious conflict, in which the combatants fought man to man, and in which many fell on both sides. Thorstenson, in whose long-ship the battle also raged furiously, fought heroically, many falling by his hand. Count Gerhard, too, reaped laurels. His ship lay opposite to that of Duke Erik of Langeland, Duke Waldemar's brother, and generally known as Duke Longlegs. By the side of his master, in the equipments of a squire, stood the old jester, who, when the duke appeared on the point of boarding them, exclaimed--
"See! there comes my illustrious namesake with the long legs! Hide your lady's veil, stern sir, that it may not be again torn!"
Count Gerhard, in the spirit of chivalry and as a defiance to Duke Waldemar, had attached the queen's veil to his breastplate; but, that he might not now lose it in the fray, he took the advice of his jester, and placed it under his mail.
"We shall not run now from hares or cats, stern sir," said the jester, while a roguish smile dispelled the gravity of his countenance.
But this remark touched his good-natured master in the tenderest point, by reminding him of an unfortunate encounter with the Ditmarshers, wherein his troops were really first thrown into disorder by a hare or cat.
"Now, by Satan! Longlegs, I shall strike thee dead!" cried the count, as he furiously brandished his sword.
"Spare your wrath for the proper Longlegs--see, here he is!" replied the jester, as he stepped back, and pointed towards the forecastle, where Duke Erik came storming onwards.
"The fiend take all the Longlegs!" shouted the count, as he rushed forward to the combat.
The royal ship continued to be closely pressed upon from every side. Old Sir John had some trouble to protect the young king, who insisted on leaving the shieldburg to take part in the fray. The duke himself had struck down the standard-bearer, and, springing on board at the forecastle, he was now, backed by his bravest knights, fiercely engaged on the rowing-deck with the royal trabants. At every stroke he seemed to cut out for himself a path, by which he was advancing nearer to the king.
Sir John had placed himself in the narrow passage that led from deck to deck, where with calm energy he defended the entrance to the poop, where stood the king, between the chancellor and Squire Aagé Jonsen, in front of the ecclesiastics. A vigorous stroke from the duke at length reached Sir John's helmet, which fell cloven from his gray head, while the old man himself sank bleeding between the rowing-benches.
At this sight the king sprang forward. "By all holy men!" he exclaimed, "that stroke you shall atone for with your blood, most treacherous duke!"
He became furious, and, shaking off all restraints, rushed forward, and had slightly wounded the duke, when, in his eagerness, he stumbled over a bench. The trabants, who had each an opponent to encounter, did not observe the imminent danger of the king; but his squire, Aagé Jonsen, darting forward, now closed with the duke, while Chancellor Martinus placed himself, with his mass-book in his hand, between young Erik and the combatants. Soon, however, the youthful monarch stood again prepared for battle, but the chancellor restrained him. Squire Aagé, unable to cope with the duke as a swordsman, and bleeding from many wounds, was already beginning to give way, when the chancellor, who had raised his hands and eyes towards heaven in supplication, suddenly exclaimed--
"Behold, behold! Danebrog, Danebrog! The Lord sends us victory--hoc signo victoria!"[[46]]
The joyful shout of "Danebrog! Danebrog!" was now raised by the royalists; and the duke, on looking up, perceived before him, on a rowing-bench, the well-known Danebrog flag, in the hands of a tall knight, clad in steel blue harness, and with open visor. It was Drost Peter, in whom, with mingled rage and fear, the duke recognised the blue knight of the tourney, and saw the well-known lion-hilted dagger gleaming in his uplifted right hand.
"Ha! thou--my deadly foe!" he cried, rushing madly towards him; but his vision forsook him, and he heard but the clash against his breastplate of the dagger, which, glancing aside, remained deep in his left shoulder. Uttering a cry of terror, he let fall his sword, and reeled backwards.
"Fly, fly! God has doomed us!" he cried, wildly, as, with a desperate leap, he regained his own ship.
His knights followed him, and, perceiving the battle was lost, quickly hoisted sail and took to flight, leaving the victory in the hands of the royalists.
The sudden appearance of the Danebrog seemed to have rendered every man of the king's soldiers invincible. From Thorstenson's ship arose a loud shout of victory; and Count Gerhard had also so entirely cleared his decks, that the severely wounded Duke Erik, finding himself nearly alone, sprang overboard, and saved his life by swimming to his brother's vessel. The royal ships were filled with slain or captured foemen; whilst of the duke's fleet, which was altogether broken up, a number of vessels were sunk, and others captured--the duke himself escaping with great difficulty and danger.
Old Sir John, whose wound had been bound up, now received, with feelings of pleasure, the thanks of the king for the brave defence he had made. His wound was not dangerous; although the heavy blow had stunned him, and he felt with regret that he could no longer wield his sword as in his youthful days. From the poop, and over the heads of the king and the aged knight, waved the sacred Dannebrog banner, which had been entrusted to the custody of the trabants by Drost Peter, whilst he hastened to aid Thorstenson in completing the victory. In the tumult of battle, only a few had recognised him.
"The Almighty be praised!" cried the chancellor, kneeling, and raising his folded hands towards heaven, as, with a loud voice, he began to chaunt the Te Deum laudamus, in which the ecclesiastics joined, and during which the king and Sir John, with all else on board, continued reverently kneeling.
Scarcely was the solemn hymn of victory ended, before the chivalrous Drost Peter and Thorstenson were observed in a fishing-boat, hastening towards the king's ship, accompanied by old Henner Friser and Skirmen. The drost sprang on board, and congratulated the king on his victory, whilst, with a loud exclamation of delight, the young victor rushed into his arms.
"Thou it was--thou it was!" cried young Erik--"thou broughtest me victory with my ancestor's banner."
Drost Peter bowed his head, and raised his hand solemnly towards heaven.
"Yea, the Lord be praised! for from Him alone comes victory!" exclaimed the king, with emotion, whilst he again embraced his faithful friend.
Drost Peter was greatly exhausted by his hurried journey. He had been fearful of arriving too late for the battle, and had also suffered much, after his escape from prison, in his exertions to obtain possession of the important banner, whose singular influence on the people, ever since the days of Waldemar Seier, was well known; it being their pious belief that, with this their national standard, and with confidence in God, they were sure to conquer. Its effect on Duke Waldemar had also been of vital importance. His right arm was paralysed from the moment when Drost Peter returned him the traitor-dagger, stained with the heart's-blood of King Erik Christopherson, and it was now with reason hoped that he would never more raise it against the crown of Denmark.
Drost Peter's unexpected arrival produced great joy on board the king's ship. All crowded around him, while he briefly related how old Henner, with Aasé and Skirmen, had contrived to procure his escape from Nordborg Castle, and assisted him in obtaining possession of the national standard. He then presented to the king the faithful old Henner and the active squire, both of whom had contributed to the victory--the latter by boring the holes in the enemy's vessels; while the idea of the soap and lime, which the king considered more novel than chivalrous, belonged altogether to Henner, who had pretended to the drost that he had a design of trading in these articles.
"Kneel!" said the young king, turning to Skirmen: "I shall dub thee a knight, for thou hast merited the honour, and I exempt thee from the usual proofs."
With tears of joy in his dark eyes, and an exclamation of gratitude, the brave squire knelt and received the stroke of knighthood in the name of God and the Holy Virgin.
The king then beckoned to Aagé Jonsen, whose numerous yet not dangerous wounds had, meanwhile, been bound up. "Thou, too," said the king--"thou hast defended my life today like a hero, as thou didst at Tornborg."
Aagé knelt in silence, and arose a knight.
"I desire not knighthood on account of the soap-pots, sir king," said old Henner; "but, by my troth, the soap was capital--and the carls required it much."
"If thou canst not be a knight, ingenious old man," replied the king, "thou canst be a steersman, and such from this day thou art."
Old Henner was greatly affected: he spoke not a word, but bent his knee, and kissed the hand of the young king, who, however, hastily withdrew it, for a tear which had fallen from the old warrior's eyes had scalded him.
In the midst of the general joy, Count Gerhard had come on board, when, after having heartily embraced Drost Peter, both he and Thorstenson received the thanks and commendations of the king, who now heard in detail how matters had fared in the count's ship, and how Duke Longlegs had sprung overboard.
"Take the fleetest boat, Count Gerhard," said the king, extending his hand to him, "and proceed to Helsingborg, where my mother, the queen, is expecting tidings of us. Carry her the account of our victory, and I promise you that you shall then obtain what you have so long and so ardently desired."
On hearing these words, the brave count could no longer constrain himself. He embraced the king, Drost Peter, old Henner, the jester, and, in fact, every one around him, and with difficulty refrained from taking the young king in his sturdy arms, and dancing with him on the poop.
"Shame befall me," he cried, "if there shall not be a dance at Helsingborg, in which I'll share." And in an instant he stood in Henner's fishing-boat. "Sir Steersman Henner," he exclaimed, "you shall take me to Helsingborg. Nobody steers a boat like you."
"Right willingly," cried Henner, following him into the boat. "I promised you good luck, and you see I have kept my word."
The boat was already leaving the king's ship, when one long leg, followed by another, came sprawling over the gunwale: the long-shanked jester would follow his happy master.
The rumour that the great sea-fight was expected to take place in Grönsund, had reached Helsingborg the same day on which it was fought. On that evening Queen Agnes, in great anxiety, sat in her closet, and every other moment quitted her seat to gaze out over the Sound. That the young king was with the fleet she knew; and that her devoted knight and suitor, Count Gerhard, who had gone to his aid, would dare the utmost, she felt certain. On leaving Kiel to join the fleet, he had sent to her a formal declaration of his love; and her affectionate answer to his letter now lay on the table before her, ready to be forwarded to him on the following day. She had despatched three fleet skiffs, one after the other, to bring her intelligence from Grönsund; but they had encountered a storm in the Sound, and were now all three beating about off Dragoe, when Count Gerhard, in Henner's little fishing-boat, passed them.
"The cross shield us--they will perish!" cried the seamen from Helsingborg, when, by the moonlight, they perceived the little fishing-yawl driven by, and every instant threatened with destruction by the surging billows.
The queen was ignorant of this her lover's danger; but the violence of the storm augmented her apprehensions concerning the battle. To conceal her anxiety, she had directed her ladies to retire, and, in her present loneliness, she felt as if her own and Denmark's fate depended on the message she that night expected. All the gloomy images of her chequered life seemed united in one single event, which threatened entirely to crush her heart, and banish that bright hope in which she had found a recompense for all her losses, and a comfort for all her misfortunes. If the battle were lost, and the young king slain, then would there be an end of Denmark's freedom and of her own maternal joy; and, if the trusty Count Gerhard had fallen, then was her letter to him, which now lay before her, but a mournful testimony of the great and true happiness she had lost.
The night passed on: the wax-lights flickered on the table, and the storm howled in the chimney, but the queen still sat, sorrowfully contemplating her letter to Count Gerhard, in the seal of which she was represented as kneeling in a church before a virgin and child, with a winged cherub holding a crown above her head.[[47]]
"Take the crown, Lord, and guard it," she sighed, "but let not the angel fly away. Leave him to watch over me, and over him who is dearer to me than all the crowns in the world."
She had drawn forth her diary, in which the dearest of all her heart's confessions was not yet expressly inscribed, although in the latter portions of it Count Gerhard was mentioned oftener than herself, especially from the time when she had presented him with her veil, and chosen him her knight and protector.
The image of her faithful knight had subdued every anxious thought in the heart of the fair queen, when suddenly there arose an unusual noise from the gardens beneath her window. She approached the balcony, and, by the moonlight, perceived a crowd of people on the quay, where the pilots were engaged in dragging a small boat through the surf; and in the next moment she heard the shout of "Victory, victory! The count--the one-eyed count!" She uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving, and, overcome with joy, tottered to a seat in her inmost apartment.
Shortly after, the palace resounded with the joyful tidings of victory; and, within an hour, the queen, surrounded by her entire court, stood in the brilliantly illuminated audience-chamber, where the fortunate bearer of the intelligence knelt, and laid at her feet his sword and the banner of the vanquished enemy.
Whilst the whole palace shone with light, and re-echoed with sounds of mirth and festivity, Count Gerhard learned from the queen's own lips what was contained in the letter with the red seal on her table, and his happiness was complete.
The joy created by this victory was soon after increased by the tidings, that the fortress of Hunehal, in Halland, had been stormed by the royalists, and the proud Count Jacob taken prisoner. The victory itself was followed by important results; for the Norwegian king, who, with his fleet, had arrived too late, abandoned altogether his expedition against Denmark; and shortly after a friendly meeting between the two monarchs took place at Hindsgavl, where a truce was concluded preliminary to a treaty of peace, which in its conditions should be equally honourable to both kingdoms. Duke Waldemar, too, through his ambassadors, had proposed terms which could be accepted; and, after the convention of Hindsgavl, no further measures were taken against the outlaws, who, however, were strictly forbidden ever to show themselves in the presence of the King of Denmark.
On a fine clear day in autumn great festivities and rejoicings were held at Helsingborg Castle. It was the bridal day of the fair Queen Agnes and Count Gerhard, whose sister, the dowager Queen Hedvig of Sweden, together with the entire Danish and Swedish courts, were present. The rejoicings, which were intended to celebrate at once a victory, a peace, and a marriage, were attended with a tournament, in the tilting of which, however, Count Gerhard took no part. He sat in the royal balcony, by the side of Queen Agnes; and although he seemed in some constraint in his fine bridal suit, yet the joy that sparkled in his honest eye showed him to be supremely happy; whilst, from the noble features of his majestic regal bride, beamed an expression of unsurpassed sweetness.
Next to her, and as Denmark's future queen, the little Princess Ingeborg was the object of universal admiration and knightly homage. During the tourney she sat, well pleased and happy, by the side of the young, chivalrous King Erik, where they conversed together with all the tenderness of brother and sister. Sir John had to dash away a tear of joy from his aged eyes when he looked upon this youthful pair, who, with innocent childish glee, were playing only, as it were, at bridegroom and bride, unconscious of any other affection than that which they felt, with mutual ardour, for the land and people over whom they were destined to rule.
With similar feelings the Swedish knights and nobles regarded the young King Berger and the little Danish Princess Mereté, who, also, as parties affianced, sat side by side, witnessing the tournament.
On this occasion, the prize was won by Drost Peter Hessel, who, bowing profoundly, received it from the hand of the fair Queen Agnes, whilst, as his eyes glanced over the brilliant ranks of dames, they rested with a look of intense affection on the tall lady who occupied the chief seat among the damsels of the Princess Ingeborg. It was Jomfru Ingé Little, whom he had not seen since they parted in Kolding Fiord. Her father, he was aware, still lay a prisoner in Kallundborg Castle, it being only in tenderness to the feelings of Sir John that the king had so long deferred his sentence, because his treason was manifest, although his participation in the late king's murder yet wanted proof.
Jomfru Ingé had been absent from the tournament until that moment, and Drost Peter had inquired for her in vain. Great was his joy, therefore, on now beholding her; but it soon changed to anxious grief, when he perceived the impress of a deep sorrow on her beautiful countenance; while her look, cast on the ground, seemed studiously averted from his. He hastily left the lists, and retired, to indulge his melancholy, near the Sound, whilst the royal parties and their respective attendants re-entered the riddersal, where the nuptials were farther to be celebrated with a ball and sumptuous banquet.
Drost Peter stood long by the Sound, gazing steadfastly in the direction of Flynderborg. The days of his childhood came before him, and his thoughts reverted to the time when, as a knight and drost, he had again seen his childhood's bride, and heard her sing with animation of--
"The king who ruled the castle,
And eke ruled all the land."
The dangerous position in which his king and country had been placed allowed him of late but little time to think of his own heart's affairs; but now the sorrowful image of Jomfru Ingé had awakened in his soul a powerful desire to achieve her happiness, and partake it with her. That she should feel grief for her father and his uncertain fate, was but natural; but why she should now seek to avoid her true and attached knight, and even to deny him a kindly look, he could not comprehend. The thought that she might have forgotten him for a more fortunate suitor, for an instant only, like a threatening demon, crossed his mind, but did not reach his heart. He remembered how he had regarded, as a messenger of love from her, every friendly bird that twittered outside the gratings of his prison; and, shaking his head, with a melancholy smile he repeated the beautiful verses of the old ballad:--
"A bird so small from the white strand flew,
And she sang, Where is my heart's love true?
"A bird so small o'er the sea flew wide,
And he sang, O where is my own true bride?"
"God strengthen and cheer you, my dear sir drost!" exclaimed the kindly voice of young Sir Aagé Jonsen, interrupting his reverie. "I have been looking for you," he continued, "for I know you are not happy; and yet this is a day of rejoicing such as has hardly ever been seen in Denmark. The noble Queen Agnes is now happy, and our young king dances blithely with his affianced bride. There is no longer a traitor in the country, and Denmark's throne again stands firm. We have peace and happy times in prospect, sir drost."
"For which I thank Him who has succoured us," replied Drost Peter. "His hand has wonderfully averted the danger, and blessed the crown of the Waldemars on the head of our youthful king. I, too, ought to be happy today; but, my dear Aagé, there are sorrows of which thou knowest not yet."
"I have, nevertheless, already known great ones," replied his grave pupil; "and I guess that which now oppresses you--the noble Jomfru Ingé--"
"She, alas, is unhappy, Aagé, and will not be consoled while her father lies in Kallundborg."
"Our young king is all too stern, in rejecting every petition on his behalf," sighed Aagé. "I have, however, heard a rumour, dear sir drost--whether well or ill founded, I know not--which yet may prove worthy of your investigation. It is said that Sir Lavé Little has promised his daughter's hand to the knight who procures his pardon from the king; and that you, knowing this, either cannot or will not fulfil the conditions."
Drost Peter was startled. "He barters, then, his daughter's happiness for his own freedom," he exclaimed, in a tone of contempt. "At that I am not astonished. But what says Ingé? Will she submit to be a sacrifice for her father's sins?"
"Know you not that she has so resolved?" asked Aagé anxiously; "and are you not aware that the rich Sir Thord, from Kongshelle, is here, with four ships laden with treasure, which he intends offering to the king as the ransom of Sir Lavé Little? I myself saw him but now in the riddersal, where he was waiting until the king left the dance, to confer alone with him in his closet, and--"
"Just Heaven!" exclaimed Drost Peter, "this shall not be! I will myself entreat him for Sir Lavé's freedom: he cannot--he must not refuse me!"
"Hasten, then, sir drost. Sir Thord is perhaps already with the king. Alas, I thought you knew of this, but would or could not--Haste, haste!"
Pale and agitated, the drost hurried to the riddersal, where his eye ran through the rows of dancers. The triumphant Count Gerhard, with his fair and majestic bride--the young King Berger, with Princess Mereté--and Skirmen, in his new knight's suit, with the lively Aasé Hennersdaughter, tripped gaily down the hall; while, among the ladies of the Princess Ingeborg, he quickly descried Jomfru Ingé, who sat, pale and motionless, gazing with a calm, fixed look on all before her.
The drost perceived not the king, and his eyes began to swim; but, accosting a bustling chamberlain, he asked him, falteringly--"Where is the king?"
"In his closet," was the answer.
"With whom?"
"Sir Thord, from Kongshelle."
He turned, and darted from the riddersal.
Count Gerhard and King Berger led their ladies from the dance, as King Erik re-entered gravely, accompanied by Drost Peter, the expression of whose features indicated the greatest anxiety. The king advanced to the Princess Ingeborg, who was seated by his mother's side, and, at his signal, the dancing ceased, the music was hushed, and the attention of all forcibly arrested.
"Noble Princess Ingeborg," said the young king, aloud and solemnly, "inform Drost Peter Hessel that King Erik of Denmark can never forget what he promised his dead father; but that Denmark's future queen gives him the right to declare Sir Lavé Little's pardon and freedom."
"Thanks, thanks, Erik!" exclaimed the little princess, springing up joyfully: "thou hast kept thy word, and enabled me to make my dear Ingé happy." Then, turning to Drost Peter, she repeated to him the king's words, and led the astonished Ingé into his arms.
Great was the joy of the faithful pair, in which all present seemed to participate. At a signal from the king, the music again commenced; and, when the damsels began to sing--
"On Rypen streets the dance goes light--
The castle it is won!
There dance the knights so gaily dight--
For Erik the king so young!"
the hearts of Drost Peter and Jomfru Ingé glowed with that same warm feeling of love for king and fatherland which first knit their souls together. They joined the giddy maze; and, whilst the damsels entwined the king and the dancers with a single long garland of flowers, Jomfru Ingé, in her true knight's arms, sang with animation--
"So boldly dance we thus, I ween,
With true hearts under scarlet sheen--
The kingdom it is won!
"Never saw I a rosy dance
So gaily trode, and eyes so glance--
For Erik the king so young!"