“The knobs on thy belt of tough, tough felt,
The foeman’s number will tell I ween;
Beware, I say, of Monk hoods grey
Concealing warriors stern and keen.”
To catch the maid the King essay’d,
His heart was bent yet more on learning;
Then slipped away the woodland fay,
Suddenly into vapour turning.
As long as stay’d with him the maid
Both light and fire his sight did cheer,
But as soon, as soon as she was gone
With Ranild he stood in the bush so drear.
Then the King for advice to Ranild cries,
And Ranild the traitor answer’d thus:
“From out this place our way we’ll trace,
For here no moon can shine on us.
“If I be right, a hamlet hight
Grey Tinderup not far doth lie;
This night we’d best in Tinderup rest,
My liege, I think for a certainty.
“And thither we’ll ride, and there we’ll bide,
Until the moon has risen on high;
By Mary’s might no mortal wight
Will do thee any injury.”
So they ride away to Tinderup grey,
And loud for lodging, lodging shout;
But they came so late that every gate
Was lock’d, and fires and lights put out.
Then their steeds they turn to Tinderup barn,
No mortal knew that they were there;
To the King I wot the thought came not
That he was now to his end so near.
But Erik’s breast was not at rest,
And thus to Ranild the lad he cried:
“O make the door both fast and sure,
I fast and sure in thee confide.
“Do thou the door with a stake secure,
I’ve ever found thee faithful yet;
In mind I hold that Stig is bold,
And oft I think upon his threat.”