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KING ERIC

AND

THE OUTLAWS.

VOL. II.

London:
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.

KING ERIC

AND

THE OUTLAWS;

OR,

THE THRONE, THE CHURCH, AND THE PEOPLE,

IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY.

BY

INGEMANN

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH BY

JANE FRANCES CHAPMAN.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,

PATERNOSTER-ROW.

1843.

CHAPTER I.

When the king reached Kallundborg castle, and beheld the drawbridge raised, and the well fortified castle in a complete state of defence, a flush of anger crossed his cheek, his hand involuntarily clenched the hilt of his sword, and for an instant he was near forgetting his promise, and drawing it out of the scabbard. Count Henrik reined in his war horse impatiently before the outermost fortification, awaiting an answer to the message he had shouted, in the king's name, to the nearest warder. "Matchless presumption!" exclaimed the king; "know they I am here myself? and do they still tarry with an answer, when they have but to be silent and to obey?"

"They take their time, my liege!" answered Count Henrik. "It is unparalleled impudence.--If you command, the trumpet shall be instantly sounded for storm; the sword burns in my hand."

"Not yet!" answered the king, and took his hand from the hilt of his sword.

At this moment a trumpet sounded from the outer rampart, and a tall warrior in armour, with closed visor, stepped forth on the battlement.

"The castle opens not to any armed man!" he shouted in a rough tone, which however appeared assumed and tremulous; "it will be defended to the last, against every attack; this is our noble junker's strict order and behest."

"Madman!" exclaimed Eric; and Count Henrik seemed about to give an impetuous reply.

"Not a word more!" continued the king, with a stern nod.--"We stoop not to further parley with rebels and traitors.--You will beleaguer the castle on all sides, and get all in readiness for a storm; until twenty-four hours are over, no spear must be thrown--if the rebels dare to enact their impudent threats against the town, we shall have to think but of saving it and quenching the flames. If aught chances here, I must know it instantly; you will not fail to find me at the Franciscan monastery." So saying, the king turned his horse's head, and rode with a great part of his train into the large monastery, close to the castle. Here stood the guardian and all the fraternity with their shaven heads uncovered, in two rows before the stone steps in the yard of the monastery. The aged guardian, in common with the rest of his fraternity, wore an ashen grey cloak with a cowl at the back, and a thick cord round the waist. Despite the winter cold, they were all without shoes and stockings, with wooden sandals under their bare feet. They received the king with manifest signs of alarm and uneasiness.

"Be easy, ye pious men," said the king, in a mild voice, as he sprang from his horse, and acknowledged their greeting and the guardian's pious address in a friendly manner; "I come to you as your friend and protector. If it please God and our Lady, no evil shall happen to your monastery or our good and loyal town. It is not your fault that our brother the junker hath appointed a madman to be his commandant; for we trust in the Lord and the mighty Saint Christopher, that our dear brother hath not himself lost his wits. I will await him here, until he can receive the news of my coming, and give explanation in person of this matter. If there is danger astir, I will share it with you; at present I wish but to see whether your guest-house and refectory can stand this unexpected visitation; meanwhile it shall be recompensed beforehand to the monastery."

"Noble sovereign," answered the guardian, "destroy not by any worldly compensation the pleasure which you now bestow on us, in our fear and trembling: poverty is, as you know, the first rule of our holy order. If you will vouchsafe to share the indigence of the penitent, gracious king, doubt not then our willingness to give, and share without recompence; and tempt us not to accept what the holy Franciscus himself hath strictly forbid us to touch."

"Well, the rule is surely not so strictly kept here," said the king, with a good-natured smile, as he entered into the large guest-house of the monastery, and saw the door standing open to the refectory, where a table, with fasting fare, was spread for the monks, but a larger, with flasks of wine and dishes of substantial meat, was prepared for the entertainment of the distinguished worldly guests. "Here, however, we shall not come to suffer want," continued the king; "here we find not frugal fare alone, but God's gifts, almost to superfluity."

"What we are able to offer your grace hath been sent hither by the burghers.--Where the Lord's anointed enters he brings a blessing with him,"--answered the guardian, making a genuflection with his hands crossed over his breast.

"Blessing?" replied the king, a dark cloud suddenly passing over his brow.--"Hum! even though he be given over to the Devil and the destruction of the fleshy venerable father?" he asked with bitterness, and in a low voice, as he drew the guardian aside and gazed at him, with a sharp, searching look.

The aged monk turned pale at these words of the king, and involuntarily crossed himself, as he heaved a deep sigh. "The holy church proclaims to us absolution even for deadly sins, and justification through grace and conversion," said he, folding his lean hands. "Its curse falls only in reality on the head of the profligate and ungodly."

"But when the archbishop, the prince of the Danish church, out of revenge and hate, hath proclaimed thy sovereign to be such an one?"

"Were you such in truth, my liege and sovereign, alas! I must then echo the dreadful sentence within my heart, though it should break in doing so, and were your wrath even to crush me," answered the old man, with deep solemnity, again pressing his folded hands upon his breast; "but the Lord preserve my soul from taking part in the counsels of the revengeful and the judgments of the unrighteous! The church's might and authority are certainly great, noble king," he continued, "but vengeance and judgment are the Lord's, even as grace for the penitent belongeth unto him; power is given us to build up, but not to pull down; we can do nothing against the truth, but all for the truth. If even a bishop himself should err in our true believing church, and abuse the church's authority against God's word, no priest or Christian hath leave to consent unto him, saith the holy Augustine."

"Right, pious father! that is also my creed and my comfort, and what the learned Master Peter also hath told me. You have then no fear that I bring with me a curse or evil spirits over this threshold?"

"No assuredly!" answered the guardian solemnly, with uplifted hand and look,--"I know my noble liege is not profane and ungodly, a despiser of penitence and pious works, or one whom in the power of the word it is permitted to give over to the destruction of the flesh, for the soul's eternal salvation. I know, therefore, that the Prince of Darkness can have no power over your dear-bought soul; and that no sinful curse can destroy the peace of God in your heart, or wipe off the holy ointment from your crowned head."

A mild emotion was visible in the king's countenance at these words of the guardian. "Give me your blessing, pious father!" he said, in a subdued tone; "you have spoken words which penetrate my inmost soul."

"The reconciled and all-merciful God preserve your life and crown, and above all the precious peace of your soul!" prayed the guardian, and laid his shrivelled hand on the head of the king, who bent to receive the blessing, "in so far as you are yourself placable and merciful," he added with emphasis, and a piercing gaze.

"Hum, placable?" repeated the king, hastily, raising his head; "even towards rebels and traitors?"

"They assuredly need mercy most," answered the guardian. "Be not wroth, my liege," he continued, gently and impressively; "there is a holy word, which at this moment strangely trembles on my lips: 'If thy brother sin against thee,' it is written, 'then chastise him; but if he repents, then forgive him!'"

"But when he does not repent?" asked the king, gazing on the guardian with an excited look.

"Then pray for him till he does, that thy mother's son may not be a castaway; and for the sake of thine own peace!" whispered the ecclesiastic.--"A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city, and quarrels are as bars before a palace."

"But strong cities may fall, and the palaces of rebels may be forced," exclaimed the king, suddenly assuming a stern tone, and the mild emotion expressed in his countenance became clouded. "The wise king Solomon hath also taught me to count more on a faithful friend than a false brother. Did not a prophet once say to his people, in a traitorous and corrupted time like ours--'Put not your trust in any brother, for every brother will certainly deceive?' I could wish that holy man were wrong. But enough of this," said Eric, hastily breaking off the solemn converse. "Let us now think a little of worldly things, and not despise the care of the body. We have ridden a long way today, to be shut out of our own castle here." So saying, the king went with hasty strides into the refectory; the guardian followed him with a sorrowful aspect, and the rejoicing of the brethren, over the king's piety and mildness, seemed somewhat diminished.

Kallundborg castle was now regularly beleaguered, and the warlike and experienced Count Henrik of Mecklenborg neglected none of the necessary preparations for a storm, as far as he was able with so small a force, and without engines for storming. Meanwhile, ere the sun went down, he saw his force augmented, as Drost Aagé with his hundred horsemen galloped into the town, and joined him without the castle walls. As soon as the Drost had provided for the wants of his troops, and had consulted with Count Henrik, he repaired to the monastery of grey friars, where he was instantly admitted to the king in the library.

Here sat Eric in a thoughtful mood, in the guardian's great arm-chair, before an oaken table, on which lay a large annotated Bible as well as the writings of St. Augustine and other fathers of the church, open before him. He held a manuscript of Master Petrus de Dacia's in his hand, in which he was diligently making marks and dashes with his pen, and seemed employed in comparing it with the passages at which the writings of the fathers were opened. By the side of these spiritual writings, however, lay also three worldly books in handsome red velvet binding, which the king had brought with him. It was the famous chivalrous poem Ivain and Tristan, in Hartman von Awe's and Gottfried von Strasborg's version, as well as the adventurous history of Florez and Blanzeflor, which was the favourite poem of all enamoured knights and ladies.

When Drost Aagé crossed the threshold, the king pushed aside the table and hastily started up. "Aagé, my dear Aagé! do I see thee again, at last!" he joyfully exclaimed, and went forward to meet him with open arms, but stopped in dismay, as he looked more narrowly at the young Drost. "Is it thyself?" he continued; "how thou art changed! Truly thou hast been in murderous hands. Those accursed outlaws!" he said passionately, as he stamped on the floor; "why have I not rooted them out of the earth?"

"Think no more of that, my noble liege," said Aagé. "I am now well again, and at your service."

"Come, rest thee; thou hast exerted thyself above thy strength. Master Peter hath then brought thee a letter and a message?"

"All is done as you commanded, my liege, though I fear it is a step----"

"Leave me to care for that, Aagé--met ye with opposition?"

"Holbeck castle is in your possession; it cost not a drop of blood, but caused great joy at the castle."

"Good; and the junker?"

"I saw him not; it is said, though, he was there, but escaped."

"A bad sign, Aagé! A loyal vassal would have staid, and have called thee strictly to give account of thy authority. He asked then, not even once, the ground of my wrath? He ventured not an indignant remonstrance touching injustice and violent measures?"

"He kept quite out of sight; he must have conceived suspicions."

"Hum! no prince flies thus from his castle, when he knows himself to be innocent. How then can I doubt? The contumacy here, and his shameless expressions to Bruncké----"

"What hath already chanced may however still be but an unhappy misunderstanding, my liege," observed Aagé; "and the traitorous Bruncké none can trust."

"Well, let Christopher speak for himself, if he is able. By all the holy men, I would willingly give the half of my life could I say with truth, 'I have a brother.' Yet, the Lord and our holy Lady be thanked, I have still a faithful friend, and my beloved Ingeborg, and a loyal and loving people. What have I to complain of?" So saying, the king laid his arm confidingly on Aagé's shoulder, and a repressed tear glistened in his ardent blue eye. "Since we met last, my dear Aagé," he continued in a firm and calm tone, "I have become an excommunicated man like thee; but it no longer terrifies me. I have long thought--now I am convinced--that no one can condemn us save the Almighty and righteous God: but he will not condemn us; for, seest thou, he is merciful. He who believes in salvation and mercy, Aagé, will be saved, despite all the bishops and prelates in the world."

"Sin not, my noble liege!" exclaimed Aagé, with cautious sadness. "I have also found peace for my soul, and a defence against the evil spirits to whom I was given over; but it was not in defiance, it was in love and hope, my liege."

"Such a hope I have also, my Aagé; and love!--thou knowest but little what that is--thou that hast no Ingeborg! My love truly is as great as Sir Tristran's or the valiant Florez's. I shall not fear to break a lance for my Ingeborg with the pope himself and the whole priesthood--if it come to the worst."

"For Heaven's sake, my beloved liege, ponder----"

"I have pondered much, Aagé; and first on what was most important," exclaimed the king seriously, interrupting his anxious friend. "The matter of our salvation is too important to be decided by an authoritative word from the bishop or pope. Shall they presume to say to thee and me, 'Thou art accursed!--thou art given over to the Evil One?' No, truly! Where is it written that any human being hath such power? I always hoped--now I am assured--that the heavenly grace and mercy I believe in, alone can save me and all of us--come, I will prove it to thee; Master Petrus hath written it out for me; the church's holy fathers witness to it, and what is more, God's own unchangeable word. Yet it is too long to enter upon now; but, trust me, Aagé, no archbishop, not even the pope in Rome, can condemn us--if the church casts out believers, it is our church no longer, not the real and true one. Could the devil shut against us every stone-built church in the world, one church would still stand open to us, which no devil can shut; and lo! it is every where; where two believing souls are met together in the Lord's name.--See how wise I am grown, Aagé: it would be deemed heresy in Rome, and they would doom me to the stake did they know it; but I am wise enough also to be silent about it. Thou only shalt know it, and my Ingeborg, and whoever holds my immortal soul as dear as thou dost."

Aagé was silent, and looked at him in surprise.

"I feel secure also about state and kingdom," continued the king. "With God's help I shall defy both ban and interdict, both rebels and outlaws, without any one injuring a hair of my head, or that of my people's."

"But a letter, craving pardon of the holy father, will certainly be necessary, my liege! In the matter of the archbishop, reconciliation and clemency must in a great measure supersede justice."

"No, Aagé; I ask but justice; I ask no mercy of man, and in this matter none need expect mercy from me--let the pope judge between me and Grand! the mystery of unrighteousness shall be brought to light as surely as there is justice under the sun. If I am myself wrong in any thing, which well may chance, it is time enough to think of penitence and penance when doom is pronounced."

"But the dispensation?" said Aagé.

"That I will dispense with in case of need; what hath been granted to a hundred others cannot be denied the King of Denmark.--Should it be denied, it is unjust; but an injustice to which I will not submit. Yet, seat thyself, Aagé; not a word more of these vexatious affairs,--my soul is weary of them. Come," he continued, gaily; "now thou shalt hear a love poem: my dear Ingeborg hath herself written it out for me. Duchess Euphemia hath sent it to her from Norway; it will soon be read, both in Norwegian and Swedish. Here thou shalt see what a chivalrous lover can go through, and how fortune and our Lord are ever with all true and constant lovers." The king now sat down before the table, and read, in an animated tone, out of the adventures of Florez and Blanzeflor, which, however, were already known to Aagé.

"Tristan I prefer, it is true," said the king; "and our own old love-songs seem far more beautiful to me; but this book I especially like to have in my hand. Think! she has copied every word with her own lovely fingers."

Meanwhile evening drew on. The vesper bell rang, and the king went with Aagé to the church of the monastery, where he joined in the devotions of the Franciscans and the people, which however were not as calm and undisturbed as usual.

As the night drew on the anxiety increased in the town with every hour. A general stillness prevailed; lights glimmered in all the houses; no one seemed any where to slumber. Around the beleaguered castle no sound was heard save the steps and clashing arms of the sentinels. Here and there a watch-fire gleamed in the cold winter's night, around which silent warriors, wrapped in ample mantles, were standing in groups; without the monastery Drost Aagé's horsemen were on guard. The Drost and Count Henrik rode up and down around the castle walls, where the faint clashing of weapons and the moving of heavy machines of defence were heard.

By Aagé's counsel sentinels were also posted on the public quay south-east of the castle, and on the ancient sea-tower at the north-western extremity of the town, where there was also a landing-place, together with a now deserted and decayed fortification: this spot he deemed especially important whenever it might be desirable to cut off all possible communication with the castle. At midnight Aagé himself stood in the clear still starlight beside the solitary tower, at Count Henrik's side, and looked out on the bay, while they considered from what quarter the castle wall might best be mounted. While thus employed, Aagé observed a little fishing-boat, which lay half hidden under the mouldering rampart of the sea-tower; and just as he was going to draw Count Henrik's attention to it he saw a head, with a shaggy cap and a large scar resembling a hare-lip between the nose and mouth, peer forth from behind a half-fallen pillar close beside him. The prying head, however, instantly withdrew behind the pillar, and Aagé thought he recognised the notorious robber and incendiary, the Lolland deserter, Olé Ark, who had often been pursued, and who it was believed had been concerned in the archbishop's flight. Without any long deliberation he nodded to Count Henrik, and drew his sword; but at the same instant the fellow sprang out of his hiding-place, and fled down towards the rampart to the boat.

"Stop him!" shouted Aagé to the farthest sentinel, who stood with his lance in his hand, and his back leaning against the rampart, gazing out on a distant vessel, without observing the fugitive.

Just as the Drost's voice reached the ear of the sentinel, and he was about to turn round, he felt the stab of a dagger in his back, and fell to the earth with a groan of anguish, while the deserter rushed past him with the weapon glittering in his hand, and sprang into the boat.

The fugitive had already placed his oars, and was preparing to push off from shore, but then first perceived that in his haste he had forgot to loosen the rope which moored the boat to the rampart. While he now, with desperate exertion, struck once or twice in vain with his dagger on the rope, Aagé and Count Henrik stood directly opposite him with their drawn swords. Count Henrik hastily grasped the half-severed rope, and drew the boat towards him. The dagger of the despairing fugitive was raised gleaming in the air, but fell with the hand of the robber into the sea before a stroke of the Drost's sword, and, with a fearful howl, the wounded deserter fell back in the boat.

At Count Henrik's call several men-at-arms hastened to the spot from the guard at the sea-tower, and presently bore the captive thither, after having, by the Drost's order, wrapped a cloth round his mutilated arm, to prevent his bleeding to death. The wounded sentinel was also carried to the tower; and while a message was sent to fetch a surgeon, the captured robber's garments, and all that he had about him, were narrowly searched. Besides a letter of absolution, a rosary, and a number of costly church ornaments, which appeared to be stolen property, a quantity of pitch and sulphur and other combustible matter was found on his person; and a key and a private letter were discovered carefully secreted in the lining of his cap. For the present no confession could be expected from the criminal, who had fallen into a swoon. The Drost took possession of the key and the letter, and repaired, with Count Henrik, to the nearest watch-fire. Here he opened the letter, and read it in a low tone.

"To no one!"--thus ran the letter.--"Obey and be silent, or thou diest! Dare the utmost! Spare not the town! Hide or burn the papers, if needful! Keep the trapdoor in readiness! Let his victory prove his downfall! I answer for the consequences. The bearer may be employed for the whole.... Burn this private letter instantly. From no one."

Drost Aagé had jointly with the king and Prince Christopher learnt what was then the still rare art of writing, from a canon, under the superintendence of Drost Hessel, and to his dismay he thought he recognised the stiff hand of the prince through the disguised character of the writing. He hastily folded up the letter, and turned deadly pale.

"Now what runes[^[1]] read ye there, Sir Drost?" asked Count Henrik.--"You do not feel well, I think."

"This private letter was surely to have been brought the commandant," exclaimed Aagé, eagerly, and the blood again rushed into his cheek. "It is from no one, and to no one; yet I think I understand it."

"Let us see, Sir Drost--It is not surely any private love letter?--the fellow was a spy and traitor."

"If my noble liege's peace of mind be dear to you." answered Aagé anxiously, and seized his hand, "let this unhallowed secret be mine alone! yet this much will I confide to you: it seems to concern the king's unhappy domestic relations; but I entreat you to be silent, even about this conjecture of mine. There is no proof against any one, only a suspicion--an unhappy one--but the aim of the writer shall be defeated: the letter must be destroyed."--So saying, he thrust his hand into his bosom, and threw the letter into the fire.

"You are cautious, Drost," said Count Henrick, knitting his brow. "I ask not to be initiated into your dark state secrets--as Drost you must know best what should here be concealed or made public. I ask only, as a man-at-arms and beleaguer, if the letter, which you have here somewhat hastily destroyed, was to have been brought into the castle, must there not be a private entrance hereabouts? Could it be found, it were of moment to us: without storming engines, it will be a hard spring enough for us to get over the circular wall."

"You are right; there must be a secret entrance here," exclaimed Aagé suddenly, with sparkling eyes. "I have a conjecture,--a thought strikes me, there is a tradition of a secret entrance from the sea-tower. The captive must show it me. I will be myself the bearer of the letter,--not such as when it caught the flames, and as it is now before the eye of the Omniscient, but rewritten, as a reconciling spirit dictates to my soul."

"Good! I follow you with a troop."

"No, count! that is impossible. The king's pride is aroused; he despises stratagem; he will and must through the gate, or over the stormed walls, and both of us cannot here be spared. If the secret passage is found, it will assuredly be difficult enough for one, alone and unarmed, to pass through it."

"Then let the adventure alone, Drost; for one it is too daring."

"I will dare it nevertheless," said Aagé determinedly, after a moment's deliberation; "but no one shall follow me, and no one must know it--not even the king. If I am not here again to-morrow at noon, then let the king know that I am probably a prisoner at the castle, or am about something by which I may serve him, and all of you, better even than were I at the head of the stormers--I count on your leading the attack, as agreed on. If it succeeds, then promise me but one thing, brave Count! let not the king set his foot but where the ground hath been tried and found safe; and should you see my shoulder scarf wave on any spot, then conclude all is not right, and let not the king approach such a place."

"Ha! ha!" said Count Henrik, in a loud voice, and clapping Aagé on the shoulder, "that was the secret, then, you would keep to yourself? You might just as well have let me read the letter, my mysterious Sir Drost! We may expect pitfalls then, and such sort of foxes' tricks? Well, when one has a hint of such things they are of no importance. Ha! the high-born junker! he is a base traitor truly, to seek after the life of his king and brother, and such a king and brother!"

"In the name of the Lord above, who says so. Sir Count?" exclaimed Aagé, in consternation and in a low tone: "you shout as loud as though you meant to awake heaven and earth with what none may hear. Let not those unhappy words ever pass your lips again. I tell you once more, it is but a conjecture, a fearful suspicion: it would rend the king's heart if it came to his ears--the mere report might call forth bloody scenes, and bring down the greatest misery on the country and the royal house."

"I approve your caution in this matter, noble Drost," said Count Henrik gravely, and in a subdued tone, as he looked around, with a sharp glance; "be easy, no one can here have heard us. There you have my hand: where one word may cause such great misfortune, it shall assuredly never pass my lips. But drive that rash adventure out of thy head; it may cost you your life,--and to what end?"

"The saving of a more precious life," said Aagé. "I must have certainty in this matter: if I am to guard the king's feet from secret snares, I must discover them first myself. God be with you! Farewell! He who hath been for two years excommunicated," he continued in a voice of emotion, "hath learnt to defy robbers and devils."

The watch-fire lit up his pale enthusiastic countenance, and a mild light seemed to beam from his dark blue eyes, as he raised them towards the starry heaven. "Follow me not!" he added. "I trust in the protection of Heaven, and the power of good spirits--then must earthly curses be dumb, and evil spirits fall into the bottomless pit."--So saying, he earnestly pressed Count Henrik's hand, and returned with hasty steps to the tower. Count Henrik shook his head, and gazed after him with a look of sympathy, but followed him not.

CHAP. II.

The ancient sea-tower was situated at some distance from the castle, in the most deserted quarter of the town, next the sea shore. It was a round watch-tower, built of freestone, with loopholes in the wall, and a sentry-walk above, between the rampart-like battlements. Below were two vaulted stone chambers, of which one was used as a guard-room in war time, and the other as a depository for the bodies of the drowned, until their burial. The tower was now chiefly used for hanging out lights at night, in stormy and bad weather, to guide sailors into the entrance of the bay.

In the guard-room Drost Aagé found the wounded sentinel at the point of death.

A monk, who had been sent for from the monastery, was engaged in administering to him the last sacrament. On a table lay a paper, on which the pious Franciscan had just written the last testament of the dying man. An oil lamp hung upon the dirty wall, and lit up the stone vault and the solemn scene of death. With a sympathizing look at the dying man-at-arms Aagé quitted the guard-room, almost unnoticed, and opened the door to what was called "the corpse chamber," from which, according to tradition, there had been, in Esbern Snare's time, a descent to a subterranean passage, and where Aagé conjectured he should discover the supposed secret entrance to the castle.

Into this murky chamber, which had the reputation of being haunted, the captive murderer had been brought. Through the aid of the surgeon he had been restored to consciousness, and had his wound dressed; but he talked and raved wildly. He had been bound to the bench appropriated to the bodies of the drowned, which served him as a couch, and all had deserted him with horror and aversion.

When Drost Aagé entered this chamber, the light of a yellow horn lantern, which hung from the roof, fell on the murderer's swollen blue visage with the hare-lip scar and ugly projecting teeth: he laughed horribly, and ground his teeth like a chained wild beast. "Comest thou hither, thou excommunicated hound!" he muttered, thrusting forth his tongue from his foaming jaws; "then thou art also dead and damned--that's some small comfort, though among devils--Now are the fishes gnawing at my fist, at the bottom of the sea, while I lie a corpse here in hell's antechamber--that was thy doing, thou pale ghost, with St. George's sword! I feared thou hadst come off free, for thy stupid piety's sake, and thy hound-like faithfulness."

"Why so?" asked Aagé, strangely affected by having half entered into the dark imaginings of the madman--"How couldst thou think an excommunicated man could 'scape damnation?"

"Seest thou, comrade?" whispered the bound robber, gazing wildly around him, "the same holy man who gave thee over to the Evil One, gave me a passport to heaven's kingdom. It lies there in my jerkin; Satan's barber cut it off from me just now; and the letter was a lie,--like all virtue and piety in the world. If that holy man could give me a false warrant for salvation, he might also have made a false reckoning with thy soul. It pleaseth me, however, to see he is apt in some things," he continued, with a horrible laugh. "I ever thought so: those black fellows can curse far better than they can bless. But who did thy business for thee? The hand that should have done it is gone to the Devil--Ha! there bites a hungry fish at my fingers' ends."

"From whom was the private letter? and to whom shouldst thou have brought it?" asked Aagé, suddenly in a stern voice, and in a tone of overawing authority: "confess the truth, and it shall fare better with thee, wretch, than thou hast deserved!"

"What! though I should break the most solemn oath I ever swore?" muttered the robber. "No, stern sir! let the Devil take his own, and Olé Ark's sinful soul too, if the worst come to the worst! I have sent many an accursed heretic and excommunicated man to hell, and truly also many an honest fellow to heaven; but if I am now myself about to go to the Devil, it shall be as a right-believing Christian; and none shall say of me I broke my sworn oath, even to the living Satan."

"Tell me the way thou shouldst have gone, is it here?" continued Aagé, looking around the large murky stone chamber.

"The way to my master's den?" muttered the robber with a grin--"Wouldst ferret that out, comrade? Take care thou dost not burn thyself in it!"

"It is here, then," said Aagé to himself, looking around him, with still greater attention--"And here is the key; is it not so?" So saying, he produced the old rusty key which had been found on the robber's person together with the private letter.

"Right, comrade, the key to hell!" returned the raving murderer, with a horrid laugh.

Aagé now examined the whole vault, but discovered no trace of any cellar or descent. The floor was paved with large flags. He stamped on several places, and at last perceived a hollow sound, and the clang of metal under the stone floor. He took the lantern from the iron hook in the arch of the roof, and placed it on the floor. On doing so he discovered a large loose stone, which might be raised, and his conjecture was confirmed. The loose stone concealed a fast-locked iron trap-door, which, however, seemed too small to admit of the descent of any person. He tried the key, and it fitted. He opened the trap-door; the raw damp air of the vault rose up to him from a pitch-dark abyss, into which a ladder led down to an uncertain depth.

While this examination was carrying on the insane murderer lay on the corpse bench, and grinned with horrible contortions. Aagé stood thoughtfully by the opening, pondering over his daring enterprise. It now struck him, for the first time, that, if undisguised, he must undoubtedly be recognised and his plan frustrated. His eye fell on the blood-stained jerkin, which had been stript from off the robber's person, in order to bind him, "Well," he said, "we exchange garments; there, thou hast my mantle and hat; I take thy jerkin and cap."

"Good exchange enough," muttered Olé Ark; "if my luck goes with my jerkin, he goeth down to fame and honour. Ha! loose my body, Satan, and let me follow him into the pit."

It was not without repugnance that Aagé clad himself in the soiled, stained dress of the vagabond, which, however, answered his purpose, and rendered him almost incognisable. He then took the lamp in his hand, and prepared to descend through the narrow aperture in the floor; but the scorn and defiance of the bound robber now changed into a piteous lament.

"Mercy! mercy!" he cried, "take not the last glimpse of light from me! Now comes the Devil himself to rend me to pieces--Ha! let me not lie a corpse here in the dark--Mercy! mercy!" he howled, and pulled and tore at the cords which bound him.

"Pray to thy God and Judge for mercy," said Aagé; "I cannot help thee." He then squeezed himself through the narrow opening, with the lantern in his hand, and pulled the trap-door after him, that he might not hear the howls of the madman; but was nearly falling down head foremost from the ladder, on hearing, to his dismay, that the trap-door, which had a spring-lock, fell and closed over his head. He felt now as though he were entombed alive. He had forgotten to take the key with him; and the faint howling of the robber soon seemed lost in triumphant laughter above the grave which had closed over him.

Aagé grew dizzy, but recovered himself, and clung fast to the slippery steps of the ladder, while he continued to descend. At last he stood at the bottom: the descent was steep and deep, but it led to a narrow vaulted passage, which was so low as hardly to admit of his walking upright. The air was foul and suffocating, and he often trod on sprawling toads and other reptiles. He held up the lantern before him, but beheld nothing save the long narrow passage, to which he could discern no end; its direction, however, convinced him that it must undoubtedly lead to the castle. He went forward with hasty steps, and looked anxiously at the light in the lamp, which gleamed fainter and fainter. The air seemed not to contain sufficient nourishment for life and flame. He had hardly proceeded more than a hundred paces ere what he feared took place--the light went out in the lantern, and he stood in the dark. He felt a degree of alarm and a want of power and courage, which was quite foreign to his nature; at the same time he heard a hollow clang far behind, as if the iron trap-door had been again opened and clapped to. He involuntarily quickened his steps, but slipped every moment on slimy reptiles, and was often forced to pause in order to take breath, while the air he inhaled seemed to lame every limb and to contract his lungs. He was nearly sinking down in a state of insensibility; but he now thought he heard a sound as of stealthy steps behind him, and his increased apprehension inspired him with renewed strength. "Is any one there?" he shouted, and turned round; but no one answered, and there was suddenly a deathlike stillness again.

It was so dark that he could not see his own hand before his eyes. In order not to awaken suspicion by his bold enterprise he had taken off his sword in the corpse-chamber, and was entirely defenceless. In his childhood, Aagé had not been wholly free from the dread of supernatural beings; and, according to the creed of the age, the idea of the influence of a mighty world of spirits on human life was closely connected with religious belief. Aagé nowise doubted the possibility of the appearance of evil as well as of good spirits; but this idea never disquieted him in open day, when he knew he was on a lawful errand, and had his sword with its cross-hilt at his side. "Is it honourable and chivalrous to steal along thus?" he said to himself. "Why took I not my good sword with me? It was hard, though, to take the light from him above there--he lies now in the pains of hell on yonder bench, and curses me;--or hath he got loose, and is he lurking after me in the dark?" He now thought he heard again distinctly, at every stride he took, the same sound, as of stealthy footsteps behind him; but each time he turned round all was still as before. This consciousness of the presence of an unknown being in the dark passage put him into a state of fearful apprehension, and recalled those images of horror to his imagination, which he felt himself least able to combat. "Is he now dead above there?--is it his maniac spirit which persecutes thee?" he whispered to himself; and the form of the frantic murderer appeared to his imagination far more terrific than when he beheld it actually stretched on the corpse-bench; "or is it thou, old Pallé!" he exclaimed, almost with an outcry of terror. The scene of the murder in Finnerup barn, which had haunted him in his childhood, and the image of the aged and insane regicide he had himself slain on the body of the murdered king, were again vividly present to his imagination. His hair stood on end; it seemed to him as if he was now actually about to fight with demons and evil spirits in the dark pit of the grave,--a fancy which had often disquieted him in dreams, and which lately had been the dominant plague of his fevered imagination. At last his terror increased to such a degree that he could no longer control it; he turned suddenly round, and rushed with all his might with clenched hands towards the place where he again thought he distinguished the stealthy footsteps. He then distinctly heard a clanking sword strike against the wall close beside his ear. "Ha! a human being after all! Wretched murderer! is it thou?" he shouted, quite recovering his courage at the discovery of a real and bodily pursuer, and sprang forward towards the unseen deadly foe, while he struck aside the sword, which seemed to be wielded by a left and powerless arm. The sword flew clanging forward in the dark passage; but at the same moment Aagé felt his neck clutched almost to suffocation by a pair of convulsively strained arms, dripping wet.

"Ha! ha! have I pounced on thee at last, hell-hound?" suddenly roared a wild rough voice in his ear, and Aagé recognised the tones of the wounded robber. "I have long enough lain a corpse--now thou mayst take my place, comrade!" This terrific voice presently rose into the howl of a wild beast, and Aagé felt the madman's tusks in his forehead; he struck desperately around him, and strove with all his might to free himself from the suffocating grasp of the monster, but in vain; and he was long compelled to combat and wrestle with him ere he succeeded in throwing him to the ground, and was even then still forced to struggle with the robber, whose howls were growing weaker and weaker, without, however, being able to free his neck from his convulsive grasp. At last the clutching arms loosened from round his neck, and his frantic adversary lay silent and apparently dead, or in a swoon, under his knee.

"The Lord have mercy on his sinful soul," sighed Aagé, rising half breathless. His opponent now made a sudden movement as if to rise, but fell back, with a rattling in his throat; and Aagé perceived, for the first time, that he was in all probability wading in the blood of the wounded murderer. He hastened on with rapid strides. Once or twice he stopped out of breath, and fancied he again heard the murderer stealing after him. At last he hit against something hard, and discovered by feeling that it was a large door of metal. He shook it with all his might, but it appeared to be locked on the other side, and immoveable. He thundered at it with his iron-shod heels, and each stroke rung hollow through the vault. After the lapse of some time a little shutter opened in the door, and the light of a dark lantern, and a swarthy warrior-like visage, appeared. "Who is there? and from whom?" asked the man-at-arms.

"No one, from no one," answered Aagé, suddenly calling to mind the mysterious expression in the private letter.

"Right! thou knowest the watchword," was the answer; "and one only?--without arms?"

"As thou seest--but open quick!--there is no time to lose."

"Come, give time! The guard must first know of it." The shutter closed again, and Aagé heard the sound of a horn, which was answered at some distance: soon after the iron door opened, and a strong-built steel-clad warrior stepped out and advanced towards him into the passage, with a light in the one hand and a drawn sword in the other. He eyed the disguised Drost from head to foot, by the light of the lantern, and started back a couple of paces. "Faugh! how thou look'st, thou bloodhound!" he said, with disgust. "'Tis hard for an honest fellow to let such guests in, when the king himself must stand without."

"I have had a hard joust on the road, brave countryman." said Aagé; "but haste thee!"

"Come, come; give time, thou scoundrel! The bandage over thy eyes first."

"What! bandage! and foul words to me!"

"Of course, loggerhead! Thou mightest be a spy and traitor, as thou art a bloodhound and accursed robber; thou lookest fit for all such trades. The bandage over the eyes instantly, thou hound! or I kick thee back into thy fox-hole."

It was with difficulty that Aagé subdued his ire, and recollected that he was not Drost here, nor able to justify himself; he bore this rough usage in silence, allowed his eyes to be bandaged, and was thus led through the iron gate. He heard it bolted and barred after him. Soon afterwards he heard the sound of chains and pullies, as if a drawbridge was being lowered, and he perceived he was led upon a swinging bridge.

"Go straight forward, scoundrel! or thou fallest into the moat," muttered his companion close behind him. A cold shudder came over him; but he was silent, and went straight onward.

"Ay, truly thou hast had better luck than I wished thee," it was muttered behind him; "but thou hast another bridge to cross; that is ten times worse; here thou art quit of me."

Aagé heard his warlike companion re-cross the bridge, which was immediately afterwards raised. He conjectured that he was within the outermost rampart of the castle, towards the north-west, which lay between the sea-tower and the circular wall, for he had paid close attention to the direction in which he had proceeded. He had now two new companions, who were as little sparing as the former in contemptuous expressions respecting his cut-throat appearance and supposed marauding trade. Aagé suffered himself to be led onward by them without answering a word to their threats and scoffs, which secretly rejoiced him, as a token of their dispositions and honourable feelings. At last a horn was again sounded; it was answered as before at some distance. A drawbridge was again lowered, and Aagé perceived he was directly under the castle wall; for he heard a noise above his head like the moving of balista and other warlike machines. He felt an unfriendly poke in the back, and stood as before on a rocking-bridge.

"Straight on, fellow, or thou fallest into the moat!" said a warning voice behind him. "Goest thou a hair's breadth aside thou art a dead man!" He commended his soul to God, and went on. His guides allowed him to proceed alone for some time, and appeared to rejoice over his deadly peril. Meanwhile, as he perceived the rocking under his feet had ceased, he knew they had passed over the inner castle moat, and were within the circular wall. At last he was led up a staircase; but the bandage was not yet removed from his eyes. It was not till he had been led in many circuitous directions, as if through a labyrinth of passages and stairs, that he was freed from the bandage over his eyes, and found himself in an apartment of the castle which was not unknown to him, and where he was ordered to await the commandant.

It was still night. One of the men-at-arms who had last followed him remained standing at the door with a lantern and a drawn sword, and apparently watching him with fear and abhorrence.

"Who dost thou take me for?" asked Aagé.

"For one of the junker's secret emissaries," was the answer. "Surely, good tidings thou bringest not, since thou comest pale and bloody from the secret passage. Hark! now they are taking the burning stones from the furnace. Kallundborg town will presently be in flames."

"The Lord forbid!" cried Aagé: "call the commandant instantly! I have strict prohibition from the junker."

"Thou lookest not as if thou hadst," said the man, starting.--"I will run then. Thou wilt do no mischief meanwhile?" The man hastily departed, and took the lantern with him. Aagé looked out at the window, and saw with alarm that burning stones were carried on gridirons across the yard to the balista on the walls.

"Stop, fellows!" said a rough voice in the castle yard. "There is a protest from the junker: not a shot must be fired as yet."

"A noble fellow at heart, after all!" said Aagé to himself, believing he had heard the commandant's voice. The door opened soon afterwards; a tall warrior, with a stern grave countenance, and armed from head to foot, entered the apartment with a light in his hand. When he beheld Aagé's blood-stained face and figure he retreated a step, and placed the light on the table, while he hastily laid his hand on his large battle sword. "What fellow art thou?" he asked, in a stern and rough voice. "Doth the junker send pale corpses to plague me? Answer, fellow? Who art thou? Tell me thy watchwords, or I cut thee down on the spot!"

"No one, from no one," answered Aagé; and the commandant took his hand from the hilt of his sword.

"Speak, thou messenger of ill! If thou bringest me a prohibition from the junker, it is, of course, against mercy and delay? Is the town to burn? Is the Franciscan monastery first to be fired? There sleeps the king to-night."

"The town is to be spared," answered Aagé. "The castle is to be opened to the king at sunrise--the papers are to be given up, and the door of the pit nailed fast."

"Dost thou rave, fellow?" cried the commandant, in amazement. "Darest thou speak what I hardly dare think? Would the junker recall by thy mouth that which he commanded me with his own, on pain of death? Who then is to be punished for all that hath here been done, and stand in the gap between us and the king's anger?"

"You should fly the king's as well as the junker's wrath, and carry your secret and your knowledge of a weighty transaction with you into exile."

"And stand branded a perjurer and traitor before all the world? No, fellow! were that even the junker's command, I obey it not. What I have sworn I must keep; but the responsibility is the junker's. I have sold him my life--but my honour, as a warrior, is my own. Show me black and white for what thou sayest, or I will cause thee to be hanged as a spy and traitor!"

"Now, in the Lord's name!" said Aagé, as he suddenly threw off the robber's cap and dress, and stood in his well-known knightly attire before the commandant, "I cannot, I will not deceive a man of honour like you. I am Drost Aagé; I announce to you the will of my liege and sovereign, not that of the junker; you may now deal with me as you can answer to God and your own conscience: but if the royal house and your fatherland be dearer to you than your own pride and an imaginary fealty, you will follow my counsel, and make the great sacrifice I ask of you."

"Sir Drost!" answered the commandant, bowing with haughty coldness; "you have ventured on a daring game. You are now my prisoner; how I shall act depends not on me. Oaths and vows are more binding than man's pleasure and man's will. I am an old-fashioned warrior, do you see--Your subtle state policy and artificial virtues I understand not--the law I acknowledge says, obey that which is commanded thee by thy lawful superior, and let him who commanded it answer for the consequences."

"But when you see the most destructive, the most fearful consequences before your eyes; when your superior hath broken his oath of fealty, and abused his rights----"

"That concerns not me. I keep steady to him to whom I swore allegiance; but he must answer for what is done here, be it good or evil."

"But when you swore an ungodly oath, and fealty to a rebel?"

"Then must I keep the oath I swore to him, though, by way of thanks, he should cause me to be hung for it, or go to hell. There is no choice here: had I even entered the devil's service, Sir Drost, I must endure to the end, however fearful that end may be!"

"Your pride blinds your eyes to truth and justice, noble sir!" exclaimed Aagé gazing on the tall steel-clad chieftain with a species of admiration; "but hear me, I conjure you by the living Lord!"

"You must excuse me. Sir Drost!" interrupted the chief, with cold calmness. "My time is short, I have perhaps not many hours to live; I expect thanks neither from the king nor the junker, and perhaps but little honour on this side the prison and the grave; but all things according to order. You are now going to the tower, and I to the battlement--to-morrow you perhaps will sit at the king's right hand, while I lie on the wheel: but so long as we are at our posts, each must do his duty, and, as I said, all things according to order." So saying, he stamped on the floor, and three men-at-arms entered.

"Take this knight instantly to the prison tower"--ordered the commandant, nodding to the two nearest him.

"And thou, Bent!" he said, addressing himself to the third, "let the stones be heated again: it was a false protest--off with thee!"

The two men instantly seized Aagé, and led him towards a secret door, which they opened in the wall. Aagé turned round once more, and called to the chief, in the highest state of anxiety and alarm. "Think upon your immortal soul, in what you do! remember, you should obey God rather than sinful men." More he could not say, for the private door was closed behind him.

The third man-at-arms still lingered, as if he expected the stern command he had received would be recalled; but the imperturbable chief glanced menacingly at him. "The stones are to be heated, I tell thee. Art thou deaf, fellow? Off with thee! Obedience or death, while I command here!"

The man-at-arms turned quickly round, and departed gloomy and silent through the door, beside which he stood.

The commandant strode hastily once or twice up and down the floor, with his hand upon his broad forehead. At last he stopped at a prie-dieu, and bent his knee, while his eye rested on the open prayer book. "Ye servants," he muttered, and folded his hands, "obey your masters according to the flesh, in all things;" he then rose, signed a cross over his broad steel-clad breast, and went in silence and with hasty steps out of the door.

CHAP. III.

It was near daybreak. The alarm and anxiety had ceased, with which the inhabitants of Kallundborg had seen the night draw on. The peace and stillness which had prevailed the whole night seemed to have lulled the burghers, as well as the men-at-arms, into security. The lights were extinguished in most of the houses. The men-at-arms nodded over the expiring watch fires, and reposed on their mantles, in quiet groups, while some paced up and down on guard, beside the piled-up lances. Even the gay and vigilant Count Henrik was weary of the strained attention which he now deemed unnecessary: he had sat down to rest, under an image of the Madonna, without the Franciscan monastery, where a light was always burning. He had lately inspected the sentries, and found every thing in good order. He felt wearied, but kept off sleep, and his eyes open, while his gaze dwelt on the waning and half-hidden stars. His soul dreamed of warlike honours and proud victories, by the side of the Danish monarch, and of the admiration of the ladies of Mecklenborg when he should return with merited laurels and tokens of royal favour to his fatherland. While engaged in these reveries, which led him through half a life in a few minutes, he was suddenly disturbed by the working of the balista, and a fearful alarm of fire from the monastery. He started up, and beheld, with dismay, that burning stones were flying from the loopholes and walls of the castle, in different directions, and a high flame shot up from the storehouse of the monastery. In an instant he was actively exerting himself in the rescue of the town and monastery. Engines for extinguishing the flames were every where at hand. There was a fearful tumult in the town; but the alarm was however greater than the misfortune seemed likely to prove. Some single houses, it is true, were fired; but the greater part were protected by the snow, although the roofs were of straw. Many glowing stones from the balista missed their mark, many cooled ere they fell. The storehouse of the monastery instantly caught fire: it was necessary to sacrifice it, and partly to pull it down; but not a single stone fell on the principal building, nor on the guest-house, where the king had established himself.

Meanwhile the king was instantly astir; none were more zealous and active than he and Count Henrik; they rode constantly through the streets, and were always first on the spot where any house was fired.

The king was highly exasperated--he often cast a glance of menace at the castle. He halted without the burning monastery, by the count's side, just as another discharge from the balista took place, and a large burning stone fell down between their horses, and rolled hissing into the snow.

"My liege!" exclaimed Count Henrik, "the burghers may put out the flames, but we can do more; let us sally forth and storm instantly."

"Not yet," answered the king, shaking his head. "Look," he continued, pointing to the flame-lit copper roof of the principal building of the monastery; "when the sun stands highest, and the tower shadow falls yonder, then will it be time; then will my patience have reached its limits--its uttermost bounds."

As soon as it was daylight the firing from the balista through the loopholes, ceased; but the parapets upon the outer wall were observed to be filled with men-at-arms. The towers of the wall were also perceived to be strongly garrisoned, and a numerous array of lances and battle-axes glittered over the battlements in the grey dawn of morning. The wall before the gate in particular was strongly manned, as well as the tower above the gate, where they seemed most to apprehend an attack. The great iron portcullis between the gate and the outward wall was drawn up by strong iron rings. There was great alarm and tumult at the castle and its garrison: a desperate storm and revenge for the night's disturbance was apparently apprehended. The fire meanwhile had been put out, as well in the monastery as in the town. The pious Franciscans rang to mattins, as usual, and the king did not neglect to share in their devotion.

"But--what is become of Aagé?--Where is the Drost?" he asked Count Henrik, as he again vaulted on his horse, without the church of the monastery, in order to inspect the hastily prepared storming machines with his general. "I saw him not the whole night, nor even just now at mattins; it is not his wont, however, to sleep when I watch or pray--least of all when danger is impending."

"I have not seen him since midnight," answered Count Henrik, endeavouring to hide his embarrassment and uneasiness; "After our adventure beside the sea-tower, I saw him last by yonder watch-fire," added the count, assuming a gay air. "It was a fine night; all around was so still and peaceful. He must have got love fancies or some kind of visionary notions into his head. He went towards the tower, without desiring my company, and bade me not expect him before noon."

"Strange!" said the king, "Aagé upon a light love adventure, and at this time! It cannot be. Humph! what became of the spy you captured? Hath he been examined? Hath he confessed?"

"He hath disappeared, my liege! 'tis a strange and almost incomprehensible tale. I was myself at the sea-tower, two hours after midnight, the man-at-arms was dead, but the devil had carried off his murderer: that, they swore roundly, was the fact. He had lain bound in the corpse-chamber of the drowned; no egress was possible; at midnight he was heard to cry and howl, that the devil was carrying him off. No one dared to enter the chamber, and when I came neither robber or Drost was to be seen."

"How! the Drost!" interrupted the king; "what hath all this to do with Aagé? He lay not in the chamber with the murderer."

"True--excuse me, your grace," answered Count Henrik, clearing his throat. "I speak at random, I perceive: that comes from the night-watch."

"Truly, count! we must be broad awake to-day, especially since Aagé is not here," answered the king hastily, and rode down towards the tower. "I will find out what is meant by that devil's story."

Count Henrik followed the king. The report of the disappearance of the bound murderer, had already collected a crowd of curious persons, who crossed themselves on hearing the terrific tale, which they repeated one to another, with still more marvellous and more terrible circumstances. Place was respectfully made for the king, who heard with wonder from the guard the same tale as that current in the crowd, with the alarming addition, that the Drost had entered at midnight into the chamber of the raving murderer, and that all traces of him had likewise disappeared. Various opinions were however entertained of the affair, and some thought it was not the Drost, but the devil, who, in the Drost's form, had entered the chamber of the dying murderer, to carry him off in person.

"Tush!" said the king, "lead me to that accursed corpse-chamber! There must be some trick in this." He hastily entered the murky stone chamber, and looked around it on all sides with anxious attention. There was no furniture except the bench appropriated to the bodies of the drowned, which was streaked with blood, and on which hung some rent and half-decayed rope. From the high iron grating in the wall, which was hardly large enough to admit a sparrow, fell a faint light, which glimmered on a plumed hat lying in a corner. "What see I here?" exclaimed the king in astonishment. "The Drost's hat and plume; and there is his green mantle also. Plundered, murdered, great God!--Yet no! a robber would surely have made off with the booty. The captured murderer was certainly sorely wounded?"

"To the death of the body, most gracious liege, according to the surgeon's opinion," answered an aged monk, who, with a curious crowd of the lower class, had thronged together with the men-at-arms, into the tower after the king. "Ah, yes," continued the solemn Franciscan, in a tone of devout exhortation, "it was a fearful end. Here we see manifestly how the ungodly are punished. This blood crieth not unto heaven, like the innocent Abel's, but it crieth unto hardened sinners upon earth, from the road to the bottomless pit, that they may behold the traces of the damned with fear and trembling. My pious hearers, men may now-a-days delay temporal death, by means of surgeons and apothecaries, with St. Cosmo's and St. Damian's help; but eternal death they never can: when the term is out, lo! then cometh he who hath the bond, and fetches that which is his own, without respect of persons. Here hath been given a sign, to the terror and warning of many in our ungodly time: Sancta Maria! ora pronobis!"

"It is thou then, monk, who puttest those vagaries into the people's head?" interrupted the king at last, with impetuous impatience. "Believest thou, in truth, that the Evil One hath carried off yon murderer, both body and soul?"

"St. Franciscus preserve me from doubting it!" answered the monk, crossing himself. "He who can carry off the souls of the ungodly can doubtless annihilate their sinful bodies. Lo! he hath but left these blood-drops behind, as a witness of the power which is given him, and also, though he willed it not, to the honour of the all-righteous Judge. The truth is so manifest in our sight, it were blindness and heretical presumption to doubt."

"And, my Drost, my faithful Aagé, believest thou the same of him?"

"Be not wroth, my liege?" answered the Franciscan with frankness, and laying his meagre hand on his breast, "my conscience forbids me to witness falsely on the brink of the grave, to please or flatter the great and mighty, or to conceal the wondrous things which have taken place in our sight, for the conversion of hardened sinners, with fear and trembling. The noble Drost hath also disappeared in an incomprehensible manner, and seeing that we know he had fallen under the awful ban of the church, and was given over by our most venerable archbishop to the destruction of the flesh, and the power of the great enemy of souls!"

"Silence, presumptuous monk! thou knowest not what thou sayest!" exclaimed the king, in the greatest wrath, darting a lightning glance at the pale trembling monk; "let the prince of darkness take that which is his! I will not quarrel either with him or thee for that; but this I know, no devil shall injure a hair of my faithful Drost Aagé's head, whether he be dead or alive. There must have been a murder here, a foul misdeed," he continued, "a shameless treachery. So help me God, and all the holy men, it shall be discovered, and sternly avenged! Hence, monk! hie thee to thy cell, and pray the Lord to enlighten thy understanding. Thy intentions are good--it were sin to be wroth with thee. Go hence, good people; ye stand in our way. Hither, my true men; the floor must be broken up; the tower must be pulled down. If the Drost be not found, one stone shall not remain upon another."

At the king's stern command the monk and all the idle spectators departed. The spearmen came with spears and boat-hooks, and whatever was at hand, and began to break up the stone floor. It was not long ere they discovered the loose stone in the corner by the little iron trap-door, which was hardly discernible in the faint glimmer of daylight from the grating. "Look, look!" was the cry; "a trap-door! a pitfall!"

"Ha! the murderer's pit! Here we have it!" exclaimed the king. "Torches here, quick! I will go below, myself.

"Let that be my business, my liege," said Count Henrik. "Here is assuredly the secret entrance to the castle," he added in a low voice; "perhaps it might be used for our attack."

"No, Count! a king's path lies not through a fox's den"--interrupted the king, proudly: "bring me but my faithful Aagé!"

Torches were quickly brought, and the passage was searched. The king however suffered himself to be withheld from descending. Count Henrik hasted forward with eagerness and curiosity, holding a torch in his hand, and accompanied by three men-at-arms. The torches were often nearly extinguished by the subterranean air; they found however and recognised the robber's body, which was immediately borne off by two of the men, while Count Henrik and the third pursued the search. At last they reached the great iron gate, which they vainly attempted to burst open. Within, the sounding of horns and the clash of numerous weapons were heard, and Count Henrik considered it advisable to hasten back.

The king had meanwhile obtained information of every circumstance respecting the Drost's nocturnal visit to the tower, and was in some degree tranquillised by the sight of the robber's body, when Count Henrik returned and acquainted him with what he had discovered. "The daring Drost is assuredly alive, if not quite in safety, my liege," said the Count, as he ascended from the secret passage, quite spent and breathless. "As the murderer was found dead and alone, he cannot have mastered the brave Drost; but it is plain they have had a hard struggle together. Here is the Drost's sword; it was found close to the body. There is actually a secret passage to the castle; but it is strongly guarded, and we were near falling into the enemy's hand."

"Well, now we know where Aagé is," said the king; "he meant well; but 'tis an arch trick he hath played us. Ere the sun goes down he shall be free, by God's assistance," he added. "Woe to the traitors, should they injure a hair of his head!"

The king left the tower, and the preparations for storming were continued with increased zeal.

Towards noon the king, mounted on his white steed, stationed himself without the eastern rampart of the castle: he was stern and silent. He often looked with uneasy expectation and rising indignation towards the gate of the town, where, in a few moments, his brother the junker would appear, did he purpose taking any measures to effect a reconciliation. Some horsemen, who were placed on the look-out on the hill by St. George's hospital, returned at the time appointed, at full gallop, and announced that the expected party was not to be seen on the road.

"Now then, in the name of the righteous God," exclaimed the king in a low voice, but greatly incensed, "I have no longer a brother; the measure is full--Let them sound to storm, Count Henrik; let the trumpets thunder forth my wrath!"

Hardly was the command uttered ere the trumpets sounded to storm. The sun stood highest in the heaven, and the tower shadow fell upon the roof of the monastery. The whole force was instantly in activity. The attack was made according to the plan concerted with the Drost, from three sides at once; but on two sides feignedly, in order to mislead the enemy, while the principal assault, in which the whole force of the troop combined by degrees, was directed against the eastern wall, by the tower gate.

The outermost drawbridge was speedily pulled down by the boat-hooks of the brave boatmen and seamen. With the aid of all the fire ladders belonging to the town, the outer wall was quickly mounted. No leader was here present, and the junker's Zealand peasants, as well as the Samsöers, fought unwillingly against their countrymen. A brave resistance was indeed made against the German Count Henrik, but wherever the king himself appeared, the weapons dropped from the hands of the Danish defenders of the wall, while they fell at his feet and implored mercy. The outer wall came thus speedily into the power of the king, who was himself one of the first who mounted it; but the most vigorous defence was made from the tower, over the fortified gate. Within was heard a powerful voice of command, and from the loopholes and battlements rained a thick shower of stones and javelins. Count Henrik saw the danger, and hastened to form a roof of shields for the king's protection, while it was vainly attempted to tear down the great portcullis which served as a sort of raised iron drawbridge over the moat, between the outer wall and the gate.

"Fire the gate!" commanded the king, with wrathful impetuosity.

"Fire! fire, here!" was echoed from mouth to mouth, and crowds soon flocked from the town, with torches of pitch, with fire and splintered tar-barrels, which they threw in over the portcullis. The gate and the tower were soon shrouded in smoke and flame, amid the shouts of the besiegers.

CHAP. IV.

During this eager and hazardous attack, on the eastern side of the castle, the captive Drost Aagé stood before the iron-grated loophole in the square upper tower, which rose from the middle of the principal western wing of the castle. Far below, perpendicularly from the prison grating, the great wooden staircase projected into the castle court, from which, through a balcony, was the entrance into the vestibule of the upper story. The prison tower was separated from the besieged gate by the two principal wings to the north and south of the circular court, by the ladies' apartment, and the knights' hall. From his high prison grating Aagé was thus enabled to witness the combat and strenuous efforts, as well of the assailants as of the besieged. He had succeeded in climbing up into the recess in the wall within the grating, whence he looked out with steadfast gaze and throbbing heart over the castle yard towards the tower gate. Here he knew the principal attack was to be made. He had for some time heard the din of the fight, and perceived how all the forces combined to assault and defend this one point. He now beheld the dense pillar of smoke rising without the gate, and observed at the same time, through the loopholes of the tower, that the garrison were putting their largest machines of defence in motion in order to crush the besiegers with stones and beams, ere they could succeed in firing the gate. "Must I stand passive here, while the king is in battle and danger?" exclaimed Aagé, as he shook the iron gate in wrath. He had nearly fallen down backwards into his prison, as a fragment of the ancient wall loosened and fell in before him, together with a part of the grating. "A hint!" he exclaimed in surprise; "thanks be to thee, my good angel! thou art, then, more powerful than the Evil One." He instantly conceived the design of availing himself of this accident to make a venturous flight from the tower, in the hope of hastening to the assistance of the besiegers, and perhaps of opening the gate to them. He bound his shoulder scarf to that part of the grating which remained firm, and made preparations for letting himself down to a lower shelf of the tower wall; but at this moment he heard a voice, which constrained him to draw back, and filled him with dismay. He had leaned his head against a pillar of the tower, which being raised the whole height of the building conducted the sound to his ear from an unfathomable depth. Directly under him, where the high wooden staircase projected, was a deep vault with a well, concealed under the uppermost landing, which led through the balcony to the great vestibule of the castle. This vault, with its deep well, was, in cases of emergency, the last defence of the castle, and might prove a frightful grave for every besieger who was not aware of the contrivance, as in the landing of the stairs was a concealed trap-door, which could suddenly be let down from within to plunge the entering foe and the supposed victor into the abyss. This contrivance for the defence of the castle had been recently planned by the junker: neither the king nor the Drost knew of it; and as a secret and extreme defence, it had even been kept concealed from most of the inmates of the castle. The existence of such a stratagem had been already suspected by Aagé, from the contents of the private letter he had seized and destroyed; but the distant voice which reached his ear from beneath now flashed conviction like lightning across his mind.

"There shalt thou stand!" sounded the stern voice of the commandant, in a low and hollow tone. "If the gate falls, and they throng in hither, then mark--the moment thou hearest a footstep on the stair, let down the door!"

A faint voice replied; but Aagé heard not the answer.

"Whatever blood flows here comes on the junker's head!" said the commandant's voice again; "he must answer for it here and yonder--We are but the instruments of death in his hand--Enquire not! think not! be silent and obey or thou art perjured and damned eternally!"

Aagé stood as if petrified with terror: from some single words which were added, the whole fearful contrivance became clear to him: even the voice of the stern chief appeared to him to tremble while issuing the terrible mandate.

All was again hushed in the hidden abyss, while the clash of arms and the din of battle at the castle gate increased, and overpowered every other sound. A high flame presently shot up through the pillar of smoke above the gate, and a shout of dismay was heard from the burning tower, the defenders of which were now forced to fly to escape perishing in the flames. Without resounded the victorious shouts of the besiegers, while the rattling of iron chains, and a hollow clanging noise announced that the outer portcullis between the wall and the gate was pulled down; to this a still louder crash succeeded; the besiegers burst the burning gate.

An overwhelming dread seized the listening captive: almost without knowing on what he was about to venture, he swung himself out of the loosened prison grating, and let himself down by his shoulder scarf so low towards the tower wall that he was able to take his stand on a projecting buttress; but hardly had he succeeded in doing this, ere another fragment of the prison wall loosened, together with the iron grating to which his scarf was bound; it flew past his head and dashed against the iron railing of the balcony below, where his scarf remained hanging. He himself lost his balance, and was forced to let go his hold; but he snatched involuntarily, as if with the instinct of self-preservation, at the projecting buttress on which his foot had just rested, and thus continued to cling, while he succeeded in resting one foot on the corner of the sloping porch above the staircase entrance. He stood thus directly over the stair, yet still at such a height above it as to involve the certainty of sustaining a serious injury in case of falling. He had ascertained that the trap-door of the well was immediately under his feet, and that the first footstep upon it would be the signal for its falling, and opening its deep and certain grave. It was hardly possible for Aagé to continue his hold long in this hanging position. Amid the universal tumult no one perceived him. He now heard the crash caused by the bursting of the gates, and the victorious shout, "The castle is won! Long live young king Eric!" The king had already entered the castle as a victor through the flaming gate. Aagé could not turn his head round and look down into the yard without losing his balance; but he heard, and instantly recognised the king's and Count Henrik's voices far below him.

"Beware, my liege! here is a pitfall!" he shouted with all his might; but his voice was too faint; he was exhausted by his desperate exertions, and no one appeared to hear him amid the universal clashing of weapons, and the noisy shouts of victory. He was, besides, hidden by the pillar of the tower from those who were nearest to the upper story of the building. "Farewell, sweet Margaretha! farewell, love and life!" he gasped; "I must below." His fall and death, at this moment, appeared to be the only means of saving the king's life. "Long live my king!" he shouted, and let go his hold of the buttress. All seemed to grow dark before him; he fancied he was falling an unfathomable depth; but beyond this he was unconscious of what was passing around him.

"Aagé, Aagé's voice!" cried the king, who, excited by the fight and the storm, stood at the head of his victorious troop of knights at the foot of the high wooden staircase. He had heard Aagé's voice, but where he knew not; some of the furthest men-at-arms had seen him fall down from the porch on the landing of the stairs, but the general noise and tumult overpowered their shouts of alarm. The king had already set his foot on the first step of the stair.

"Back, my liege! treachery!" shouted Count Henrik suddenly. "Yonder hangs the Drost's shoulder scarf; there is certainly a pitfall here."

The long red scarf hung just above their heads from the iron railing of the balcony.

"As I live, my faithful Aagé; I heard him bemoan himself above there," said the king eagerly, without heeding the warning, and hastened up the stair; but Count Henrik rushed after him and seized his arm ere he reached the uppermost landing. They both stopped as in amazement, and at the same moment uttered a cry of horror on seeing the unhappy Drost lie deadly pale and bleeding at the top of the staircase.

"Dead! dead!" cried the king, and was hastening up to him; but Count Henrik still detained him, while he himself sprang forward, and tramped on every step of the hollow stair. Aagé opened his eyes, and recognised the king. "Back from the grave, my liege!" he called with a faint voice, as he rolled himself forward to the king's feet, and clasped his knees. "Aagé! great Heavens! what is this?" exclaimed the king, and raised him in his arms. At the same instant the door of the hall of the upper story opened, and a tall, steel-clad knight, disarmed, and with an uncovered and hoary head, stepped across the balcony, and took his stand on the uppermost landing of the stair. "You stand beside a grave, King Eric!" he said in a terrific voice; "I had prepared it for you; but a higher power presides here; now shall it open, and swallow me up before your eyes." He stamped with all his might on the rocking and creaking trap-door under his feet. "Ha! why tarriest thou, slave?" he shouted in a voice of thunder. "Away with the bolt; draw it quick."

"No, no, in the name of a merciful Heaven!" said a beseeching voice from the castle cellar far beneath him; "I cannot; I would sooner be perjured and eternally damned."

"What is all this?" asked the king in the greatest amazement. "Doth that man rave? Who is he?"

"The commandant of the castle, my liege," answered Count Henrik, who stood with his drawn sword before the king, and with the one foot on the trap-door.

"Bind that madman," commanded the king to the knights nearest him, without withdrawing his gaze from the signs of returning life in Aagé's face. He bore him himself in his arms, with Count Henrik's assistance, over the creaking trap-door, and over the balcony, into the upper hall. As soon as Count Henrik had seen the Drost and the king in safety he hastened back to the shouting men-at-arms, to secure and guard all the entrances, and prevent any disorder from the disarming of the garrison. It was not till the king saw that Aagé's consciousness was returning, and that his limbs, however bruised, still were not seriously injured, that he looked towards the knights who surrounded him, and assisted in tending the Drost. At the door of the antechamber stood the tall commandant of the castle, with his arms tied behind his back, between two halberdiers; he gazed before him, mute and pale, as a marble statue. "Had I such a master to die for!" he muttered in a deep and hardly audible voice, and a tear rolled down between the furrows of the aged warrior's haughty and unmoved countenance.

Count Henrik soon re-entered the hall with hasty steps. "My liege," he said aloud, "the margrave is without the gate; the highborn junker is with him. They entreat your grace to withhold your stern sentence and wrath, and hear what the prince hath to say in his defence."

"Let him step hither instantly," commanded the king, and the sternness of his countenance seemed mingled with profound sorrow. "The hour of judgment is come," he added; "but I condemn no one unheard."

Count Henrik bowed in silence and departed. A deathlike stillness prevailed in the chamber. Drost Aagé reposed, pale and bleeding, on a bench, with his head leaning on the king's breast, and appeared as yet not to have fully recovered his consciousness after his shattering and stunning fall. His temples had been chafed with wine; at a signal from the king he was carried into the ladies' apartment, that he might repose in quiet, and be more carefully tended. As he was borne off the king pressed his feeble hand, and looked on him with affection and sadness. Aagé gazed fixedly and anxiously upon the king. "Remember you are to pass sentence on a brother," he whispered in a faint voice. He would have said more, but the king motioned to him to be silent, and turned from him as he hastily passed his hand over his high and glowing forehead.

A deep stillness once more prevailed around. The king's knights had ranged themselves in solemn silence at his side: they yet stood with their drawn swords in their hands, and the halberdiers were stationed with their long spears by the door guarding the gloomy chief, who looked like one petrified. Footsteps were soon heard on the hollow stair, where the trap-door had already been secured. Count Henrik opened the door, and remained standing on the balcony. He bowed coldly as Junker Christopher and the Margrave of Brandenborg entered, followed by their knightly train. The margrave's wonted gaiety and light-heartedness had vanished. He seemed exhausted from violent exertion, and in an anxious and uneasy mood. When the tall Junker Christopher uncovered his black locks, which floated wild and tangled around his shoulders, and advanced towards the king, his feet appeared to totter, while, however, there was a cold and forced smile on his long, large-featured visage.

"My royal brother hath visited me in a peculiar fashion," he said in a tone of bitterness, as he greeted Eric with a stiff and formal bow. "I lament that I was not informed of your gracious visit, that I might have received my royal liege in a fitting manner, and have prevented the senseless acts of my vassals as well as the deeds of violence, of which I perceive traces here."

"I am wont, even when unannounced, to find the castles of my vassals and servants open as well to my ambassadors as to me," answered the king with stern vehemence. "The contumacy I have here met with is high treason; the gate of a fortress hath been shut against me in my own kingdom: where this happens, fief and goods are forfeited, be the criminal who he may! I perceive, also, that my life has been basely and treacherously sought after: it is a Judas act and miscreant deed; it stirs up my inmost soul;" he continued in a voice of emotion, and with a doubtful glance at the prince's sullen countenance. "It is bitter and dreadful to me to think that my own brother could have shared these crimes--So, however, it seems to mortal eyes; but if ye can justify yourself, Prince Christopher of Denmark, speak! and with a single word remove from my heart the heaviest weight that ever oppressed it! Are you guilty or not?"

"Who accuses me?" exclaimed the junker haughtily, and with vehemence. "Who dares to mark me out for contumacy and treason? Where is my accuser? Where is my commandant? His is the responsibility for what hath happened. Where is he?"

"Here!" said a powerful and hollow voice from the door of the apartment close behind him. It seemed as though the prince shrunk at the sound, while he turned and gazed on the aged warrior with a wild and haggard look.

"Crush me, if you will, Prince Christopher," continued the chief; "I am prepared for death; my life is yours, but not my honour--Here stands your aged loyal servant, the only one who was true to you here at the castle. Therefore do I now stand bound as a miscreant and traitor; but I swear by the most high God, in the sight of the king and of Danish chivalry, I have but fulfilled my duty--I obeyed the command of that master to whom I swore fealty and obedience. No one can serve two masters; every one must account to his own. I have mine; but that he commanded, he must himself answer for."

"Dost thou rave?" shouted the prince, foaming with rage. "Did I order thee to defend the castle against other than my foes?"

"True, sir junker! against your foes," repeated the warrior, "whether they were great or small, whether they wore helmet or crown--that was your stern behest; and if you named not the king, assuredly it was him you meant, so help me St. George and the merciful God, in my last hour!"

"Liar! calumniator! mad, presumptuous rebel and traitor!" shouted the prince, as if in a transport of rage, and rushing menacingly towards the bound commandant. "Darest thou thus to pervert my commands? Wouldst thou read in my soul, and make my thoughts traitors to my king? Nay, now I see it; I penetrate thy plan, traitor! Thou wouldst set strife and enmity between me and my royal brother! thou wouldst waken rebellion and civil war in the country--thou art a kinsman of Marsk Stig; thou art a secret friend of the outlawed regicides."

The king started and gazed on the prisoner with a searching look; the proud chief seemed to have lost his self-possession; he stared upon the junker with fixed and strained eyes, but no word passed his lips.

"See you, my liege, the traitor is struck dumb;" continued the junker, turning once more with a look of proud triumph to the prisoner. "Canst thou deny the traitor's blood in thy veins, wretch? Canst thou deny thou art a friend of the outlaws?"

"I am proud of my birth," said the commandant, regaining his self-possession by a desperate effort. "My unfortunate friends I disown not either, even though they be outlawed and accursed in this world; but the charge you ground thereon, I deny and despise."

"Take him to the prison tower, my men!" called the junker hastily in a proud authoritative tone; "I am his master and judge, by the laws of the country. The crime he would roll on his master's head, shall assuredly fall on his own, and crush him."

Some knights of the prince's train had already approached the prisoner to lead him away; but they lingered, and cast a timid and inquiring look at the king.

"Haste not!" ordered the king with vehemence; "so long as I am present myself, no one commands beside me."

The junker's knights drew back respectfully at these words. The captive had raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the apartment, and seemed to be internally preparing himself for death.

"You deny, then, all participation in what here hath happened. Junker Christopher?" continued the king in a thoughtful and gloomy mood, while his searching gaze still dwelt on the wild and passionate countenance of the junker. "I ask you not to swear by your salvation--With a brother's salvation I would not even redeem my crown or life; but I demand your knightly and princely word, in confirmation of your testimony. This chief's birth, and his friendship for my deadly foes, I ask not of: it is now question of the present rebellious and traitorous transaction. Can you confidently affirm, on your knightly and princely word, that your commandant hath in this matter acted according to his own arbitration, and against your order?"

"Yes, by my knightly and princely honour!" cried the prince with a glowing and fierce countenance, and bit his lips in wrath.

"Those words you will repent at the last judgment day, junker!" said the commandant in his ear with a deep and hollow voice, as if from the grave, and gazing on him with a deathlike stare.

"Silence, mad liar!" interrupted the junker. "I will show you, my royal brother and liege," he continued in a raised voice, and turned from the thunder-stricken captive, "I will show you that I can maintain discipline in my castle--none shall go unpunished, who have dared to insult you in my name, and abuse the power you have entrusted to me by contumacy and treason--I demand instant justice and sentence on this criminal, according to the jurisdiction of the castle and law of the land."

"I cannot deny you the power of judging and passing sentence upon your servants." answered the king. "Whatever may have been your commandant's transgression, he must answer for it! He shall instantly be brought before the castle tribunal, and be sentenced according to law; but if he be pronounced guilty in the absence of proof, and from the want of explanations, which can be known to none but yourself, it shall be left to you to award the sentence. Junker Christopher! if your conscience can answer for it before God and men!"

"Well, then! he is doomed; he shall assuredly lie on the wheel ere the sun rise again," muttered the junker: "you have heard the king's command: obey! take the captive to the justice court!" He addressed these words with an authoritative air to his knights, and they instantly led off the prisoner, who cast a proud and contemptuous look at his master, and pointed menacingly towards heaven.

The king had thrown himself into a chair, thoughtful and silent, with his hand before his brow; a severe conflict seemed passing in his inmost soul. He now rose up suddenly, and cast a stern and penetrating glance at his brother: "Pass sentence, and execute it on thy servant in my name, as thou wouldst be judged thyself in the sight of the all-knowing and righteous God!" he said in a low tone of admonition. "I invest thee, also, with my highest prerogative--that of mercy. If he be mad--if his blood can be spared, without breach of law--by all the holy men! I ask it not in pledge of the truth of thy declaration. The word of honour of a knight and prince needs no bloody confirmation--There is my hand, brother Christopher," he added, and his voice trembled; "I will believe thee, whether thy servant be found innocent or guilty." The junker gave Eric his hand, in gloomy silence, and with an averted countenance; there was, for a moment, a general and anxious silence.

"Let the musicians strike up. Sir Junker! now there is surely peace and good understanding again, my royal friends!" said Margrave Waldemar, hastily breaking silence, in his gay, volatile tone; "it rejoiceth me that I have contributed towards it, even though I have foundered my best horse in the cause: now we will forget the whole vexatious affair, and let the junker's good wine wash away all remains of misunderstanding."

"You are right, Waldemar!" exclaimed Junker Christopher, with a gay mien, and looked boldly round the hall; "I ought not to forget I am host here, although my honoured guests have taken me somewhat by surprise." He then opened the door himself into the knights' hall, and besought the king to enter: he himself followed with the Margrave, Count Henrik, and the whole numerous train of knights.

The king continued silent and thoughtful. He seemed to put a restraint on himself to conceal his mistrust of his brother. Margrave Waldemar was evidently desirous to cheer the king, and place the intercourse between the brothers on a more easy footing. The quarrel as yet was only but slightly accommodated; but Junker Christopher seemed carefully to shun all closer explanation; he merely ventured on a passing comment on the beleaguering of Holbek castle by the Drost, as if it was but a rumour which he had heard, and as if he trusted, at all events, it was only a precipitate act of the Drost and a misunderstanding of the will of his royal brother. He evaded the grave answer which hovered on the king's lips, and employed himself zealously and courteously in attending to the wants of his guests. The door of the large dining hall was presently thrown open, where a table of refreshments always stood ready for the junker and his followers, when they were on a visit at the castle. From the gallery, in the great hall above, sounded the joyous tones of hunting horns and trumpets, and Kallundborg castle, which lately rung with the clash of weapons and din of war, soon re-echoed with the ringing of goblets and the mirth of festivity.

It was nearly evening ere the royal party were assembled at table. As soon as the junker had seated his guests, and a lively and easy conversation had in some degree commenced, he departed, with a hasty excuse, and remained absent above half an hour. He returned gloomy and pale, but appeared afterwards in high spirits, excited by the wine and the company at table. To the king's inquiry as to what had so long deprived his guests of his company, he answered in a low tone, "I have been attending the court of justice, my liege! I would not let the judges wait for my explanation; matters of life and death it is ever best to get out of hand, ere we come to the drinking table."

The king became again silent and thoughtful, but the junker frequently drained his goblet, and Margrave Waldemar sought, by many a merry jest, to disperse the dark thoughts which frequently seemed to disturb the festivities in honour of a reconciliation; which, however, appeared rather to be forced than the effect of mutual good understanding.

The king purposed not to pass the night it the castle, where he had met with such hostile reception; but as it grew dark and late it was difficult for him to reject his brother's repeated invitation, without again betraying a distrust he wished he could wholly drive from his mind. As the junker at last, with a cheerful air, once more earnestly urged his invitation, while he drained the last goblets of wine with the king, to a speedy and happy union with the lovely Princess Ingeborg, and to a brotherly understanding, the cloud on Eric's brow vanished, and the last remains of mistrust seemed to be banished from his kindly heart. He pressed his brother's hand warmly, and drained his cup to the bottom: "Well, Christopher! I remain," he continued, in a confidential tone and half aside. "All shall be forgotten as in old times, when the good Drost Peter settled our childish disputes, and our mother Agnes joined our hands together." The king now appeared perfectly happy and satisfied; Christopher often laughed loudly. This cheerful tone soon pervaded the whole assemblage.

After the repast the king seated himself with his brother at a backgammon board; he only shook the dice, however, while he ordered the state of his faithful Aagé to be inquired into, and waited in vain for a word of frankness and confidence from Christopher. The junker was especially courteous and attentive, but he still seemed desirous, by indifferent talk, to ward off all approaches to serious conversation. At this moment an officer of justice entered, and put a sheet of parchment into his hand: he became suddenly silent, and changed colour. The attendant hastily departed.

"What was that? my brother!" asked the king. "The death doom of my presumptuous servant, according to the verdict of the court of justice of this castle, and to the law of the land," answered the junker, without looking at him; "will you confirm it? Upon life and death you yourself determine?"

"As the friend and kinsman of the outlaws, he was doubtless my foe; but how guilty he is thou must know best," answered the king, with stern solemnity; "thou hast my authority for it: in my name to confirm the doom, or to pardon, as justice or moderation prompt thee. None save thou and the all-seeing God can know with certainty whether thy command could have been thus misinterpreted--If there be the least doubt, then----"

"No, there is no doubt here," exclaimed the junker impetuously, with a dark and gloomy countenance, and a wild and frightful glance, as he rose from the backgammon table, and departed with hasty strides.

The king looked long after him, with a serious and thoughtful gaze. He started up suddenly once or twice, and put his hand to his brow. "No!" he said, "it is impossible--I have his knightly and princely word of honour." The margrave now approached gaily and courteously, and took the vacant seat near the king at the table, where he soon succeeded in introducing a lively and amusing conversation.

CHAP. V.

The Drost had been brought from the ladies' apartment to a remote and quiet chamber, in the knights' story. Although he had sustained no serious injury in his heavy fall, he was, however, shattered in every limb, and unable to move. After a restorative bath, he had been carried to his couch and had fallen asleep; but the harrowing anxiety which he had endured so agitated his mind that it was impossible for him to sleep soundly. At one time he dreamed he was wrestling with corpses in dark graves, at another that he hovered over unfathomable abysses; but the idea of the king's danger, and the pitfall under the staircase, seemed to work most powerfully upon his imagination, and he frequently exclaimed in his disturbed slumber, "Beware, my liege! Now opens the grave under thy feet. Believe him not, believe him not, he is a traitor!"

It was late in the evening. A lamp burned on the table in Aagé's chamber, and an aged, withered crone sat by his bed, muttering constantly to herself with toothless gums and shaking head. The door presently opened, and the king entered the darkened chamber, accompanied by Count Henrik and Junker Christopher. The nurse instantly withdrew, half in alarm, and with oft-repeated curtsey, without, however, allowing herself to be interrupted in her mutterings, and unconscious monologue. Junker Christopher and Count Henrik remained standing at the entrance, where they conversed together in a low tone and at intervals, of the chase and their horses, and of the large antlers of the stag over the door, while the king approached the Drost's couch, and drew the lamp forward on the table that he might have a full view of his features. Aagé appeared for a moment to be sleeping soundly; but as the king stood by his couch, and with sympathising sorrow bent over his handsome though pallid face, the Drost suddenly opened his eyes and stared wildly before him. "Is it thou, my liege?" he whispered; "art thou still living in this murderous den? Beware! Believe him not!"

"Recollect thyself, my Aagé, thou dreamest," said the king. "Thy pious wish is fulfilled; I and my brother are reconciled. Look! there he stands. He also wishes to see thee. The whole was a misunderstanding--the desperate plan of a rebel--one of the outlaws' race and friends. Be calm, my Aagé; I am now a peaceful guest here with my brother--We have drunk to reconciliation and brotherly fellowship together--I have done him injustice also in the affair with Bruncké. I will give him back both Holbek and Kallunborg. He is now to accompany me on the expedition against the dukes."

"Noble, generous, kingly soul!" exclaimed Aagé, seemingly quite roused from his dreaming state. "Hath a word, hath a cup of wine effaced such enmity and wrath? Now the Lord and our blessed Lady be praised! Love healeth all wounds, and mercy is a precious virtue. How great is now thy love and clemency, my liege!" he continued, again somewhat wildly, and as if half dreaming; "doth it extend even unto the outlaws and their unhappy race--even unto Marsk Stig's kindred and children?"

"Ha! breathe not that accursed name, Aagé," interrupted the king, with stern vehemence; "so far my clemency will never extend--Now sleep well, my faithful Aagé," he added, with his former mildness and affection. "Think not on what it is best to forget--they tell me thou art already out of danger, and can, perhaps, follow me to-morrow, or in a few days."

"Where sleeps my liege to-night?" asked Aagé, in an anxious voice, and again gazing wildly around him.

"Close by thee, here in the knights' story; only be thou calm and sleep in peace. I sleep under a brother's roof."

"Come, my royal brother," interrupted Christopher, hastily approaching the couch, "speak no more with that sick dreamer, he is in a fair way to infect you with his feverish phantasies."

"Good night, my Aagé," said the king, pressing the Drost's hand as he departed. "I will keep that I promised him," he said to the junker. "I will sleep near him, here in the knights' story."

"As you command, my royal brother," answered the junker, with a cold and bitter smile; and they left the sick chamber.

Count Henrik had also given his hand to Aagé, and was about to follow the king; but the Drost detained him for a moment, in a state of painful anxiety. "Look, look!" he whispered, "there goes the murdered King Eric with Junker Abel[^[2]]; they once were brothers! and, hark! a flood roars beneath this castle. It is surely the bloody Slie,--take heed!--take heed, that no misfortune happens here!"

"You have perturbed dreams, Drost Aagé," said Count Henrik, letting go Aagé's fevered hand. "Sleep ye but in quiet; I watch." He then hastened after the king and the junker; but first glanced out of the window, and saw with secret horror, by the deepening star-light, a high, black scaffold in the back court of the castle, without the knights' story. He hastily drew the curtain before the window and departed; whereupon the old nurse (still shaking and muttering) re-entered the Drost's chamber. She was attired in the homely dress of a country burgher's wife; her eyes were large and sunken, and her pale, emaciated visage greatly resembled that of a corpse. With a distaff and a rosary in her hand, she resumed her station by the Drost's couch before the lamp, which she drew aside, that it might not shine in the face of the patient. All was now soon quiet in this wing of the castle, which only comprised the sleeping apartments of the knights. Aagé lay long listening in anxiety. In the unusual stillness of the evening, however, a distant sound as of lutes and mirthful songs reached his ear.

"What is that?" he asked, raising his head with pain and difficulty.

"There is merriment in the knights' hall, noble sir! yes in troth! that there is," answered the nurse; "our stern junker hath caused minstrels and jugglers to be fetched from the town. There is no lack either of mead or sweet wine, that knoweth the precious Lord in heaven! He drinks to friendship with his brother, they say. Alack yes!" she added, "the great can be merry, doubtless, and leave care to the fiddle; ay! ay! when they quarrel among themselves, it all falls on the small! yes, in troth! does it--all falls on the small. My departed husband was, by my troth, doomed to death, in the great Marsk Stig's feud--alack yes! by my troth was he, he was but a poor man, I must tell ye: he had neither knightly nor princely honour to swear himself free with, like the high-born junker; no, by my troth! had he not, that was the whole mishap. There sits now our old commandant in the tower--ay! ay! he will hardly see sun or moon more; they say he is to be executed to-night; alack yes! and yesterday he was master here at the castle; yes, in troth! was he so, but so goeth it in the world; alack yes."

"Executed?" repeated Aagé; "the Lord have mercy on his soul; the king is strict and hasty: ha! but knew he?----"

"He doubtless knew, what we all know, that his high-born brother hath borne false witness," sighed the old woman; "but what care the great about cutting off an insignificant head, when they would save their own? The law must have its course--yes, in troth! that it must, one head doubtless must fall, after such a commotion and uproar, but the junker's is placed too high, I trow! 'What should great lords keep servants for, if they could not wash themselves clean in their blood?' said my departed husband, when he was executed; yes, in troth! said he so, the blessed soul--But see now if ye can get to sleep, noble young sir! that is assuredly best for you. I talk mayhap rather too much: 'tis my bosom sin, they say--yes, by my troth! one talks too little, and another too much; was there no such thing as talk, no poor man would talk himself over to the evil one, and no high-born rogue would talk himself from the gallows."

"I must speak with the king," burst forth Aagé, with eagerness, and vainly strove to rise, but his strength entirely forsook him, and he fell back in a swoon. The old nurse thought he slept, and indeed he soon appeared to have fallen into a kind of slumber. The nurse looked at him several times, with the lamp in her hand, and nodded, as she continued to chatter to herself; "Ay! ay! a good honest face, in troth!" she muttered. "But who is honest in this sinful world? he consorts with the great,--ay! ay! and those good folk one should never believe--no in troth, one should never believe. He would have spoken with the king--yes, forsooth! when it is question of saving a poor devil's life, and telling the king that his brother is a rogue and traitor; then such a fine courtier fellow swoons or falls asleep, till it is too late. Wake up, Sir Knight! wake up!" She shook him in vain; "Alack! I verily believe it is death's sleep,--well then he is excused: after such a fall and being battered into a pudding, there can doubtless be no great life in him--he draws breath though, I believe! yes, in troth he does! Youth is strong, perhaps nature will help herself--Hark! now they follow the king to bed," she continued, and listened: "he will surely sleep close by here, ay! ay! This is his favourite servant, this same Drost. Weil, the Lord keep his hand over the king! he means well by us all; yes, in troth he does--alack yes! even though he should doom many a poor devil to death--but indeed that's his business--it is therefore he is king. He upholds law and justice, yes in troth! and makes, besides, no difference between high and low. Should he now have doomed to death his own brother according to the flesh? That would have been too hard--yes, in troth, would it; he is after all but a man, and who is just in all things in this sinful world? Ay, ay! but the junker--alack, yes! The Lord preserve us from him--if we get him for a king, it will be a bad look-out--yes, in troth will it! alack, yes!" Thus she muttered to herself, and nodded beside the lamp until she fell asleep in the arm-chair. It might be somewhat past midnight, when Drost Aagé awoke, strengthened in body, and refreshed by the deep sleep, caused by exhaustion, which seemed to have given a favourable turn to his illness. He was still, however, in a feverish state; he looked around him with surprise, and appeared not to know where was. The pale sleeping nurse, beside the lamp, seemed to him, as the light faintly lit up her emaciated visage, like a sitting corpse. He half arose and stared fixedly at her; he remarked signs of strong agitation in her deathlike face; her toothless gums mumbled, but without any sound; it appeared as though she wished to speak, but had not the power to utter a word. It seemed to him, as if he now beheld what he had often heard and read of in ancient sagas and poems of olden time. The dark vaulted chamber in his imagination was a subterranean prophet's cave, and the old mumbling crone a dead prophetess, on whose tongue Runic letters had been laid to cause her to prophesy.[^[3]] He tried to rise and the attempt succeeded; his shattered limbs were strengthened and pliant. He wrapped the white woollen coverlet around him, and soon stood listening on the floor, and gazing on the old woman's visage. "Whom talkest thou with?--corpse! what dost mumble of in thy grave?" he whispered, and she moved her mouth still faster. "Murder, murder!" she exclaimed, at length, in audible words. "Hark, hark! now his head falls before the axe."

At the same instant Aagé actually heard with dismay a sound outside the window, as of the stroke of an axe; he rushed forward, and pulled aside the curtain. The light of a number of torches glared on him from the back court of the castle. He saw with horror, a body of men-at-arms surrounding a scaffold, on which stood an executioner with a bloody head in his hand. A cold shudder came over Aagé; he knew not, as yet, whether he waked or dreamed; he stood speechless, as if rooted to the spot, and gazed on the horrid sight; a low chant fell on his ear, and he beheld a crowd of Franciscan monks advance under the scaffold with a black coffin. Among the spectators he recognised Junker Christopher's dark countenance, strongly lit up by a torch. The bloody head fell from the executioner's hand, and it seemed to him, to his inexpressible horror, to be the king's; he staggered back and overturned the table with the lamp. The old woman waked in affright, and shrieked loudly; but Aagé rushed out of the chamber, into the dark passage, in indescribable consternation. "Murdered!--the king murdered!" was the cry of his inmost soul; but no word passed his lips; he went on, like a sleep-walker, with staring eyes, not knowing whither he was going. "Here he was to sleep--here close by me,"--he thought, and stopped at a side door. He had already extended his hand to open it, when he saw a light, and heard footsteps at a distance in the passage. The door beside which he stood, was enclosed between two pillars projecting from the wall--he stopped behind one of the pillars, and kept his eye on the light in the passage. It approached slowly, and often stopped; at last it came so near that he could see, it was carried by a tall figure in a dark mantle. The light fell only on the lower part of the shrouded form; his walk was tottering and hesitating; a large sword glittered under his mantle. The figure came nearer and nearer; but with stealthy and almost noiseless steps. At last it advanced close to the pillar, behind which Aagé stood, and paused again. The light was now; raised, while the shrouded bearer looked around him on all sides, and the light fell on a long and wildly glaring visage--it was Junker Christopher.

"Ha! fratricide! regicide!" shouted Aagé, in a frenzy, and rushed out upon him.

With a cry of alarm the junker let fall the light, and sprang backward. "Murder! help! a madman!" he shouted, and drew his sword.

Amid this noise the door between the pillars opened, and Count Henrik stepped forth with a light. "What is the matter here?" he asked eagerly, but in a low tone. "Who dares to wake the king?"

"The king! the king!" exclaimed Aagé, with inexpressible joy, "he lives?--the Lord be praised! it was then but a dreadful dream! but saw I not the junker here?"

"Yes, assuredly, thou saw'st him, madman!" cried the junker, returning his sword into the sheath. "Had you not come out. Count Henrik, I should have cut that mad fellow down on the spot. He fell upon me here, with a wild incoherent speech, as I was stealing softly to my chamber that I might not wake the king. If I see aright, it is the chivalrous Sir Drost, who is walking in his sleep, or would play the ghost. One would think my castle was turned into a madhouse."

"A singular adventure, noble Junker," said Count Henrik, gazing with a penetrating look on his perturbed countenance. "Our good Drost is sick, as you know, and hath disquiet fevered dreams," he added in a light courtier-like tone. "He must in his phantasies have taken you for a murderer and traitor; but you must excuse him; his loyalty and devotion for your royal brother are alone to blame for it."

"You come from an execution, Sir Junker!" said Aagé, whose self-possession was now fully restored; "it was, I presume, your unhappy commandant, who so ill underwood your order and will?"

"Right!" answered the prince; "he hath got his well-merited wages--the presumptuous madman! but madness spreads here, I perceive."

"Your highness's imagination hath surely also been at work," continued Aagé, "since my dreams could scare you thus. I beseech you meanwhile graciously to pardon me for stopping you just beside this door. It was, perhaps, however, a lucky chance; you might easily have made a mistake between your own and the king's sleeping chamber."

"Go to thy couch, madman!" replied the junker, with gloomy harshness, and with his hand on his sword. "You dream as yet it seems to me, and might deserve to be wakened by my good sword--One should bind and shut up a visionary and dreamer like you when one would have a quiet night:" so saying, he hastily snatched his candle, which Count Henrik had taken up from the floor and lighted, and the junker went with rapid strides through the next side door into his own sleeping apartment.

"I have a fearful suspicion," whispered Aagé to Count Henrik; "but I was ill and over-excited--I may be wrong: it is too dreadful to think of--Let it not disturb the king's peace."

"What you mean, Drost, I am also loth to think of," answered the count, "though after what hath here happened, almost every thing is possible. Come, let us stay here together to-night."

They then both entered the door between the pillars, and all was soon perfectly quiet at the castle.

The next morning early the king and his men rode out of the burnt and dilapidated gate of Kallundborg castle. Count Henrik, Margrave Waldemar, and Junker Christopher accompanied him on horseback, together with his fifty knights, and a numerous troop of lancers. Drost Aagé followed slowly behind in a litter, borne by two horses. He was far from recovered from the effects of his dangerous fall, but was not to be kept back.

The king and his brother rode in silence through the town, at some distance from their train. "Thou hast surely wished to take from me the desire of being oftener thy guest at Kallundborg, Christopher!" said the king in a gloomy, dissatisfied mood, as they rode slowly up the hill to St. George's hospital, and looked back on the castle and town. "I have used thy fair castle gate badly it is true; some broken pates, too, I have left behind me; but neither didst thou prepare me any fair spectacle at my mattins."

"What! the criminal on the wheel?" muttered Christopher. "Hath his head said good morning to you from the stake? The fault was not mine: that unpleasant sight would have been kept from your eyes, but you yourself chose your sleeping apartment with that unsightly prospect. To say truth, my royal brother," he added in an upbraiding tone, "you seemed to me to require proof that there was no manner of doubt in this case."

"That word then sounded ill to thee," answered the king. "Understood'st thou me not? There might be a doubt of the criminal's sanity, but not of his miscreant deed; there might be a doubt of the ambiguity of thy commands to him, without there being the slightest doubt of thy meaning, as thou didst explain it to me on thy knightly word. Only on that ground did I make over to thee my privilege of pardon, together with the power of confirming the sentence: there was no need, either, to hasten with the execution of the bloody doom."

"It was needful to decide the matter ere you left the castle," replied Christopher eagerly. "I, for my part, had no ground for doubt. I have shown I feared not to witness the fall of the traitor's head, as your Drost can affirm, if he hath come to his senses."

"He is now quite collected," answered the king. "I know he walked in his sleep last night, and gave thee a start by my door."

"Ay, indeed! hath he told you of that pleasant adventure!" said the junker, starting and changing colour. "Had he been in his right senses, I would have demanded that he be declared infamous for the audacious outrage."

"As I have heard the circumstance, he is excused: thy alarm he hath also accounted for to me."

"How mean ye?" asked Christopher, in the greatest anxiety.

"Truly, it is not good to return to one's couch with such a bloody spectacle before one's eyes," said the king, with not unsympathising glance at the junker pale and agitated countenance. "Be not ashamed of it, Christopher! mayhap it does thy heart honour--Thou wert sick at heart, and greatly moved by the sight of thine aged servant's execution Aagé supposed. I see myself how it hath taken hold on thee. It is the first death-warrant thou hast sealed--I know by experience such acts excite peculiar and painful feelings."

As the king said these words the junker's countenance seemed suddenly to brighten, and he again breathed more freely. "In truth, my royal brother," he said, hastily while a deep crimson flush succeeded to his former paleness, "the stupid fellow was a brave man, notwithstanding! It was not the most agreeable duty you put upon me. I was in some sort a party concerned; but I was perfectly right; no one could know my criminal servant as well as I; and the sentence was passed according to law and justice, by impartial men. Your Drost is an excellent knight," he added, "but somewhat disposed to be visionary: he is devoted to you, however, and I have nought against him, on account of his foolish dreamings."

Count Henrick and Margrave Waldemar now approached the royal brothers, and the conversation turned on indifferent topics. The procession proceeded on the road to Korsóer, from whence the king intended to cross the Belts, in order to join the Marsk, and the forces which were to march against the turbulent dukes of Slesvig.

At the famous sea-fight of Grönsund, the young King Eric had gained a decided victory over these haughty princes, who frequently sought to withdraw their allegiance to the Danish crown, and since the regicide of Eric Glipping had secretly, as well as openly, made common cause with the foes of the country and the outlawed regicides. By this victory the king had indeed gained a high reputation with the dukes as well as with the neighbouring northern powers, and the princes of north Germany; but the quarrel with the archbishop and the Romish see, and still more the king's excommunication at Sjöborg, had given all his foes courage, and renewed their hopes of shaking his throne, and frustrating his bold projects. It was feared, not without reason, that the young high-spirited King of Denmark, who now appeared as though he would defy ban and interdict, might possibly have a desire to regain the influence and power won by the great Waldemar the Victorious in Germany. That monarch's chivalrous character, and the lustre his conquests had shed on the Danish name, seemed early to have inspired his bold descendant with the wish to tread in the paths of his renowned ancestor, and a glorious reputation like that of Waldemar the Victorious was assuredly the secret wish of Eric's heart, though he lived in a time and under circumstances which demanded no ordinary degree of power and wisdom, in a sovereign, even to save the country from downfall, and preserve his own life and crown.

The renewed demands of the dukes, and the revival of long-accommodated differences, but, especially, tidings of the outlaws having again found protection and shelter in Slesvig, had in a great measure induced the king to take up arms; and since the archbishop's flight, he had become much more precipitate than formerly, and more inclined to carry every thing through by the strong hand. The people well knew but cheerfully tolerated Eric's youthful and often impetuous eagerness, and his liking for chivalrous pomp. His firmness of purpose was indeed often called obstinacy; and it was admitted he was not altogether free from an excessive love of show, but from his childhood he had been the people's darling, and such he continued to remain.