"Pshaw! Kysté; who says thou art to suffer it, and leave him in the lurch?" interrupted Morten. "We all want to have him out; but we would not be as fools, trying to burst open the doors with their own thick skulls. Force will not help us here--do but as I bid thee, and keep thy courage until we want it."
"Morten is right, Kysté," began the other Lollander, with a hideous grin, which displayed his projecting teeth. "Thou art a mad bull, and art ever ready to push with thy horns. Why haste so desperately to get him out? he was a good and generous man of God while he was in power, 'tis true, but since he hath lain in Sjöborg we have heard no great things of him, and have not been blessed with the sight of a stiver from his hand."
"Dull cod-fish!" replied Johan Kysté, hastily; "believest thou not what honest Morten hath vowed and promised us in the bishop's name? As soon as we get him out we are his steersmen at Bornholm, and get leave to catch what we can throughout the king's dominions."
"Hold, comrade," said Morten, correcting him. "It is only so long as the breach lasts between the king and the archbishop, that he gives you leave to drive that trade: it is only in the service of the church, and the pious bishop, that it may be lawful and Christian for a time; afterwards ye must content yourselves with what he gives you of his own, and lead quiet lives: but ere this day twelvemonth, you may feather your nests finely. Now begone, and neglect not what ye have taken upon ye, for the sake of other desperate pranks! I will not have you longer with me: if any one caught me in such fair company, they might take a fancy to hang me up by the side of you, for honest companionship's sake."
"Ho! ho! wouldst thou play the lordling, Morten?" said the one-eyed; "what higher honour couldst thou look for, thou turnspit!--But hark! what was that? are there hunters in the wood so early?"
The sound of hunting-horns, the tramp of horses, and the baying of hounds, was heard in the neighbourhood: the three wanderers hastened forward a few paces, but soon suddenly sprang aside in different directions.
"S'death! the king and all his courtiers!" exclaimed Morten, sheltering himself behind a large beech tree by the road side, while both his suspicious-looking comrades hid themselves among the thick brushwood.
A numerous hunting train drew near; at the head rode the young king, between the Drost and the Marsk: it was a noble sight to see the young chivalrous King Eric on horseback. He rode a tall milk-white horse, which seemed proud of its burden, and often fell into the artificial dancing-pace to which it was used in the tilt and tournay. Its bridle and saddle accoutrements glittered with gold and precious stones: the silken rein with which the king managed his steed was the only compulsory means to which it would submit; the slightest touch of the golden rowel in the king's spur caused it to rear almost upright, and for any other than the king it seemed rash and dangerous to bestride the proud animal. The king himself was a noble-looking youth, with a manly and determined, almost a stern, cast of countenance; but his long fair locks imparted a softness to this expression, which, in Eric's milder moods, called to mind the portraits of the Saviour's best beloved Apostle, leaning his head on his Master's breast. The young king had a dignified and chivalrous deportment, the effect of which was heightened by the almost dazzling splendour of his attire, which appeared indeed unsuited to a hunting party. The tall white plume in his hat sparkled with small silver stars; and the green hunting dress, bordered with ermine, was so richly broidered with silken lions, and golden hearts, that it resembled a shining suit of armour.
The splendour in which the young king appeared to delight was also conspicuous in his train. Drost Aagé, who rode at the king's right hand, was of the same age with King Eric, and had not yet attained his twenty-second year. He had been the king's playmate and confidant from childhood upwards, and now possessed his entire confidence and favour. There was a mild but almost melancholy seriousness in the expression of Drost Aagé's countenance, which gave him the appearance of being older than the king. He had thrown his dark blue mantle over the back of his smoking palfrey, by way of covering; and his rich silken dress was besprinkled with the foam of the king's restless and chafing steed, upon which he appeared to keep a watchful eye.
Marsk Niels Oluffsen, who rode at the king's left hand, was a tall strong-built man, of about thirty years and upwards, with a sharp, rough, warrior-like countenance, and stiff deportment. Next to Drost Aagé, he was the king's most indispensable counsellor, and was an exceedingly brave and doughty knight; but there was a tinge of haughtiness and severity in his looks and manner which frequently aroused the feelings of independence, and wounded the self-love, of his inferiors. Even the king and Drost Aagé, who were fully his equals in knightly prowess, and far surpassed him in tact and talent, often felt unpleasantly repulsed by his rough and blunt bearing, of which he was himself so unconscious that nothing astonished him more than whenever his uncouth roughness and self-confidence drove friends as well as enemies from him.