The town soon lay distinctly before them, with its numerous churches and chapels, from which more than twenty towers and steeples rose towards the heavens.
"Hark, how the funeral bells are tolling from the steeple of Our Lady's Church," exclaimed now the grave chancellor: "soon will they be thus tolled from every steeple in Denmark; and think you not, illustrious sir, they will ring like the knell of doomsday in the ears of the murderers, wherever they may be?"
While he was yet speaking the sounds of bells increased, coming louder and more distinctly from the twenty churches of the city, and from every village steeple in the neighbourhood. Night closed in, and the flambeaux of the pages lighted up the mourning procession. Duke Waldemar's horse plunged about wildly among the flaring torches, seemingly affrighted at the tolling from the bells.
"Nay, hark again to the small bell on the gable of the grayfriars' church, behind the cathedral: how clearly it sounds beyond every other, although it has no belfry!" exclaimed Master Martinus to the duke, who was warm with curbing his unruly steed. "The poor grayfriars!" continued the chancellor: "they ring zealously to-night; desirous, perhaps, to let us know that they had no share in what their cloaks concealed in the barn of Finnerup."
The duke replied not, but addressed himself to his drost. "Do we not enter by St. Mogen's Gate?" he inquired, in an indifferent tone.
"Nay, illustrious sir: that is the entrance from the Aaborg road," replied Sir Abildgaard: "here we have the sea and the Borrewold on our right, and must enter by St. Michael's Gate, and along St. Michael's Street to the cathedral."
"Thou art right, Tuko. This noise has confused me. Is it not respecting St. Mogen's Gate they relate that stupid fable?"
"Yes, i'faith, sir," replied the knight, laughing--"of a bronze horse, under ground, that is said to sound whenever we have war in the country."
"The concealed horse, under the gate of St. Mogen, has been the palladium of the city from the earliest times, gentlemen," observed Master Martin, gravely: "it is said that no traitor and enemy of his country has heard it ring, and survived."
"The deuce!" exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, with forced pleasantry; "it is a pity the good St. Michael has not such a wonderful horse under his gate: we should then soon have certain proof whether we are all as good patriots as our learned chancellor."