"But a letter, craving pardon of the holy father, will certainly be necessary, my liege! In the matter of the archbishop, reconciliation and clemency must in a great measure supersede justice."
"No, Aagé; I ask but justice; I ask no mercy of man, and in this matter none need expect mercy from me--let the pope judge between me and Grand! the mystery of unrighteousness shall be brought to light as surely as there is justice under the sun. If I am myself wrong in any thing, which well may chance, it is time enough to think of penitence and penance when doom is pronounced."
"But the dispensation?" said Aagé.
"That I will dispense with in case of need; what hath been granted to a hundred others cannot be denied the King of Denmark.--Should it be denied, it is unjust; but an injustice to which I will not submit. Yet, seat thyself, Aagé; not a word more of these vexatious affairs,--my soul is weary of them. Come," he continued, gaily; "now thou shalt hear a love poem: my dear Ingeborg hath herself written it out for me. Duchess Euphemia hath sent it to her from Norway; it will soon be read, both in Norwegian and Swedish. Here thou shalt see what a chivalrous lover can go through, and how fortune and our Lord are ever with all true and constant lovers." The king now sat down before the table, and read, in an animated tone, out of the adventures of Florez and Blanzeflor, which, however, were already known to Aagé.
"Tristan I prefer, it is true," said the king; "and our own old love-songs seem far more beautiful to me; but this book I especially like to have in my hand. Think! she has copied every word with her own lovely fingers."
Meanwhile evening drew on. The vesper bell rang, and the king went with Aagé to the church of the monastery, where he joined in the devotions of the Franciscans and the people, which however were not as calm and undisturbed as usual.
As the night drew on the anxiety increased in the town with every hour. A general stillness prevailed; lights glimmered in all the houses; no one seemed any where to slumber. Around the beleaguered castle no sound was heard save the steps and clashing arms of the sentinels. Here and there a watch-fire gleamed in the cold winter's night, around which silent warriors, wrapped in ample mantles, were standing in groups; without the monastery Drost Aagé's horsemen were on guard. The Drost and Count Henrik rode up and down around the castle walls, where the faint clashing of weapons and the moving of heavy machines of defence were heard.
By Aagé's counsel sentinels were also posted on the public quay south-east of the castle, and on the ancient sea-tower at the north-western extremity of the town, where there was also a landing-place, together with a now deserted and decayed fortification: this spot he deemed especially important whenever it might be desirable to cut off all possible communication with the castle. At midnight Aagé himself stood in the clear still starlight beside the solitary tower, at Count Henrik's side, and looked out on the bay, while they considered from what quarter the castle wall might best be mounted. While thus employed, Aagé observed a little fishing-boat, which lay half hidden under the mouldering rampart of the sea-tower; and just as he was going to draw Count Henrik's attention to it he saw a head, with a shaggy cap and a large scar resembling a hare-lip between the nose and mouth, peer forth from behind a half-fallen pillar close beside him. The prying head, however, instantly withdrew behind the pillar, and Aagé thought he recognised the notorious robber and incendiary, the Lolland deserter, Olé Ark, who had often been pursued, and who it was believed had been concerned in the archbishop's flight. Without any long deliberation he nodded to Count Henrik, and drew his sword; but at the same instant the fellow sprang out of his hiding-place, and fled down towards the rampart to the boat.
"Stop him!" shouted Aagé to the farthest sentinel, who stood with his lance in his hand, and his back leaning against the rampart, gazing out on a distant vessel, without observing the fugitive.
Just as the Drost's voice reached the ear of the sentinel, and he was about to turn round, he felt the stab of a dagger in his back, and fell to the earth with a groan of anguish, while the deserter rushed past him with the weapon glittering in his hand, and sprang into the boat.