His three attendants, impelled by a curiosity stronger than their fear, and ashamed, perhaps, to abandon their sovereign, followed him.
The great hall blazed with the light of myriad torches. Heavy draperies replaced the ancient tapestries on the walls with their woven figures.
Ranged along both sides of the apartment in the same order as of yore hung the flags of Denmark, Germany, and the country of the Muscovite—trophies taken in war by the soldiers of Gustavus Adolphus. But the Swedish flags intermingled with the long array were swathed in funereal crape.
An immense concourse swarmed upon the serried rows of benches opposite the throne. The members of the four Estates, garbed in black, were there, each in his allotted place. And this multitude of gleaming visages against the somber background so dazzled the eye that not one of the four beholders could distinguish a familiar face among the throng. So is it with the actor who fails to single out, in the confused mass of the crowded audience, one person he knows.
On the raised dais of the throne, from which the king was wont to harangue the assembly, they saw a bleeding corpse invested with the royal insignia.
At the right of this gruesome specter, crown on head, scepter in hand, stood a child. At the left, an aged man, or fantom shade, leaned for support against the throne. From his shoulders trailed the ceremonial mantle worn by the ancient administrators of Sweden before Wasa made of the government a monarchy.
Grave-visaged, austere men in flowing robes of black, evidently holding the office of judges, were gathered near the throne around a table littered with folios and parchments. Between the dais and the assembled Estates the four spectators beheld an executioner's block, funereally draped, and by its side the ax.
Of all that vast concourse of specters no single shade gave sign that the presence of Charles and the three persons who accompanied him had been observed. A confused murmur, in which the ear failed to detect any articulate sound, greeted their entrance.
Presently the oldest of the black-gowned judges—he who seemed to fulfil the functions of president of the tribunal—rose and struck thrice with his palm upon the open folio that lay before him.
A profound hush fell instantly upon the hall. Then, through the doorway facing that which Charles had just opened, came a band of young men of prepossessing appearance, with their arms bound behind their backs. They bore themselves well, their heads raised high, their mien unabashed. Behind them stalked a robust figure, clad in a brown leather jerkin, holding the ends of the ropes which confined their hands.