"I called you hither to warn you--not to receive warnings," continued the king, with stern vehemence. "I have perceived that your opinions on spiritual things are dangerous and misleading. Keep them to yourself, or I shall be necessitated to banish you from the country. I have all due respect for your knowledge in worldly matters," he added; "it may prove useful to me. My master of the mint, however, you cannot be at present, and my spiritual adviser still less. If the wise Roger Bacon was your teacher and master I would willingly know what he hath taught you that is good and reasonable; but I will not hear a word more of the philosopher's stone. I ask not to look into futurity; if you understand that art, keep it to yourself. I regard it, if not as witchcraft, as equally sinful and unwise. Such faculty hath as yet never made any human being happy.
"If you can (which, however, I much doubt) protract human life beyond its natural limits, keep such knowledge to yourself also: it seems to me not less presumptuous and irrational. I desire not to live an hour longer in this world than the Almighty hath ordained; but if you can, by natural means and without sin unveil to me the secrets of nature--if you can imitate the thunders of heaven as you assume--then show me and our philosophers the art, and explain it to us, at whatever price you deem fitting; but how far soever your mastery over the powers of nature may extend, imagine not you have usurped the power from Him, in comparison of whom the wisest and mightiest man on earth is but a miserable impotent worm. Go hence and pray our Lord and the holy Virgin to pardon you the presumptuous words you have here uttered. Would that you might one day gain a better insight into what is of higher importance to soul and salvation than all your temporal learning!"
Count Henrik could not hear what answer was made by Master Thrand to this severe reproof; the words "to-morrow, noble king!" were all he thought he understood, besides some common-place and obsequious expressions of respect, and it seemed to him that the artist's voice sounded hollow and hardly audible. The door of the private door opened and shut again; Count Henrik perceived that the king was alone, and heard him open the door to his sleeping chamber. The Count stepped softly out of the library; he heard footsteps before him in the dark passage. It was Master Thrand coming from the king's private chamber. Count Henrik stood still on remarking that the little juggler often paused in the passage, as if in secret deliberation; he muttered to himself, and was busied with something in the dark; his whimsical gait and figure was now suddenly lit up by a bright light, which instantly vanished again; Master Thrand at last stopped at a private door which led to Junker Christopher's apartments, but to which none had access beside. The door opened and closed again, and Thrand disappeared.
"What was that?" said Count Henrik to himself, with a start, "a spirit of darkness lurks between the royal brothers!" He left not the passage ere he had seen the pyrotechnic artist steal back from the junker's apartments, and repair to the knights' story in the opposite wing of the castle, where all the stranger guests were assigned their quarters for the night. Count Henrik did not betake himself to rest, but watched this night as captain of the halberdiers, without the door of the king's sleeping apartment.
CHAP. X.
By the first peep of dawn, all was joyous commotion at Helsingborg Castle. Every Danish courtier and knight knew the punctuality and impetuosity of the young king, when it was necessary to be stirring at an early hour, even only on occasion of a hunting expedition. Every knight and squire who had not foot in stirrup, when the king was in the saddle, might expect a stern glance or a serious rebuke. On this solemn and important day, to which the attention of both kingdoms was turned, and which had been so ardently desired by Eric, it seemed as if the sun alone dared to put his patience to the proof. Ere day-break, the king's handsome horses, with their silken coverings and caparisons, stood already saddled in the court-yard of the castle; the richly-attired knights, clad in silk or plush, thronged gaily together, and hardly had the sun-beams of the first day of June shone upon the glittering bridal train, before Eric, leading his royal mother by the hand, stepped forth on the staircase of the upper story, and bowed courteously on all sides. He followed Countess Agnes to the ladies' car, with his head uncovered, and then vaulted into the saddle. His handsome and youthful countenance beamed with hope and heartfelt joy, and he seemed to have slept off every gloomy and disquieting thought. Arrayed in his most splendid knight's attire, with a rose-coloured shoulder-scarf over his shoulder, and with white ostrich feathers in his hat, he rode a spirited milk-white palfrey. His blithe stepfather, Count Gerhard, rode at his right hand, and Junker Christopher at his left. Even the junker seemed in a gay mood, but became grave, and coloured when the king waved his hand and greeted him with a cordiality of look and gesture which appeared to surprise and humble him. The gilded car, drawn by six iron-grey Andalusian horses, in which sat the king's dignified mother, with her ladies, rolled over the castle bridge at the head of the train, but the king soon rode impatiently past it, with a courteous apology, which was gladly received. Count Henrik accompanied him with the half of the knightly train, while the ladies' car and the rest of the numerous cavalcade found it difficult to keep up with the hastening bridegroom. All the pathways and banks on the road to Stockholm were crowded with a countless concourse of people, who shouted with joy at the splendid procession, and greeted the king with sympathising homage.
While the king thus rode to meet his bride, the most magnificent preparations were made at Helsingborg for the reception of the royal bridal pair. St. Mary's church was decorated with garlands and carpetted with flowers; the provincial prior of the Dominicans already officiated at early mass, as well as the venerable bishop of Aarhuus and Ribé, who with calm courage had supported the king in his bold strife with the archbishop and the papal court. They had been standing at the high altar since daybreak, in readiness to preside over the sacred ceremonial of the day, and were accompanied by a great number of monks, canons, and priests from all the parishes of the kingdom, who intended by their united prayers and benedictions to consecrate this day as an auspicious festival for two nations and two royal houses.
On the greensward below the castle hill, lists and galleries were erected for the tournament, and tents were pitched with refreshments for the spectators. The whole household of the castle was in full activity; tables were spread in the lofty halls, and barrels with mead, ale, and wine were hoisted from the cellars. The cooks were busily employed in the kitchen. A number of musicians tuned and tried their instruments; pipers, lute-players, fiddlers and trumpeters, were stationed upon the balcony of the upper story, from whence they were to greet the bridal guests, and enliven the thronging crowds. In the spacious gardens on the rocky steep overlooking the Sound, the trees of the long avenues had been hung at an early hour with coloured lamps, for the evening festivity. In a separate part of the gardens preparations were making for exhibiting the hitherto unknown art of fire-works, with which the mysterious Thrand Fistlier purposed to surprise the king and court, and with which he himself and his amanuensis, the youthful Master Laurentius, were zealously busied; while Master Rumelant and Master Poppé wandered among the tall yew-hedges, and practised their festal lays. The concourse of curious guests and spectators was constantly increasing. All the ships in the harbour were hung with wreaths and flags, and the Sound was almost hidden by the fleet of ships arriving from Zealand and the isles. On the quay, in the town, and on the road to Stockholm, crowds of knights, priests, and town's-people, mingled with fishermen and Scanian peasants with their families--there were national costumes to be seen from the farthest Danish isles, and from many Swedish provinces. The streets were strewed with flowers. All the windows were hung with garlands and silken carpets, and occupied by gaily-dressed ladies. There was a continued murmur from the many thousand voices, and a general gaze of expectation towards that quarter from whence the bridal procession was expected. At last it was echoed from mouth to mouth, "The procession! The procession! now they are come! There they are!" The multitude moved onward in one vast wave, and the provost with his men found it difficult to keep a space clear for the entrance of the train.
Upon a large kerb stone, in the vicinity of the drawbridge beside the southern gate of the castle, stood a strongly-built man, in a coarse pilgrim's cloak, with muscle shells on the cape over his broad shoulders, and with his broad-brimmed hat, half slouched over a pair of round sun-burnt cheeks. At his side stood an old fisherman, and a pretty little fishermaiden in a north Zealand costume, from the district of Gilleleié. The pilgrim was Morten the cook, who, with his betrothed and her father, had just landed from a fishing yawl, on a remote spot under the sand-stone cliff. The day preceding, Morten had been set on shore at Gilleleié, from a foreign vessel, with a red sail, which had suffered damage at sea, and had been compelled to put in under the Kohl for repairs; of which he talked in a mysterious manner. Although, as a party to the archbishop's flight from Sjöborg, he had been outlawed by the king, he had not only succeeded in quieting the fears of old Jeppé, the fisherman, and his daughter, at his re-appearance in the country, but had even prevailed on them to accompany him hither, where he meant to show them, he said, that, by his pilgrimage, he had obtained peace both with God and man, and that he now, with a bran new and clean conscience, could dare to face the king on his bridal day.
"Come hither. Father Jeppé! Come little Karen! let me lift thee up here!" said Morten, jumping down from the stone--"now ye can see all the finery and splendour. I shall do most wisely in keeping within my pilgrim's skin at first, on account of my bit of a head and neck."