"Not a word!" interrupted the king, with vehemence; "would you make me a faithless perjurer? In the castle you are besieging I have promised peace and safety to my deadly foe. I break not my word, even were it pledged to the devil. If a hair of his head hath been injured it shall cost you dear. Take my halberdier with you, Count Henrik--put him under knightly arrest at the castle! To-morrow he shall be judged for his lawless conduct. Take my greeting and assurance of peace to the bishop and cardinal," he added in a lower tone. "Take to Grand my last behest and warning! You are responsible for the observance of our passport!"
"Your will shall be obeyed, my liege!" answered Count Henrik, springing from his horse. "Follow me quietly, Sir Helmer," he whispered to the restless and impetuous captain of the balista slingers, "to-morrow you can justify yourself--now you must be silent and obey."
Helmer bit his lip in wrath as he gave up his sword to Henrik, and followed him in silence. Count Henrik, with a considerable train of knights and squires, took instant possession of a barge which the insurgents had just deserted. He caused a white flag to be hoisted, and made preparations for crossing over to the castle island, while the king furthermore enjoined peace and quietness in the town, and rode with the rest of his train the whole length of the strand, amid the vast concourse of people, who partly from curiosity, partly from attachment, continued to accompany him. The balista were instantly dragged off the shore, from whence the armed insurgents had also decamped, awed apparently by the king's severity towards one of his favourite knights.
By the church of St. Nicolas, opposite the little island called "The Skipper's Ground," the king was again stopped by a numerous and unruly mob, in which there were many armed men of a gloomy and wild appearance, who were muttering prayers and psalms, interlarded with imprecations and threats against all priests and bishops. On the king's appearance the uproar was hushed, and most of the weapons disappeared at his command. The church doors were also forced here; all the ecclesiastics and their attendants had fled. The people themselves had rung the bell for vespers, and had dragged a monk into the church in order to compel him to sing the Avé, despite the interdict of bishop and pope.
The king instantly dismounted and entered the church. Half dead with terror, and as it were with his life in his hands, an aged Dominican stood before the altar with rent garments, and strove in vain to chaunt the customary evening prayers with calmness and dignity, while the turbulent crowd surrounded him with looks of wild menace, and with torches, axes, and glittering swords in their hands. A group of butchers and half-drunken mechanics, headed by a tall carpenter, stood nearest the altar, and frequently interrupted the monk with scoffs and threats.
"Peace here, in the Lord's house!" said the king in a loud voice, as he entered the church. "Bend the knee, all of ye, and pray the merciful God to pardon you! Go in peace, pious father!--if thou darest not to pray for our souls.--God hears us, however, despite the ban, if we are but sincere. The All-righteous be gracious to us all, and pardon us our sins!" So saying, the king bent his knee before the altar, and all fell, as if struck by lightning, on the floor. A deathlike silence prevailed for a moment.
It now appeared as if the aged Dominican was suddenly inspired by a feeling of lofty and intrepid enthusiasm. In a solemn voice he chaunted a "Gloria," and afterwards an "Ave," in which he was followed by the king and the whole congregation. The king then arose, and calm and silent quitted the church. He mounted his horse and rode onwards. "Holy Virgin, pray for us!" still resounded with calm solemnity from the kneeling congregation in St. Nicolas church; and when the king again returned through the strand street opposite Axelhuus, to repair to his castle at Sorretslóv, tranquillity appeared to be fully restored. Lights gleamed in the calm spring eve in most of the windows; at Axelhuus also, all now seemed tranquil. Count Henrik had sent the provost and two counsellors on before him in a small boat to announce his coming to the bishop, while the Count himself with his train in the great barge approached the castle island with tardy strokes of the oar. Sir Helmer stood silent and thoughtful, as a disarmed captive, in the barge by Count Henrik's side, indignant at being now carried to imprisonment in that castle which he had recently, as a conquering general, assisted the burghers to besiege. He now, indeed, perceived that he had acted rashly in taking a part in the insurrection; but he thought, nevertheless, that the king's conduct towards him was much too severe; his looks and glowing cheek betrayed that his pride was deeply wounded. As he revolved these thoughts a boat from the castle island rowed rapidly towards them, and glided close past the barge. "Ha! the pepper 'prentice!" exclaimed Sir Helmer, suddenly springing like a madman into the boat. Count Henrik saw with surprise that his captive commenced wrestling on the gunwale with a German pepper 'prentice, and plunged with his antagonist into the deep stream, while the boat disappeared with the speed of an arrow in the twilight.
"Save him, save him!" shouted Count Henrik, and stopped the rowers. Sir Helmer's plumed hat floated on the water at some distance; it was taken up; but neither himself nor his unknown adversary were to be seen. The rapid current appeared to have instantly borne them away, and all search after them with oars and boat-hooks proved fruitless.
"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" said Count Henrik with a sigh. "He was the boldest knight I ever knew--but a thoughtless madcap he ever was. He hath escaped captivity though, and perhaps a stern sentence to-morrow; but the king hath lost a true friend. On, fellows! We find him not--perhaps he hath helped himself; he was a good swimmer."
In the boat which shot past, and which had been nearly upset by the sudden and violent struggle, two persons attired as ecclesiastics had been seen, and the rowers thought they recognised in one of them the archbishop's crafty friend Johan Rodis.