"My lords," said the Castellan, who was bursting with impatience; "about this rope"——
"At the castle of Cronenborg," replied Bothwell, "despite the reiterated warnings of my friend, our stout skipper ventured ashore to bargain with a certain necromancer who dwelleth at the promontory, and sells fair winds to the passing ships. For a rose-noble, this knave gave him a rope three Danish ells in length, whereon were three knots, each of which he solemnly avowed would produce a favourable breeze. On the first being untied, we certainly had one that carried us out of the Sound; but thereafter it died away. Our skipper cursed the wizard for his short measure, and untied the second knot, when, lo! another friendly gale rippled over the sea, and bore us to Helmstadt, off which it again fell a dead calm."
"Three handsful of salt should have been thrown into the sea," said Sueno.
"For what?" asked Bothwell with a smile.
"Sueno is right," said Rosenkrantz; "one as an offering to Nippen, a second for the water spirit, and a third for the demon of the wind."
"Our skipper contented himself by blaspheming like a Turk," continued the Earl, "and untied the third knot, when, lo! there blew a perfect storm. The wind and the waves rose—the rain fell, the lightning flashed among the seething breakers, and—we are here."
"I will write to the king," said the governor, striking his long sword energetically on the hall floor; "I will, by Saint Erick! and learn whether this dark-dealing villain is to be permitted to trifle with the lives of nobles and ambassadors by selling charms of evil under the windows of his very palace."
"By my soul! Sir Governor, if I had him in bonny Teviotdale, I would hang him on my dule-tree, where many a better man hath swung, and make my enquiries thereafter."
"'Tis the second time this false son of darkness hath so tricked the mariner. He sold an enchanted cord to my kinsman, Christian Alborg, captain of the Biornen, a king's ship, which, on the untying of the third knot, was blown right out into the North Sea—yea, unto the very verge of those dangerous currents that run downhill to regions under the polar star, frozen and desolate shores, from whence there can be no return. But enough of this matter. Hark you, Sueno Throndson—and thou, Van Dribbel the butler—see what the larder and cellar contain: order up supper for our noble guests, and see that it be such as befits well the king's castle of Bergen."
CHAPTER IV.