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THE LIBRARY
OF
FOREIGN ROMANCE,
And Nobel Newspaper:
COMPRISING
STANDARD ENGLISH WORKS OF FICTION,
AND
ORIGINAL TRANSLATIONS
FROM THE MOST CELEBRATED CONTINENTAL AUTHORS.
Vol. VII.
CONTAINING
THE CHILDHOOD OF KING ERIK MENVED.
An Historical Romance.
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF
B. S. INGEMANN.
LONDON:
BRUCE AND WYLD, 84, FARRINGDON STREET.
1846.
THE CHILDHOOD
OF
KING ERIK MENVED.
An Historical Romance.
BY B. S. INGEMANN.
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH,
BY J. KESSON.
LONDON:
BRUCE AND WYLD, 84, FARRINGDON STREET.
1846.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The author has given no preface to this romance; and the translator would be contented to follow his example, had the author already enjoyed an English celebrity, or could the name of his translator of itself suffice to recommend his work to the English public.
But the names of Danish writers are comparatively little known in England, and the literature and language of Denmark have not here received that degree of attention which they so justly merit. While the names of the poets and novelists of France and Germany are familiar to a numerous section of the reading public, they have yet, in a great measure, to become acquainted with the names of Ingemann, Andersen, Baggesen, Heiberg, Oehlenschlaeger, and many other Danes of recent times, whose productions as poets, novel's, and dramatists, would do honour to the literature of any country. It is only in comparatively recent times, however, that Denmark has produced a class of writers of any considerable note in the higher walks of literature. During the last century, with the exception of Holberg's "Niels Klim" and "Peder Paars," there are scarcely any other works, unless of a scientific and historical character, that have acquired anything of a European celebrity. To investigate fully the causes of this dearth of elegant writers would require more than the limits of a preface. They may be sought for partly in the depression of the national spirit, consequent upon the decay of the kingdom of Denmark, which, from the proud position it occupied during the middle ages, as one of the first powers of Europe, has gradually dwindled to a third-rate monarchy; and, partly, in the undue preference awarded by its own scholars and men of letters to the productions of French, German, and English writers. But, whatever the causes, within the last thirty years there has been an evident desire on the part of the Danes to possess a literature of their own, and to take their stand among the literati of Europe in every department of the belles-lettres. To accomplish this, it was necessary to arouse the dormant spirit of the people--to remind them of their former greatness--to revive the memories of the ancient heroes of Denmark--to reproduce their old chronicles, sagas, and ballads--and, by dwelling on the glories of the past, to kindle bright hopes of the future.
None have laboured with more success in this vocation than Ingemann. Already known as a poet and a dramatist, he had still to earn a reputation among his countrymen as a novelist. Seizing upon the romantic materials of Denmark's former history, he revived the memory of the great Waldemars, and the proudest periods of the Danish monarchy, investing the heroes who still live in ancient ballad and story with greater charms of interest; and he has succeeded in winning a place in the hearts and estimation of his countrymen as an author and a patriot. He has written wholly for his countrymen, and in the purest spirit of the historical romance. His characters are real characters; his facts are the facts of his country's history, gleaned from her ancient chronicles and popular song, and woven together with the slightest texture of fiction, sufficient only to redeem his narrative from the character of a dry chronicle.
In this respect his romances must suffer when compared with those of Sir Walter Scott, where history is made subordinate to fiction, and poetic licence usurps the place of historical truth; but they possess this advantage--that they are truer transcripts of the past, and present us with the men, manners, and institutions of by-gone times, with a fidelity that enhances our interest in the history, and with fiction enough to make the reading of the history attractive.
In present romance Ingemann introduces us to an interesting period in the history of Denmark--the last year of the reign of Erik Glipping, and the commencement of the reign of his son and successor, Erik Menved. He gives us a portraiture of the state of society at the time--glimpses of old laws and old customs--snatches of ancient fable--and places men before us as they lived and acted towards the close of the thirteenth century.
The translator has endeavoured, in the purity of faithfulness, to present the reader with both the letter and the spirit of his original. In the course of his narrative the author alludes to matters familiar enough, no doubt, to his own countrymen, but with which the English reader can scarcely be expected to be acquainted. In many of these cases the translator has subjoined a note explanatory of a particular passage, which, in a work of this description, might otherwise be regarded as an editorial impertinence. For the adoption of occasional Scottish words and phrases, in translating the various fragments of old Danish ballads scattered throughout the narrative, the translator can only plead the example of Sir Walter Scott, Jamieson, and others, who have followed this course in rendering several of the Kæmpeviser. Indeed, the close similarity of language and phraseology in many of the old Scottish and Danish ballads, furnishes an irresistible temptation to this mode of translation.
London, November, 1846.
THE
CHILDHOOD OF ERIK MENVED.
PART I.
One evening in the month of May, 1285, a crowd of seamen and porpoise-hunters was assembled on the quay of Gremermarsh, below Hindsgavl's meadows, near Middelfert. They regarded, with strained attention, a large skiff which had left Snoghoj, and was struggling against wind and tide to approach the quay, where the landing was less dangerous than in the bad haven of the town. A storm, unusual at this mild period of the year, stirred up the unquiet waters of the Little Belt. The more experienced ferrymen shook their heads, and thought it was most advisable that the skiff should seek shelter under Fanoe or the Jutland Weald.
"Nonsense, fellows!" said a deep, gruff voice; "here they can and shall land. They get on bravely, and must have a gallant steersman on board. But why stand you here prating? Set light to the brand on the quay-head, that they may keep it in sight; and lay out the porpoise-boats, that we may fish them up, should they be capsized."
The man who gave these orders was foreman of the ferrymen and porpoise-hunters, old Henner Friser, or Henner Hjulmand, as he was sometimes called. He had hitherto been quietly seated on a large stone, observing the vessel's motions with a keen look; but now he rose like a king among his subjects, and the submissiveness with which they heard, as well as the activity with which they obeyed him, sufficiently showed the respect in which he was held among these sturdy, daring seamen. He was uncommonly tall and muscular, and, notwithstanding that he bordered upon seventy years, appeared to possess sufficient vigour to enable him to attain the age of fourscore. He boasted of being a brother's son of the renowned Frisian, Swain Starke, who, in the time of Waldemar the Victor, gained a great name among his countrymen.
For three and thirty years, Henner Friser had resided in Middelfert, or Melfert, as it is commonly called, where he had set on foot the fishing or hunting of porpoises, and, by his ability, had obtained presidency in the guild of these daring fishers, who, at the same time, attended to the ferrying over of passengers. He was skilled in the art of boat-building, and, in his youth, had been a wheel-maker, whence his by-name of Hjulmand (wheelman), although he no longer followed that occupation. That he had taken an active part in the civil wars under Erik Ploughpenny and King Abel was generally believed, and contributed much to his importance among the seamen, although he always expressed himself cautiously on the subject. He appeared to have forsaken the marshy shores of Friesland for a reason which he was proud of, and yet did not find it prudent to talk about; but that it was for some bold and daring act was surmised by everybody.
In his spacious dwelling near the ship-quay of Middelfert, the fraternity of porpoise-hunters had a place of deposit for their large captures between Martinmas and Candlemas. There met the new guild of King Erik; and there had Henner Friser established, likewise, a kind of inn for travellers, of which he had sole and sovereign control. Here, when the porpoise-hunters held their guildmotes, they often regarded with awe the old warrior's armour, which consisted of a kind of long javelin, a Danish battle-axe, a steel bow, with a rusty arrow, together with a light linen harness. In his everyday dress, old Henner was not distinguished from the other ferrymen and porpoise-hunters. Like them, he wore a short jerkin of blue wadmel, or of dark canvass in summer; a pair of large wading boots, which came high over the knees; and over his shaggy gray locks he wore, both summer and winter, a large seal-skin cap. His long wrinkled visage was expressive of energy and harshness of manner; and his keen look evinced a determination and a feeling of superiority, which operated strongly on all his subjects, whose esteem and attachment to him was, at the same time, blended with what was peculiar to these people--an unusual dread of strife. This was, perhaps, chiefly owing to his extraordinary strength, of which, even in advanced years, he had given astonishing proofs; and he could even now, without exertion, compel the strongest of the porpoise-hunters to bend on their knees, merely by pressing his hands upon their shoulders.
A word from this man was sufficient to set all the idle spectators in motion. A light soon blazed on the large stone at the pier's end, and thirty hardy fishermen were at work, with ropes and poles, to launch a large boat, for the purpose of rendering assistance to those in distress. As soon as Henner Friser saw that his orders were punctually executed, he again seated himself quietly, and with an air of indifference, upon his stone.
"It must be another cargo of nobles for the Danish court on the day after to-morrow," he muttered. "Should Duke Waldemar be among them, it were, perhaps, better for kingdom and country, that we let them go to the bottom, neck and crop."
"Why so, neighbour Henner?" inquired a burgher who stood by his side, and whose leather apron, leather cap, and smutty face, proclaimed him a smith. "The young duke is a discreet and gracious nobleman: he once bought a dagger of me, and paid me twice as much for it as I asked. Every time he comes this way, you earn more dollars than I earn shillings in a month; and then he talks so civilly to folks, that it is a pleasure to hear him."
"Gold and silver and fair words he does not spare; that we allow," growled the old man; "and if, by so doing, he could throw dust in the eyes of every Dane, in twelvemonths and a day he might, perhaps, be King of Denmark."
"Marry, then! think you that his thoughts run so high?" inquired the armourer, hastily, scratching his ear; "there may be something in it: who knows how it may turn out? The old king, Waldemar the Victor, was certainly his great-grandfather; the young lord is just twenty years old: he may come to be chosen king one day. But there is time enough for that yet," he added; and, after a little reflection: "our king is still a young man: according to my reckoning, he cannot be more than six and thirty now; and his young son, who succeeds him--let me see--he can be scarcely eleven yet. Nay, nay, it is not to be thought of."
"What cares the grandson of King Abel about that, think you?" replied the old man, in a tone of bitterness. "The young braggart does not want daring. He had scarcely cut his colt's-teeth, when he set himself in opposition to the king, and would submit himself neither to rod nor snaffle; and now it is said for certain, that he will claim the whole kingdom; and, if he does not receive from the court of Denmark what he aims at, that he will instantly bring down the Swedes upon our heads. We have already to thank him for the present outbreak with the Norwegians. Nay, nay--he is a fellow we must look after, neighbour Troels. We knew his grandfather; and the race of a fratricide no Dane shall trust again."
The old man was silent, and became absorbed in deep thought.
"You may well say that, neighbour Henner," resumed the armourer; "we have experienced disasters enough, and may well cross ourselves when we think on what has happened in the country since old King Waldemar Seier closed his eyes. His sons, all three, were kings,[[1]] as was said and predicted to him; but God shield us from such kings and from such ends! In troth, it is awful to think of: I have not yet reached my threescore, and the present king is the fifth I can remember; and three of these, one after the other, were miserably murdered."
"Murdered?" repeated Henner Friser. "Nay, neighbour--that was the case with two only of Waldemar's sons, if it be true, as people say, about our king's father and the condemned priest in the New Cloister. God forgive me, and all good Christians, their sins! but priests should be pious men of God; and, when they can forgive kings and princes with God's own holy body, then the worst murder of a layman by sword or dagger should be reckoned next to nothing. Nay, two only were murdered, neighbour," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, and rising up; "nobody shall say that King Abel was murdered: he fell by his own conduct, and shamefully enough for himself; but still in open warfare with true and valiant subjects, who would not suffer themselves to be flayed by the coward who had murdered his brother, and deprived us of our lawful king."
The old man's voice waxed loud, and he spoke with great vehemence. He appeared to observe a tendency to the same in his neighbour's manner, and remarked, in a subdued tone, "We must not talk too loud about this matter, neighbour. These are unquiet times, and traitors are abroad. Should Duke Waldemar and the great nobles come to rule, we shall have to listen to a new tale, which may be worse than the first." Henner was again silent, and resumed his seat, in deep thought.
"I must say, nevertheless, neighbour Henner," began the armourer anew, "that there is nothing so bad, that it may not be good for something. If the nobles had not courage to lay restraints on King Erik Christopherson, mischief would be the result, for both gentle and simple. It were sin to say our king is not severe enough, as he imposes penalties on both burgher and peasant; but he cares for neither law nor justice; and was compelled, last year, to a compact respecting the rights and liberties of the kingdom. Much has not come of that yet: and had not Marsk Andersen denounced him, and put him in terror of his life, at the last Thing[[2]] at Viborg, none of us at present could have said that his wife or daughter was safe from him."
"That is true, neighbour," replied old Henner, waking up as if from a dream, and appearing only to hear the latter sentence. "A vile story was that, regarding Stig Andersen's wife; and I will say that, had I been in the marsk's[[3]] stead, I would, perhaps, have done something more than merely threaten. And yet--the Lord preserve our king and his son, say I, for the kingdom and country's sake! The father is good for nothing: others may call him a villain; yet God preserve the rotten stem, for the sake of the fresh shoot! The little Erik has Waldemar Seier's eagle eyes; and, should the Lord keep his hand over him, it may yet be worth an honest man's while to live in Denmark. It is a fortunate thing for him, and for the kingdom, that he has the brave Drost[[4]] Hessel for his instructor in the use of arms. Without Peter Hessel, old John Little, and David Thorstenson, it would be a lamentable case for all of us."
"If the handsome young drost stand as well with the queen as is reported," observed the smith, smiling, "no wonder he takes so kindly to the young prince. He may be a wise and virtuous man; but little human frailties he must possess, as others do; and, when King Glip-eye has eyes for every other woman but the queen only, she cannot be greatly blamed for being so willing to ride a-hunting with the young drost."
"So you, too, believe the damnable tittle-tattle!" cried the old man, with vehemence and indignation. "I have seen Queen Agnes once, and Drost Peter twice only: that was in the guild of our murdered King Erik; and, if it be true, as I believe, that every woman's child bears its character in its open eyes--and I have so read the characters of both high and low, for these seventy years past--our queen, on this point, is as pure, in God's sight, as is the sun; and so is Drost Peter Hessel--a man who, in all respects, would sooner lose his life than forget the oath he openly swore in our guild, or in any way betray his country or the royal house. But so it is: when the head is good for nothing, the whole body soon bears witness to it; and King Erik Christopherson does not blink with his small buck-eyes for nothing."
"I believe, neighbour Henner, you can read more in an eye than many a priest can in his big book; and people with reason hold you to understand somewhat more than your paternoster. You have given a good reason, too," continued the smith, smiling, "why you lock up your pretty little Aasé, every time King Glip-eye comes over the Belt. I saw very well how she stood in the pantry yesterday, while the king mounted his horse outside, before you."
"Ay, then, saw you that, my good Troels?" replied the old warrior, somewhat ruffled. "It was a piece of foolery; and I shall tell you how it happened. He saw her once, and paid her a little more attention than I exactly care for. She is my granddaughter, and the apple of my eye, as you know. That I lock the cage when the cat is in the room, follows of course; otherwise I should have to take the biggest tom-cat by the neck, and throw him out of the window, if he proved saucy. It comes to this, that my little Aasé, as you may, perhaps, have observed, is a Sunday's bairn:[[5]] that may easily be seen in her complexion. She is somewhat palefaced; and, however blithe and sprightly she may be, she is, nevertheless, now and then troubled with a kind of dreaming fit. But that will wear off as she gets older. Her mother was so troubled before her; and I believe it runs in the family, as I am not entirely free from it myself. I do not give much heed to such dreaming now; but she has never yet said anything, while in this state, that has not proved in a manner true; though she can discern nothing, by night or day, more than others may do when they are in their senses."
"My God! is it not quite right with your little Aasé?" asked the smith, sympathisingly, and pointing with his finger to his forehead.
"She is too sagacious for her years," answered the old man; "and that will not do for this world. But when once she is married, and has other matters to think of, this will pass over; and in other respects she has a good sound constitution. But this is what I was about to tell you. Last night, she rose in her sleep, and came to me: she was frightened, and said that the king had returned from hunting, with a death's head under his hat, and wanted to come in to her. I awoke her, and then she knew nothing of the dream. She laughed, and skipped carelessly to bed. I was much inclined to frighten her about what she had told me; but, yet I did not want the king to see her yesterday, when he crossed my threshold to change his garments; and so I locked her up, as if by mistake."
"This only helps you a little way, my good, careful neighbour," observed the smith, with a sly laugh. "A good hen can lay an egg among nettles; where there is a will there is a way. The king saw her very well: when he rode off, your grand-daughter, from curiosity, peeped out between the bars of your pantry, just as the king's horse made a spring on one side. I saw, by the blink of his eye, that he had perceived her; and twice he looked behind him towards the little window, after she had withdrawn her charming little face."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the old man. "It shall not happen again, I warrant you. You must not talk about this matter, neighbour. It is nothing in itself, but would soon give rise to gossip. I shall be quiet, for the child's sake. So, now let the matter drop."
"But what does the king's chamberlain still do in the village? asked the smith.
"Chamberlain Rané!" exclaimed Henner, starting: "did he not follow the king yesterday?"
"He did, certainly; but, early this morning, I saw him, and two men-at-arms of the king's, go by your house. They stopped under the end window, and whispered together, and, as we came out, I saw their horses at your back gate."
"So, indeed!" muttered the old man. He arose hastily, his eyes flashing fire, and observed, "You might as well have told me this before, neighbour."
"I thought they might have business with you, my good Henner. You are not wont to be communicative, and one gets sick of asking questions."
Old Henner cast a sharp look once more over the raging Belt. "The skiff is saved," he said, in a subdued tone, which betrayed violently suppressed emotions. "They have caught the warp. Come, neighbour, there is no time to lose here any longer, when I have such guests at home."
With long, hurried steps, the vigorous old man strode away in the direction of his house, which was situated in that part of Middelfert which bordered on the quay, and about three quarters of a mile from the quay of Gremermarsh. The sturdy armourer, though ten years his junior, could scarcely keep pace with him. Neither of them spoke, until they came to a by-path, leading across a waste field towards Henner Friser's premises. Here he stopped, and looked carefully before him, in the direction of the gable window of his house, which, in the deepening twilight, he could just perceive. Large clouds were continually driven by the storm before the moon, which, at this instant, shone on the house gable.
"Ha! no light?" he exclaimed: "this will not do." He redoubled his steps, but suddenly stopped again, exclaiming, "do you not hear the tramp of horses, neighbour, on the road to Hegness Wood?"
"Ay, certainly," was the reply; "who can it be? The people are in a hurry. Can the king's bailiff at Hegness receive guests from Melfert so late?"
"Go to my house, neighbour; see if my Aasé is at home, and taking care of the guild brethren. If she be not at home, and I do not return, tell them which way I am gone. I am merely a little curious."
With these words, he sprang in an opposite direction towards the high road, and, from thence, over two ditches and fences, into a by-road leading from Middelfert to Hegness Wood, which the riders he had heard in the neighbourhood of the town must necessarily turn down, if they attended to their safety. Without himself being entirely conscious of it, he had drawn out the large knife used in pursuit of the porpoise, which he always carried in his right boot. With this knife in his hand, he stood still a moment, in a ditch, on one side of the narrow road, which he could half reach across with his long arm. He could hear the gallop of horses, continually drawing nearer, and could now distinctly recognise the clattering hoofs of three.
"Now, give the horses breath for a gallant ride to the castle!" cried a man's piping voice: "we are safe now, and here the road is good. Then for a bold rush to the fortress, before the old Satan can have returned from the quay."
"Death and hell!" muttered the old man; "that was long Chamberlain Rané's cracked pipe."
"You know the sign and password?" continued the same voice: "in the king's name, and three blows with your halberds on the door. If any one oppose us, cut him down: I take the consequences."
The listener thought he heard a wailing sound, as if from a half-suffocated female voice, which was lost in the howling of the storm; and his keen eye recognised, by the glimmer of the moon, the white dress of a woman fluttering over the saddle, before the middle rider. They now advanced at a gallop. At one bound the old man stood in the middle of the way.
"Hold!" he cried, with a terrible voice, as the horsemen came up. The long hunting-knife glittered in his right hand, while, with the left, he seized the reins of the middle horse. The animal wheeled and snorted; and a blow from a sword struck the old warrior on the left arm; but, with a convulsive grasp, he held firm the bridle, and groped in the dark with the knife, for fear of injuring the female form that hung, apparently in a swoon, on the horseman's left arm.
"Forward, in the devil's name! cut him down!" again cried the squeaking voice from behind.
The old man felt a wound in the shoulder, and, at the same moment, received a violent blow from the horse's fore leg. The bridle dropped from his hands; he fell to the ground; and the horse sprang over him. With desperate strength, he half raised himself, and flung his knife, with whizzing rapidity, after the nearest horseman. He heard the piercing shriek of a man, and, at a little distance, the indistinct voice of his dear Aasé, crying, "Help, grandfather! help!" till it was lost in the storm, and in the clatter of the horses' hoofs. Faint with loss of blood, the old man fell back unconscious. Twenty paces from him, on the dark road, arose the groans of a dying man; and a frightened horse, with an empty saddle, bounded away across the fields.
For some time, Henner Friser lay insensible on the road. When he again became conscious, he heard several voices around him. He opened his eyes, and found himself encircled by his hardy friends, the young porpoise-hunters. They stood with lights and cudgels in their hands, together with his neighbour the armourer, and some burghers from the town, who came to his assistance, with perplexed and sympathising exclamations.
Seated on a tall, iron gray stallion, in the middle of the road, was a young knight, in a scarlet mantle, fringed with sable, and with a white feather in his hat. By the knight's side, holding, in one hand a torch, and, with the other, a norback[[6]] by the bridle, stood a little, swarthy squire. The storm was now lulled, and the torch burned clear in the still air, illuminating the anxious, noisy group.
"Look here, one of you. What is the matter? Are there rievers in the district? Has Niels Breakpeace come over?"
"Rievers, truly, my noble knight," answered old Henner, raising himself, with the help of the young fishermen, who, in all haste, had already bound up his arm and shoulder, and now withheld their clamour from respect to their senior and the distinguished stranger. "The cowardly pack!" continued Henner; "they have forcibly carried off my grandchild, my little Assé, my only joy and comfort. Had I not been afraid of killing the innocent child, all the three scoundrels would have been grovelling, with their faces in the dust, where I now lie. If you would know to what rieving band they belong, sir knight, you have only to ride some twenty paces forward, to find one of them with my hunting-knife in his back-ribs. I wish only, for the crown and country's sake, it may turn out to be Niels Breakpeace, and no more distinguished scoundrel." He could scarcely speak for passion.
"An abduction?" inquired the knight, "and with force and violence? rievers, too?"
"Panderers, traffickers in souls, devils damned!" exclaimed the old man; "but if you are a true Danish knight, help me to save my poor innocent child. She has been carried to the hell-viper on the Ness, yonder, to be polluted."
"To Hegness?" inquired the knight, turning pale; and the torchlight fell on his youthful, handsome countenance.
"Whom see I? Drost Peter Hessel?" broke forth the old man, suddenly, glad to meet him; "is it you, indeed? Now praised be St. Christian and the Holy Erik, that they have sent you to me, in my need and trouble, for now we shall soon deliver the lamb from the den of wolves, even should King Glip-eye be in the midst of them!"
"Think what you say, old man," interposed the knight, sternly: "do not mix up the king in this vile business. If there has been any scoundrel's work here, I shall inquire into it in the king's name, and do you justice. If your wounds will permit you, seat yourself on my squire's horse, and follow me to the fortress. I shall prove to you and these good countrymen, that the king is not a protector of cowards and robbers. But where is the man you have slain? He deserves his fate, whoever he is."
"Here! here!" cried the young fishermen, who had already discovered the body, and were dragging it along; "here we have the fellow, as stiff as a speared sea-hog. This is a capital weapon!"
The knight observed the corpse attentively, and appeared to be seized with painful surprise. He had been a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with bristly hair and beard; he wore a scarlet doublet; his morion, which had fallen from his head, and which was now exhibited by one of the fishermen, had no feather, but was marked with the two royal lions.
"This is a coward and a riever, who has stolen the helm and doublet of one of the royal guard," said the knight, sternly. "Pull off his doublet, countrymen! Let him no longer wear our king's colours! Drag him to a dung-pit, and there hide his infamy, till doomsday! And now let us off to Hegness."
Old Henner no longer felt the smart of his wounds; he was already in advance, on the little pony, which could scarcely bear him, but yet got on tolerably well with his burden, the heavy feet of his rider almost touching the ground.
"Bravo! my little norback!" cried the bold squire, who in a few bounds had overtaken Henner and his master; "if you can run with such a karl, you deserve a double fodder."
By the knight's command, some of the fishermen had already dragged the slain robber to a height by the wayside, where stood a gallows; whilst the others, at a little distance, followed the knight and their wounded chief.
"How far have we to the castle?" inquired the knight; "can you hold out the journey, my brave old man?"
"For my child, I could ride now to the world's end," answered Henner: "had the losel who gave me the blow not been a blundering lout, without pith or metal, he might have laid it on to some purpose; a pair of vile scratches he has given me: he shall not brag that it was he who struck Henner Friser to the ground; it was his brave Jutland stallion that kicked me below the short-ribs. Now that the pain is gone, I can run better than this little fellow. Thanks for the loan, my son," he said to the squire, as he leaped off the pony. "We have not a quarter of a mile to the castle, and I may almost as well walk as sit upon the foal."
"You shall not find fault with my norback because he is small," answered the young squire, offended: "he can vie with a roebuck when occasion serves, but he is certainly not an elephant to carry a tower."
"Now, now, are you angry, my son? If you can ride so fleetly, let me see you reach the rievers' nest before we others, and get the gates open for us. 'In the king's name!' was the rascals' pass-word, and three knocks upon the door was the sign. The road goes right through the wood."
Without saying a word, the >>>bold<<<< squire handed the torch to Henner, and rode back to the fishermen, who followed them. In an instant he returned, with the slain robber's scarlet doublet and morion on.
"Permit me so, to ride forward and prepare your way, sir drost," said the youth, and whispered a few words in his master's ear.
"Yes, yes!" answered the knight; "it cannot be a mile off. But be careful, Skirmen: we keep the torches. You cannot miss the road, for yonder we can see the old castle turrets."
The moon again appeared from behind the clouds, throwing its light over a huge, dull, red tower, with embattled walls, which arose high over the wood on the promontory of the bay of Middelfert.
The squire was already mounted: he hastily spurred his pony, and was out of sight in a moment.
"A nimble youth!" exclaimed the old man; "he has a falcon's eye, and the limbs of a hart. He will make a doughty knight one day. Do I guess right that he is from Alsing or Aeroe?"
"My trusty Claus Skirmen is from Femren," answered the knight; "his father was a brave man for his king and country: for that, he was exiled by King Abel, and died in banishment. His grandfather followed King Erik Waldemarson to his death, and proved himself a valiant man to the last. His body was found by the king's side, among the slain."
"Has the youth long borne your shield, noble knight?"
"This is only his second year; but the silver spurs are scarcely cold upon his heels. He is not much more than fifteen yet, and was out last year to capture Niels Breakpeace."
"Alas, fifteen years!" muttered the old man, with a suppressed sigh; "that was my poor Aasé's age yesterday. Ride on, sir knight! I shall yet succeed." And he ran on with rapid strides.
Drost Peter set spurs to his horse, but immediately stopped again. The wood was dark, and, as the torch lit up the old man's face, the knight saw, with concern, that the grayhaired warrior was pale. The bandages had become loose by his exertions, and the blood was flowing fast from his left arm and shoulder. The young knight sprang from his horse. "Let me tighten the bandages," he cried, with the air of a skilful leech; "your wounds are not so slight as you think. Seat yourself on my horse: I have young limbs, and no fresh wound."
"Nay, good sir! For St. Christian's and all saints' sake, let us not delay for such trifles!" cried the hardy old man, impatiently, whilst the knight hastily tied up the loosened bandages; "this will do very well for a poor devil like me! Thanks! I say; but pray hasten on, and redeem your promise. Except the king himself, and his panderers, there is no man more powerful than Drost Peter. Never mind me! Hurry on, noble sir!"
Drost Peter did not consider a moment longer. He vaulted again into his saddle, set spurs to his horse, and rode furiously towards the castle; while old Henner, with long and rapid strides, followed after.
At the strongly-fortified castle of Hegness all was dark and silent, but around the promontory on which it stood still raged the waters of the Sound. A flock of cormorants flew, screaming, round the lofty tower, which, on the land-side, was bright in the moonshine, while it cast its long dark shadow over the rampart, towards the Sound. The drawbridge was down; but the great walled gate was locked. On both sides of a rampart of earth, sixty feet high, the broad moat was filled with muddy water. From one of the upper apartments in the principal wing of the castle a light shone into the court-yard, and, before the lofty staircase, two sentinels, with lances, walked continually to and fro. At the opposite side of the castle, in the backcourt, six horsemen were stationed, with two saddled horses, before a little barred door of the tower. Here the castle was provided with a private outlet, and a narrow drawbridge, now raised, concealed by a thicket of bushes. From a room in the tower, which jutted over the back-court, and had a small window into the fore-court, shone a single light. In a corner of this room a female figure knelt upon the stone floor, with a rosary in her hands, and apparently engaged in prayer. Long dark brown braided tresses fell over her nut-brown neck and shoulders; she wore a dark blue knitted jacket, a linen petticoat of the same colour, with many plaits, and a light blue apron. A cloak, composed of white knitted thread, lay at her side, as if it had fallen from her shoulders. Her back was turned towards the door, and she did not appear to observe that it was gently opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man, closely wrapped in a travelling cloak, stepped softly in, and looked anxiously and carefully around him. He turned towards the door, which stood ajar, and, at his beck, a face withdrew, which might have been taken for that of a crafty old woman, but for the incipient reddish beard, and the bright steel cap, that denoted it to be a young soldier's. The door was then softly closed. The tall, disguised figure stood in the middle of the apartment, and regarded the kneeling girl. Her head was bowed towards the rosary in her small folded hands, upon her knees; and she was so deeply absorbed in prayer and supplication, that her outward senses took no notice of what surrounded them.
At this sight, the disguised person was obviously uneasy. He cleared his throat several times, as if he would speak, or give intimation of his presence; but she continued in the same motionless position. He now made a hasty motion with his hand to his forehead, as if he would drive away some unpleasant, distressing thought. The hat fell from his head, and a strongly-marked countenance was displayed, expressive of severity and supreme haughtiness, which appeared in singular contradiction to the soft, sensual smile that played round his mouth, and his aimless, uneasy glances, which seemed incapable of resting upon any object for an instant. His projecting forehead, furrowed by violent passions, was half concealed by his thin, flaxen hair, which descended on both sides to his shoulders. According to the knightly fashion of the times, he wore a short beard on his upper lip and projecting chin; and was evidently in the prime of life, bordering upon forty. This singular want of character--the contradictory expressions of severity and mildness, of strength and weakness, of pride and meanness, of violent passion and crafty moderation--deprived his countenance of that dignity and loftiness which nature seemed to have intended it originally to possess; but that which most disfigured him was the uncertain glance of his small gray eyes, and a constant leer, and motion of the eyelids, which at once inspired distrust and fear.
He now stood, as if debating with himself whether he should remain or go, when he retreated a few steps, as the kneeling girl suddenly rose and turned round. He saw not the somewhat pale, but clear, lively countenance of the peasant girl, with the most roguish pair of eyes, who had peeped, in curiosity, through the bars of Henner Friser's pantry; but a frightened, weeping child, who entreated his pity and forbearance.
Assé, Henner's daughter, as she was called, after her grandfather, so celebrated by every traveller for her beauty, was wonderfully changed; yet was she, in a manner, fairer than ever. The cheerful little face of the fisher-maiden had the dignity and nobility of a princess's; but now she was pale as a dying person. Her lively, often roguishly-playful eyes, were closed; but there was an expression in her features as if she could penetrate entire nature with a glance, and stood on a far-off, mysterious world. She advanced with a slow and solemn step, and, in language that otherwise was foreign to her simple nature, and with a voice like that of a warning prophetess, while she raised her forefinger in admonition, she burst forth:
"Unhappy king! Thou goest in the way of thy doom. I have prayed for thy soul to our Lord and Judge, and he bade me warn thee. A sword hangs by a hair over thy head; repent, repent, ere it fall upon thee!"
"Ha! a maniac!" exclaimed the tall personage, turning pale. "Rané! Satan! where art thou? whom hast thou brought me?"
He made a hasty movement towards the door, but recovered himself suddenly, and burst into laughter.
"Ha! thou crafty, cunning child! Hast thou been in the priests' school? And is it so thou wilt make a jest of me?" he said, mildly threatening, and advancing towards her. "Thou knewest, then, I was here, and couldst allow it so saintly and devoutly. No more pious foolery, child: it does not sit well upon thee;--but now we understand one another."
He put out his hand, as if he would pat her under the chin; but she drew back a step, and, with a powerful, almost convulsive, expression of contempt and disgust, said:
"Approach me not, or thou art dead!" and she raised her hand menacingly. The blood returned to her cheeks: it seemed as if, with emotion, she would open her long dark eye-lashes, and yet could not succeed. "How thine eyes flash!" she cried; "how enraged thou art, grandfather! Ah, how thine eyes sparkle! and thy fingers--and thou bleedest, thou bleedest!"
"Nonsense, child! there is no one here who flashes and bleeds. Art thou here, prepared with these juggling grimaces? or, art thou really asleep? If so, I will try whether one can awaken thee or not!"
With these words, the tall personage again moved, as if he would approach her, but now fell anxiously back, while she directed a pair of rigid, extended eyes, without life or animation, towards him.
"I know it well," she whispered, mysteriously; "I am in the house in the wood. The mightiest man in the land stands before me. He will hear his fate. Listen, then, my lord! You are erring and unfortunate; you are sold and betrayed. If you would save soul and body, hide yourself! fly! abandon the road to your doom!"
"Are you possessed, girl?" exclaimed the tall personage, stamping his foot, and, at the same time, looking anxiously around him; "am I among traitors here? Rané! Satan! where art thou?"
"Beware! beware of him!" continued the girl, at the same time whispering, mysteriously: "call not upon him! The Evil One is near at hand, when one thinks of him!"
"Will she drive me mad?" muttered the disguised person, as he looked, with the most painful disquietude, now at the door, now at the strange maiden. "Ha! fool that I am, to suffer myself to be deceived by the artful cheat!" he at length exclaimed aloud, and again laughed to himself, while he cast his cloak aside, and stood before her, in a magnificent knightly dress. "Confess now, little Assé, you wanted to have me somewhat at an advantage--would see whether you could make King Erik Christopherson afraid. But it will not avail you: I know my people, and you, too, with your pretty black, bewitching eyes. You dreamt that the king visited you, did you not? and that you lived like a queen, in one of his castles? And that will come to pass, notwithstanding. It depends only on yourself. But, tongue within your teeth, little Assé: not a whisper that the king visited you here, alone. That is a secret no one must know."
The lofty expression on the girl's countenance suddenly disappeared. It seemed as if she had now, for the first time, awoke from a dream that had changed her entire being: she looked around her bewildered, and suddenly sprang towards the door; but, recovering herself again, she took courage, and, putting her little hands upon her sides, placed herself, proudly, opposite the strange nobleman. He seemed gladly surprised at the transformation of the prophetess into the well-known pretty little fisher-girl, with the lively, playful eyes, and open-hearted boldness, no longer excited and fearful: the sleepwalker's sternness and earnestness of manner was lost in a frank and natural anger, which made her even more lovely.
"Who are you, sir knight?" she asked, passionately. "Would you have me fancy you are the king? Nay, simple as I am, I know well that the king will maintain law and right in the country. Like King Glip-eye, you blink disagreeably enough; but I should think myself much to blame, were I to suppose the king a riever and godless evil-doer."
The nobleman coloured deeply, and regarded the haughty maiden with a malicious look. "She has been asleep, then," he muttered to himself; and then said, aloud, "you are right: I am not the king himself, but one of his greatest officers. Since you have such a good opinion of the king's uprightness, my child," he continued, in a severe and authoritative tone, "it surprises me that it should not occur to you, you are a prisoner, at the king's command. You are a suspected woman, in the secret practice of witchcraft. With your crafty old grandfather, you lodge and conceal traitors to the country, and the open enemies of the king. Can you deny that the audacious marsk, who denounced the king, has not lodged under your roof for the last eight days, and has been spared by you? At this instant, in all probability, the rebellious Duke Waldemar sits there, and with his adherents, and plots against the king and the nation. Tales are told of your grandfather that, when I inquire into them, may cost him his neck. If you would save his life, little Assé, it can only be by being friendly and complaisant towards his master and judge; and such, in truth, am I."
"You only wish to prove my constancy, stern sir knight," said the girl, with less haughtiness, and with more discreet demeanour, but still calmly and undauntedly; "you only wish to see whether you can bring me to doubt my grandfather's honour and the king's justice. You know, as well as I, that my grandfather is obliged to provide quarters for all comers, whether they are true subjects or not, so long as the king has not driven them from the country and made them outlaws; that I do not practice witchcraft, although, at times, I may have strange dreams, and, in jest, have read one or two hands, you very well know. You would only trifle with me, stern sir. But if you are in earnest," she continued, vehemently, and again placing her hands, with an air of defiance, on her sides, "you are as little likely to be one of the king's true men as you are to be the king himself. You are, rather, a riever and a traitor, seeking to do injustice in the king's name: so take care of yourself, good sir. There is yet law and justice in the kingdom; and you may happen, by-and-by, to get hanged, for all that you may fit yourself into a stately knight's doublet, stolen, probably, from some poor man."
"Shameless boldness!" exclaimed the nobleman, stamping with indignation; but his wild look fell again upon the girl's beautiful face and form, and he continued, in milder tones: "defiance does not become you well, little Aasé; and you are nothing handsomer for your obstinacy. Before the Lord, I think I could be angry with you in earnest. You are not a tame bird; and I see well, you want to make yourself precious, that you may afterwards set the higher price upon your favour. For variety's sake, that may please me at present; but do not carry it farther. I can have patience for a time; but do not make me furious."
"They are coming! they are coming!" exclaimed Aasé, overjoyed, and springing to the window looking over the great court-yard: "now shall we know whom you are, and whether the king has robbers and ravishers in his service."
The tramp of horses, and the sound of voices, were heard in the court of the castle. The tall personage looked uneasily towards the window: at the same time the door was opened, and the young soldier who had stood without the door on his first entrance hastily and flurriedly entered.
"We are betrayed, sire!" he whispered, almost breathless. "The court is full of people: they demand to be admitted in the king's name, and have Drost Peter Hessel at their head."
"Drost Peter? Are you mad?" said the nobleman, hastily throwing on his cloak. "What wants he here? How did he enter?"
"The gate was locked; nobody knows who let him in. He has terrified the warden with his royal authority. They are searching throughout the whole castle, and will pull it down if they do not find the girl. I expect them here every instant, as they have seen the light from the court. If you would not betray yourself to the people, escape by the secret passage, sire. Command it so, and I shall take the blame, and suffer myself, farther, to be taken prisoner by the drost."
"Right, my trusty Rané. The thought is worth gold. Lock the concealed door after me. Are our people at the back gate?"
"All is in perfect order and security, sir knight," said the young man-at-arms, with emphasis, winking; "and not a soul can know that you have been here, if she, there, can be silent:" here he pointed dubiously towards Aasé, who stood looking with a wild, flashing eye from the window. "Tarry no longer, sire. I hear them upon the tower-stairs."
"Betray, with a single word, whom you have seen, and you are dead!" whispered the nobleman, hurriedly, to the terrified maiden; and, in an instant, he had disappeared through a concealed door in the panel.
The young soldier hastily withdrew the key from the door, and flung it, from the window, into the back court; he then fell in a supplicating posture at the young girl's feet. "Have pity on an unhappy lover, fair, good-natured Aasé. Thou incomparable fisher-maid," he began, in a shrill, piping voice, "for thy sake, I have exposed myself to the greatest danger, and to the anger of our righteous king; for thy sake, I dared to make use of the king's name, when I took thee prisoner."
"And, for thy sake, I will soil my fingers upon such an abominable hag's face," answered the girl, giving him a few hearty boxes on the ear, which he appeared to take patiently, continuing, the while, to set forth his feigned love tale.
He was still talking in the same strain, and had laid hold of Aasé's apron, when Drost Peter and his squire, together with the warden and a band of armed fishermen, entered the door.
"In the king's name, Chamberlain Rané, you are my prisoner," said Drost Peter: "bind him, lads!"
The page rose, as it taken by surprise. "Stern sir drost," he said, with an impudent smile, "you best know yourself the power of beauty over the heart, without distinction of rank or station. You have detected me in an indiscretion, which, at our time of life, one does wisest to judge with forbearance. At most, you have seen with what little success I have sought to tame this lovely wild-cat. If you venture on taking me prisoner, good: our common lord shall decide which of us is the more blameworthy."
With these words, he gave up his short sword, without opposition, into the drost's hands, and permitted his own to be bound by Claus Skirmen, who performed this ordinary part of a squire's duties with the greatest dexterity, at the same time casting a look at the pretty little Aasé, whose dark, sparkling eyes ran over the bystanders, as if anxiously in search of some one.
"My child! my Aasé!" sounded, at length, from a man's deep voice at the door; and, with the lively exclamation, "Grandfather! dear grandfather!" she flew into old Henner's arms, and overpowered him with her childish caresses, without observing his wounds, which, however little he regarded them himself, had nevertheless considerably exhausted him.
Drost Peter Hessel and his squire had come over the Belt in the storm, with a large company of travellers. On the road from Gremermarsh quay to the town, they had met with the armourer Troels, the ferrymen, and a band of burghers, in search of Henner Friser and the robbers. Drost Peter had landed from the vessel, with a shaggy cap over his ears, and a large boatman's jerkin over his knight's dress. They were the last to land; and, before the young nobleman had mounted his horse, he had taken off the borrowed cap and jerkin, thrown his scarlet cloak upon his shoulders, and placed his feathered hat upon his head. Without troubling himself about the other travellers, he was ready, at the moment, to assist the burghers against the supposed robbers. The rest of the travellers, tired with their boisterous passage, were only anxious to reach the inn, to rest and refresh themselves.
On the quay of Gremermarsh, there still stood, however, in the changing moonlight, a boatman, with his arm in a bandage, by the side of a tall, knightly figure, in full black armour, with the visor of his helmet down. They appeared to talk earnestly and secretly, and, from time to time, pointed to the skiff that had newly arrived, and to a smaller boat, by which the mailed knight had seemingly come, and which lay somewhat apart, below the wood that skirted the Middelfert sound. The boatman had arrived with the large company, and appeared to be informing the knight whence they had come and whom they had brought. They at length separated. The boatman nodded respectfully; and, notwithstanding his wound, seemed to take upon himself the execution of some commission with which he was entrusted by the stately stranger. He departed, with hasty strides, towards the wood where the little boat lay; while the knight took, alone, and with thoughtful steps, the road to the town.
Although neither Henner Friser nor his pretty granddaughter was present, the travellers were received at the inn, by the people of the house, with the usual attentions. They had placed before them a flagon of ale, and a large dish of stewed flounders, of which they had always abundance. With these the greater part of the company appeared to be satisfied, as it was Friday, and they were required to observe a fast. Not so, however, were they all.
"Away with these wretched flounders! We want a hearty meal of flesh," said a long, meagre gentleman, with a sagacious but proud and arrogant countenance, and strong, passionate-looking features. "For your lives and healths' sake, I give you all an indulgence, as far as the day is concerned," he added, with the mien and authority of a pope: "for the sake of human infirmities, I am authorised to do this."
The flounders were immediately taken away, and a large dish of salt meat substituted in their place. This change the majority of the company loudly applauded, but the ecclesiastic was now offended. Notwithstanding the blue travelling dress he wore, his rank was distinguishable by the black calotte that concealed his tonsure; and, notwithstanding his leanness, he appeared accustomed to better and richer fare. He vehemently decided that the accommodation for distinguished travellers, in this new and only licensed place of entertainment, was wretched; and that, when the king thought proper to meddle in domestic matters, and prohibit people, both lay and clerical, from entertaining strangers, he ought to take care that there were ordinary cooks in such taverns.
This discontented gentleman was the only ecclesiastic in the company. He was usually called Master Grand and Sir Dean; and all treated him with the greatest respect. The rest were chiefly knights, and other distinguished laymen, with large plumes of feathers in their hats, and short travelling cloaks, fringed with sable, of the finest German or English cloth, and of the most various colours, according to their own or their ladies' tastes. Their doublets were, for the most part, of the same colour and material, with a slit in the centre, and ornamented with gashed edges, in the fashion of foreign knights. This profuse style of dress had, long before, been forbidden in Denmark; and this contempt for a law that was observed everywhere around denoted these gentlemen to belong to the bold and disaffected aristocratical party.
A tall young man, in a scarlet cloak, with a haughty countenance and princely manners, appeared to be the most distinguished in the company. An elderly personage, with a firm, warlike bearing, and in a large cloak of English blue cloth, seemed likewise to be an individual of some note. Some of the younger gentlemen shone forth in suits of bright yellow, flame colour, and green. A few of the more elderly wore brown and liver-coloured doublets and mantles. There were nearly as many squires as there were knights; and their inferior rank was discernible by their plain hats, and by their chequered and less, expensive cloaks of Scottish cloth.
A young, cheerful individual, who did not appear to belong to the knights and their train, but attached himself with particular attention to the ecclesiastic, was distinguished by his civility and pleasing manners, although his unusual corpulency would only allow him to perform any rapid motion with difficulty. His round, good-natured face beamed with life and jollity. Round his short brown jerkin he wore a broad leather belt, with a large knife and fork, a horn spoon, a pepper-box, and a number of other tools and appliances pertaining to the kitchen and pantry. He had listened with great attention to the discontented ecclesiastic's denunciation of the entertainment, while his look often glanced upon a plain wooden box, which he had carried from the ship himself, and which was now deposited in a corner, near the kitchen-door.
"Spoken after my own poor heart, worthy sir dean," he at length said, with a respectful mien, and yet with a kind of sly humour. "These royal hostelries will certainly bring the land to ruin. 'They are dung-pits,' as said our worthy Abbot of Ry, in his much-admired fast sermon; 'they are dung-pits, where every carrion bird gathers, and where the eagle and crow must eat out of the same dish.' They have brought true hospitality to decay; and now, as a necessary consequence, harmony and jollity, mirth and the noble art of cookery, have come to the ground together. Nevertheless, in half an hour's time, I shall prepare my worthy masters such a repast as shall make us all forget these doleful times, and reconcile us to this godless world."
"Right, my son," said the churchman, patting him on the shoulder. "Do not bury thy rare talents. Have a care for our present wants, cook Morten, and trouble not thyself about the preacher."
Whilst the travelling cook took his box and proceeded to the kitchen to prepare his entertainment, without heeding the growlings of the servants, the gentleman in the blue cloak made a trial of the liquor, which stood in a pewter tankard.
"What! filthy Danish pors-ale!"[[7]] he exclaimed, and dashed the tankard to the ground. "Fie for Satan! do the rascals mean to treat us to such trash? Saxon ale we shall have, and that immediately."
"German ale, that sets people a-crowing, we do not serve here," answered a bold fellow, who acted as tapster: "it is as strictly forbidden by the king as are the slashed doublets of yourself and these gentlemen. If, therefore, you are not contented with what we have got, the door is open; but rough words and fault-finding, neither Henner Friser nor his servants put lip with."
The gentleman in blue started, and regarded the man with surprise.
"Shameless fellow! do you know to whom you are talking?" roared the churchman, the veins of his forehead swelling with rage. "Where a gentleman of the blood royal is present, even a master and a dean is a mean man. A bumpkin like you should not grumble, were we to scrub your ears with your besom, and fling your villanous Danish ale over your dunderhead!"
"Be pacified, good Master Grand," said the young gentleman of the scarlet cloak: "the fellow, truly, did not know us, and only maintains the credit of his master. If you have any German ale in the house, produce it on my responsibility," he added, turning to the tapster, while he flung down a handful of silver coin upon the table.
The man was surprised, and loitered.
"Quick, now!" continued the young lord: "it is Duke Waldemar who commands you. The king's prohibition, to which you have already sagely adverted in reference to our doublets, does not extend to me and my followers."
"So you may understand the matter, mighty lord," answered the man, bluntly; "but my master says, that, on Danish ground, the king's law and prohibition extend to both gentle and simple. There is a butt of old German ale in the cellar, which has not been touched for five and twenty years; but, before my master comes home and so orders it himself, I shall not tap a single stoup of it, even if all of you were popes and emperors."
"Let the saucy rogue be thrown out of doors, my lord duke!" exclaimed Master Grand, in a passion; and a couple of squires drew near, with zealous alacrity, and seemed only to be waiting for a nod to carry the proposal into execution.
The blood mounted to the young nobleman's cheeks, and he cast a threatening look at the tapster; but his senior, in the blue cloak, caught him by the arm.
"Delay a little, sir cousin," he muttered, in a half whisper. "Let me advise. Here we must be good patriots. The king's grace rode his cock-horse by the side of Margaret's stallion,"[[8]] he then continued, with a loud voice, "when he performed this exploit, and stuck pegs for taps into German ale-barrels. It was a brave action, we must allow: it will be long before I achieve as much as a general. At the same time, he made his appearance in a new light, and became our instructor in the noble art of tailoring. Like good patriots, let us now drink this pors-ale to his honour, and have our doublets sewn up like honest Danish frocks, that they may see at court that we are as true and obedient subjects as John Little and David Thorstenson, and as upright friends to this kind of garment as the king himself, and the queen's handsome friend, Drost Peter Hosel.[[9]] Now, then, the king's health in thin ale, since there is no better: the king's health, my lords!"
This satire, accompanied by a scornful smile, occasioned a burst of laughter, and all drank, or pretended to drink, of the despised liquor.
"Every one shall drink the toast who is not a spy or a traitor," continued the warlike lord in blue: "no distinction of rank or station is permitted here. Come, thou fair swain: drink the king's health in this precious pors-water."
"I would have a care of my manners," answered the tapster: "I am too mean to join in the revels of such distinguished company."
"Understand, then, that Count Jacob of Halland, as the king's vassal, allows you to be chastised as a traitor and secret rebel," continued the lord in blue. "Drag him out, and give him a hearty salute with the stirrup-straps," said he to the squires. "We have all heard that he is a rebel who will not drink the king's health."
The stern decree was executed in a moment, notwithstanding a brave resistance made by the strong fellow.
"This is the way to baste the fellows with their own lard," growled Count Jacob, as, with a haughty air, he threw himself carelessly back on his bench.
"Perhaps a little too hard," said the young duke, yet smiling contentedly; while all laughed heartily at the rough joke, which did not seem to them at all unusual, or in anywise dangerous.
The allusion to King Erik Christopherson's edicts respecting ale and slashed doublets, which had given rise to this scene, was followed by many jocular remarks on various other of the king's municipal regulations, which they affected to extol, whilst, at the same time, they were striving to present them in the most ridiculous point of view, or as childish and absurd. The stern Ribe-Ret,[[10]] in particular, was the subject of many coarse jokes.
The conversation was brought to a close by the entrance, with a large dish of seasoned meat, of the indefatigable cook, who invited the company to prove whether he had not attained a more worthy post than in cooking prison-fare for the hermits of Sjöberg.
"Should I--as, nevertheless, I hope I shall not," he added--"have to wait on any of my good lords in my celebrated castle, I am glad that, beforehand, I have had an opportunity of vindicating my honour with those who, not without success, have studied the art of cookery in the most learned chapter-houses in the kingdom."
"Thou art a rogue, Morten!" said Master Grand, playfully threatening him. "My pious colleagues taught thee first, perhaps, to sign thyself with the token of self-denial; but thy round cheeks bear witness thou art a carnal child of the world, who hath transferred his learning to ladles and carving-knives."
"Not without a bright and illustrious example," answered the cook, with a cunning smile. "Were I, in troth, your cook, as I am now a godless provider for state-prisoners, you could not help being soon as plump as I and your worthy colleagues."
He now began, like a busy host, to serve out his viands, and selected the choicest morsels for his new ecclesiastical patron. He afterwards brought from the kitchen a large wooden bowl, and, with many eulogiums, recommended the strengthening and enlivening beverage it contained, as the fruit of his own invention.
"Spiced wine!" exclaimed Count Jacob. "Thou art a most excellent fellow, Morten! This, then, was the sacred church-treasure that thou and sir dean contended for so lustily in the storm, when we were obliged to throw all our worldly goods overboard!"
"Thus it is that virtue and good deeds are rewarded, even in the present life," answered the cook. "And I hope that worthy Master Grand does not now repent that he so piously took my sacred bottle under his protection."
The knights praised the excellent liquor, and became merry and noisy. Cook Morten poured out for them, and sang them wanton ditties. All would join with him; and every one sang the song that pleased himself best, without troubling himself about those of others. At length, a well-known song obtained the ascendancy, in the midst of general laughter: it was a tolerably witty and satirical ballad, relating to the king and his favourites, particularly concerning Drost Peter Hessel, whom it sometimes nicknamed Peter Hosel (stocking-garter), and sometimes Sir Lovmand (lawyer), with coarse inuendoes on the relation in which he was accused of standing to the queen.
In the midst of this uproar, the tall mailed knight, with the closed visor, who had followed them from the quay, entered unobserved, and seated himself in a dark nook, near the door.
"See, now there is some life in the game," said the cook, snuffing the candles; "now it is quite a pleasure to tend upon my worthy masters."
"But how came you by the wine?" inquired Master Grand: "it is indeed converted into nectar."
"The preparation is a secret, my most worthy sir," answered the cook, "the knowledge of which I shall keep to myself, until I make my will: then shall I enrich after generations with my invention, if the world prove worthy of it. I have named this divine beverage bishop: I hope it deserves its title, and that it will hereafter render the name of Morten Fynbo immortal, among both learned and simple."
"Call it archbishop: it deserves the name better than the carlin we have now in Lund," roared Count Jacob. "Such a bishop is fitted to mediate an eternal peace between the temporal and spiritual lords of the kingdom; and, at this time, it is much needed. We have made a beginning with you, very learned Master Grand," he continued: "when you come hereafter to be archbishop, perhaps it will fare better with justice in the land. You are the man to lend me a letter of excommunication, when my own sword is too short to recover my feudal rents, withheld by a tyrant."
Master Grand made no reply, but gave the loud-voiced count a familiar and significant look.
"To our noble dean, the pride and honour of Roskild!" resumed Count Jacob: "long life to our very learned Master Jens Grand! A rogue is he who does not pledge the toast to the bottom; and confusion to all the vermin and king's thralls in the country!" With these words, he touched the ecclesiastic's cup with his own. His example was followed by Duke Waldemar and the knights; the whole bursting out into a simultaneous shout of applause, in which the cook heartily joined.
"I thank you, my high-born Count Jacob; you, too, my noble duke; and you, my valiant lords and knights," said Master Grand, agreeably surprised, while he rose, and regarded all around him with an air of seriousness and significance. "The time may come when my deeds shall prove to you that it is my highest wish to effect a friendly union between the knightly sword and the bishop's staff. Earthly and heavenly power must be truly united, when there is anything great to be done in the world. But more of this at another time and place," he said, suddenly interrupting himself. "Latet anguis in herbâ--there is a snake in the grass, as the saying goes: Satan has his imps everywhere."
So saying, the dean's sharp looks fell on the figure of the tall, mailed knight, who sat in the corner, by the door. All eyes were turned in the same direction, and a mysterious whispering arose among the uneasy guests. The sturdy warlike figure then arose, and advanced with firm strides towards the light at the end of the table. He moved his head, as if he would observe the guests more narrowly, raised his mailed arm, struck the grating of his helmet upwards for a moment, and then allowed it to fall. The hasty view thus obtained of the strongly-illumined, iron features of the warrior, and the stern glance that shot like lightning from beneath his dark bushy eyebrows, struck every one with astonishment. They had all risen to bid him welcome; but he laid his finger upon the opening of his helmet, and they remained standing, as mute as statues, and regarding him with earnest expectation.
"Remember your oaths and vows! Prudence is still our safeguard," said the mailed knight, in a deep, hollow voice. "There is no security, or room for insolent bravado, where traitors may go in and out, and every door stands open. The tyrant is near at hand. Drost Peter Hessel was among you on the Belt, and you knew him not."
"Drost Peter!" they repeated, with astonishment.
"Damnation!" exclaimed the young duke, stamping: "it was reported otherwise. But how came he there? I did not see him. Where did he land?"
"Spite of the devil, I should think it would have been known if the drost had been on board," said Count Jacob. "Two boatmen and a youth excepted, there was not a cat on board I did not know."
"Who was the man who sprang from the mast, and seized the rudder, when the steersman's arm was wounded?" demanded the stern knight.
"He--the daring young fellow," said Count Jacob--"he who, at the very nick of time, came as if he had dropped from the clouds, and saved our lives--was he not a boatman?"
"It was Drost Peter Hessel," said the black knight; "and the lad who waited upon him was his squire--a youth with ears in his head."
"The fiend!" exclaimed one after another.
"In the noise and confusion I was both deaf and blind," began Master Grand; "otherwise, I should have seen whether we had Philistines on board. On the skiff I saw no one: but who was the knight in the scarlet mantle, who followed us from the quay, and rode off in pursuit of rievers or virgins, or on some such sort of carnal, hair-brained exploit?"
"That was Drost Peter," answered the mailed knight. "Where were your keen eyes, Master Grand? Our deadly foe sat to-day by the rudder, and you knew him not; to-morrow he sits at the helm of the state, and will know you."
"Death and perdition! All is lost? We are betrayed!" exclaimed one after the other; and the commotion became general.
"Not yet," said the mailed knight, quietly, and raised his voice. "Until the Dane-court is brought to a close, the law protects you. This law only protects me," and he struck his large, rattling sword. "The moment the Danish court is terminated, separate. In half an hour, I am again on board. Yet three words in private with your and my future lord."
The young duke hastened anxiously forward, and fervently seized the knight's mailed hand. They retired a few steps, and the mysterious knight whispered some words into his ear, which he only heard, but at which the bold duke's cheeks changed colour. The knight regarded him with a keen look, laid his hand encouragingly upon his shoulder, and nodded. The duke regained his composure, and, with a haughty look, made a hasty motion with his sword. Without adding a single word more, the tall, iron-clad knight saluted the company, and quietly strode out at the door.
A general silence ensued, while the young duke appeared struggling to overcome some anxious, disquieting thought. Hastily seizing his cup, "Long life to our trusty, watchful friend!" he said: "may he return safe: he has done much for our sakes to-day."
Scarcely had he uttered the words, and put the goblet to his lips, ere the door was opened, and Drost Peter Hessel, with old Henner Friser, entered, accompanied by a crowd of burghers and seamen, carrying with them the bound Swain Rané. Old Henner led his daughter by the hand. She cast back a kindly look towards the door, where the squire, Claus Skirmen, was standing, with his master's scarlet cloak upon his arm, and surprised apparently at the sight of so many strangers; whilst his eyes speedily forsook the fair, dark-eyed damsel, and rested, with earnest attention, upon his master's every look and motion.
As the young drost entered, Duke Waldemar and the knights hastily replaced their uplifted goblets on the table, and looked at one another with amazement.
Drost Peter did not appear to notice the general confusion which his entrance had occasioned. Having saluted the company with knightly politeness, "I perceive," he said, in a lively, unaffected tone, "I am yet in time, my lords, to greet you in my own doublet, and to thank you for your excellent travelling society. I had my reasons for appearing as a boatman: that scarcely any of my noble lords will doubt. It gladdens me that I was fortunate steersman enough, and had the opportunity, of bringing so many important patriots safe to land. I would have thanked you for your confidence immediately upon our landing, my lords; but I have been delayed by a little unpleasant adventure, which is now happily finished."
The young duke recovered his self-possession. He returned the drost's salutation with a princely air, and answered, in the same courteous tone, "It was handsome to return to us, Drost Hessel, and not to withdraw yourself from our thankful acknowledgments. But a minute ago, we learned that we were fortunate enough to have had you on board, without knowing you, and that you were the brave boatman who so opportunely caught hold of the rudder in our danger. That chance or necessity, and no deceitful intention, made us fellow-voyagers to-day, notwithstanding our difference of opinion in various matters, I am willing to believe. Accept, therefore, the acknowledgments of myself and friends; and permit us, as we were just proposing, to drain this cup to your welfare."
At the duke's signal, the active cook handed the drost a goblet of wine; and, with forced politeness, Count Jacob made room for him on the duke's right hand, and begged him to be seated.
In the meanwhile, no one evinced any disposition to do honour to the proposed toast.
Drost Peter observed this, and said, hastily: "I thank you, my lords, for the intended honour; but permit me, as the reward of my pilotage, merely to beg the favour, that I may quaff this first goblet on Funen ground, with Duke Waldemar, Count Jacob, and these worthy gentlemen, to a peaceful and happy issue to the Dane-court, and to the welfare of our country, and of our lawful king's house."
With these words, he emptied his goblet, and replaced it on the table.
"Every friend of his country who participates in my wish," he added, "will certainly not hesitate on doing justice to my toast."
All eyes were turned upon Duke Waldemar and Count Jacob; and as both these lords, although with secret indignation, emptied their cups, and set them on the table, the other knights followed their example.
The fat cook smiled knavishly. "A bitter addition to my magnificent liquor," he whispered to Master Grand.
The ecclesiastic burned with indignation. He had not yet raised the goblet to his lips; and, grasping it in his hand, with the wine dripping upon his fingers, he now dashed it violently upon the stone floor. "I drink no slavish token of homage by constraint," he exclaimed, in a rage. "On what footing I, as Dean of Roskild, stand with King Erik Christopherson, is known to every man in the country who knows that St. Michael's Church, in Slagelse, belongs to the deanery of Roskild, and has been taken from me with shameful injustice. If I have not been afraid to protest openly against the king's illegal encroachments on my rights of office, neither am I now afraid to declare openly to his drost, that I will suffer thirst till doomsday, rather than, like a miserable hypocrite, drink a single drop to worldly arrogance and injustice."
"And I hold to that, with our very learned sir dean," said Count Jacob, with a loud voice, and striking his long sword vehemently against the floor. "Every man here has his freedom; and no one shall compel us to drink any other toast than we please. I only drank, because I was thirsty, and the wine was good. I regard myself, then, so little as a wretch or a hypocrite, that no one with impunity shall call me a traitor to the country."
"It were far from me to upbraid any man with hypocrisy, or to accuse any of these gentlemen of so horrible a crime as treason," said Drost Peter, quietly. "In Denmark, God be praised, thoughts, and their rudest expression, are still free, when the law of the land is not transgressed; and I regard no Dane as the enemy of his country because, perhaps, he does not join in our common wish for its welfare, and in personal attachment to the royal house, with the same warmth as myself. In such unsettled and unhappy times as the present, we must, alas! experience that the opinions of the best Danish men differ on many important matters. But, my brave lords and countrymen," he continued, with warmth, "excuse me that I do not see any place or opportunity too unsuitable to say an earnest word in a matter that concerns every Dane. If variance and discord are not soon to rend asunder all, even the best of Danish hearts, and if the people are not to rebel and sink into ruin by such devastating strife, we must necessarily be united in one object; and that is, in lawful obedience to the majesty and divinity of the crown, upon whatever head it may legally and by justice rest. Mournful, certainly, it will be, if we, as men, as knights, or as servants of God's word, do not, at all times, love and do homage to the personality which is inseparable from majesty. But, as we would be true to our country, we are bound, heart and hand, to defend the king to the last drop of our blood."
"I may respect your manner of thinking, Drost Hessel, though it is not mine," replied young Duke Waldemar, with warmth, and approaching him a step or two, with great haughtiness, whilst he appeared to regard the embarrassment of his friends with indignation. "I do not misunderstand the zeal that permits you to forget where you are, and to whom you are speaking. But I may beg you to remember, that we are here in a public tavern; and that I, and the highborn Count Jacob of Halland, are present. As the king's kinsmen, we were most justified in holding discourse against sedition and lese-majesty, had we found it convenient or necessary. If you have anything to complain of against us, bring it before the king and people, in the Dane-court, where you shall find us all assembled, and where I hope to settle amicably the points in dispute between us and our royal kinsman. But, here, we order and command you, in virtue of our rank and dignity, to be silent, and not approach me or my friends, with an audacity that becomes you not, and with ill-timed admonitions respecting our duty to the Danish crown. And now, my lords, to horse. Here we shall no longer tarry, to give occasion for uproar, which this king and queen's zealous friend should have been the very first to have avoided."
The latter words were spoken in a bitter tone of ridicule, which called up a disdainful smile on the countenance of the young knight.
"Very good," said Count Jacob, in a rude tone of derision. "We shall yield the battle-field to the amorous young sir drost, since it is in a tavern, where one only cares to fight with words, or, at most, with fists and empty pitchers. If we contend, hereafter, upon a more worthy arena, sir drost, perhaps you may find it convenient to be the first to withdraw."
With these words, both the princely lords left the room; the ecclesiastic, with the cook, and all the knights, accompanying them. The horses had already, for some time, been standing saddled before the door; the squires hastened to hold the stirrups for their masters; and, in a minute after, the numerous train departed, laughing and talking aloud, through the streets of Middelfert.
The young drost stood, silent and thoughtful, in the guests' room, and appeared to be considering whether he had not been too precipitate. Old Henner, quietly, and with the greatest interest, had given heed to every one of his words, and to his whole conduct. The burghers and fishermen, after their president's example, remained silent witnesses of the contest between the distinguished lords. Claus Skirmen stood by the door, without losing sight of his master's face, although, at times, he cast a sidelong glance at the little dark-haired Aasé, who, with curious and playful eyes, watched the illustrious stranger.
The artful chamberlain had, in the meantime, profited by the general attention given to the clamorous lords. He had given jovial cook Morten, who pretended to know him, the wink, and, with the help of the carving-knife which hung at the cook's girdle, the cords that bound him were cut without it being observed. He could not, however, immediately avail himself of this freedom, while so many stood around him, but remained quietly, with his hands behind his back, as if he had been still bound. But, now that the door was open, he suddenly sprang under the arms of his guards, and was gone in an instant.
"What the fiend! is he loose?" exclaimed the astonished fishermen, springing after him.
"Stay, let him run!" cried Drost Peter, stopping them. "If he escape, it will please me better, as he would soon have been set free. He will scarcely venture into the net so soon again, however; and we have a traitor the less among us."
The fishermen stood on the alert, ready to bring back the fugitive.
"Ay, ay: let him run to Satan, as the knight says," growled old Henner Friser. "The lanky youth may soon be settled: he shall frighten nobody. Another time that we lay our fingers upon him, let us crack his neck on the instant. Now, let him grease his houghs."
This speech the fishermen seemed to comprehend, and they remained accordingly.
"Now shall you have thanks for your assistance and interest in this matter, my nimble countrymen," continued Drost Peter. "Every one betake himself to his home, and keep himself easy. From robbers you have nothing to fear; and the safety of your brave alderman I will provide for."
"Nobody shall touch a hair of his head, so long as there is a porpoise-hunter in Melfert Sound," replied a young fisherman.
"And should he get into any trouble concerning the royal squire we pitched into the dung-pit," said Troels the armourer, "we brethren of the guild will stand by him. Twelve of us keep watch here to-night; and, if he wishes to make his escape, there are six men at the yawl, with a boat and all that is needful."
"Good, my children, good," replied old Henner. "But go, now: I will consider the matter, and tell you, perhaps, my intentions before morning."
At his beck, the burghers and fishermen left the room. The old man fervently seized Drost Peter's hand. "God and St. Christian bless you, my wellborn young gentleman, for what you have this night done for me and my little Aasé!" he said, with emotion. "If ever I forget it, I am a scoundrel. Neither shall I readily forget the words you addressed to these distinguished rascals: they have stirred up my sinful old soul more than I could have thought."
The restrained but violent emotions which the tones of his voice betrayed appeared to surprise the little Aasé, as somewhat unusual. Her grandfather, observing this, suddenly relaxed his hold of the knight's hand.
"Go, now, to bed, my child," he said gently, turning to her: "go to bed, and sleep securely until I call you. Dream neither of rievers nor big demons. This hand already has punished the doughtiest; but it is not so nimble now--it begins to feel the rascals. But the world is wide: if we cannot be in peace any longer here, I have other plans. Now, good night, child. Pray to our Lord, and our good patron St. Christian, to afford us their protection, and not to lead us into temptation. Now, quick, to bed."
"Allow me first to look to your wound, dear grandfather," replied the little Aasé, entreatingly, while she took hold of his hand and kissed it tenderly.
"Certainly not, child: I will not hear a word about the gnat-bite. Did you not hear what I said?"
From the old man's stern tone, and the silence with which she prepared, though reluctantly, to obey him, it might be seen that the old grandfather was not accustomed to opposition. She still lingered, however; and, as he looked at her more attentively, he observed the furtive, sidelong glances of her eyes towards the door, where the young squire was still standing. "That is true--the youth by the door--he has had no supper, and well deserves one. Without him, we had not got hold of you. Now run, then, Aasé, and take care of him in the kitchen."
"Come, Claus Skirmen," said Aasé, cheerfully, and as familiarly as if she had known him for a long time; while she sprang to the door where he stood, took him by the hand, and drew him merrily along with her to the kitchen.
"Singular child!" muttered the old man to himself: "now she is the little wild cat again, and a single word can make her glad or sorrowful. But when the strong dreaming spirit comes over her, not a sinner would willingly look into her eyes. Well, well: it is a sad thing for our strength."
Drost Peter stood in deep thought, and unobservant of what was passing. He had taken a sheet of parchment from his breast pocket, and on this he gazed intently, without appearing to know what he was reading.
"Have you received disastrous tidings, noble sir?" at length inquired old Henner, regarding him with sympathy; "or is it your evening prayer you are reading? If your soul is in converse with the Lord, I shall not disturb you; but, then, you should look happier. You are young, and can scarcely have any grievous sins upon your conscience. You may well read your ave and paternoster, without looking whether the evil one stands grinning behind you."
"What said you, brave old man?" inquired the knight, recovering himself, and hastily folding the parchment. "It is late, and I stand in need of rest: the noise and journey have wearied me."
"Come, refresh yourself first, noble sir. My best apartment is ready for you. But I have now a word to say to you, for God knows when I may see you again. You are wearied, and I perceive you have important matters in your head. Come, sir drost, you will not refuse a stoup of good Danish pors-ale? What the fiend! have their lordships transformed my ale into wine? Well, that was indeed handsome of them."
They then both set themselves down to cook Morten's half-emptied bowl of spiced wine; and when a cup of the potent beverage had enlivened them, old Henner resumed:
"You spake an earnest word this evening, noble sir. My illustrious guests considered it ill-timed, and perhaps you now may think that you were over hasty; but it was a word at the right time, to me and many more. Yes, you are right, noble sir. The crown is holy, whoever bears it: for the king is the Lord's anointed; and no one shall with impunity raise his hand against him, were it the foul fiend himself whom God has set over us for a season."
"That I did not say exactly, old man," said the drost, interrupting him; "yet it is not far from my meaning. But how came you now upon this matter? Did you know these lords?"
"Who does not know the haughty Duke Waldemar and the crabbed Count Jacob?" answered Henner. "I knew their good friends, too. What these good people carry in their bosoms is no secret. This dean from Roskild is a learned, dangerous man; and the Lord preserve us from him! Thought and thew, he is the old Archbishop Jacob to a hair--he that was imprisoned by the king's father, and brought the whole kingdom under the ban. The long, big-nosed dean comes of the same brood. People dare not say it openly; but you and everybody else know, nevertheless, that this Satan's archbishop had a finger in the pie when King Christopher was poisoned with our Lord's holy body."
"Thou art right, old man; and so much the worse," said Drost Peter: "this audacious Master Grand is Jacob Erlandsen's kinsman, both by descent and in spirit. He is the most crafty of them all, however hot-headed and open-mouthed he may be in his insolent moods." He again drew forth the parchment, and examined it. "Do you know Sir Tuko Abildgaard, the duke's drost?"
"Yes, indeed: that was the proud, smooth-faced gentleman, who sat so stiff where you are now sitting, with the light green cloak and doublet. I knew every one of them."
"Sir Lavé Little was not here--God be praised!" said Drost Peter, with a suppressed sigh. "They are a noble race, these Littles: would that they all took after the old Knight John! A truer man there is not in Denmark, although he has almost as much injustice to complain of as have his kinsmen."
"We must not judge them too severely, noble sir," resumed Henner. "Sir Lavé came over the Belt yesterday. It was sad to look upon the man. He had visited his kinsman for some purpose: that might well be seen in him. Shame is a hard cross. Old Pallé has certainly lost his wits about it; and the bold, proud Stig Andersen himself--I cannot think of him without feeling my heart ready to burst my bosom. A greater leader has Denmark never seen since the days of Count Albert of Northalbing and King Waldemar Seier. Even the mighty King Ladislaus of Sweden has him to thank for his crown. Oh, noble sir drost! when I fancy myself in this man's situation, dark thoughts arise within me. I could not say that the crown was holy, if I saw it borne by the destroyer of my wife's honour."
"And yet, brave Henner, you might say so, even were you in his place, if your fatherland were dearer to you than yourself, and your soul's salvation more precious than revenge."
"Salvation!" said Henner, gloomily; "talk not so decidedly about a man's salvation, sir drost. A bishop would not so readily undertake to do so. Believe you, then, of a truth, that the man shall be for ever damned who lifts his hand against a crowned nidding?"[[11]]
"Let us condemn no one, that we be not ourselves condemned," said the knight, with deep seriousness; "least of all, let us condemn him whom none human can condemn, but who has his Judge above the stars."
"Awell, you may be right, sir, when that is spoken of a righteous king, who has been chosen by the free-will of his people, and who has not acquired his crown by perjury and the murder of a brother, like King Abel. If, now, you were to see the man who shot the arrow into King Abel's breast, noble sir, would you be able to look him in the face, and say that he was a godless traitor and a regicide, who must be for ever doomed to perdition?"
"What brings this into your head, old man?" inquired the knight, astonished: "I have, indeed, said I dare condemn no one, and, truly, least of all dare I condemn the man whom the Righteous Judge chose to raise up to vindicate the pious King Erik Waldemarson, and to hurl a fratricide from the throne of Denmark."
"That man stands now before you, sir drost!" said Henner Friser, rising: "with this hand I shot the arrow that entered King Abel's false heart; there hangs the steel bow that carried the doom of death and eternal punishment to the fratricide."
The knight looked up, and regarded with a degree of dread the tall, powerful old man, who, pale and frightful as the ghost of a hero, now stood before him in the dimly-lighted apartment.
"Did you that deed, old man?" he said, with an effort. "Then let me be the last man you entrust with the dreadful secret. And have a care of yourself. Had Duke Waldemar known what this bow has done, there is not a man in the country who could save you."
"That gives me but little uneasiness," answered the old man. "You, I know, will not betray me; and, saving yourself, there is not a soul in the world knows what old Henner thinks in the midnight storm, when the wild hunter rides over his roof with his howling hounds. Fancy not that I rue the best act of my life. Nay, God and St. Christian be praised! I dread not the hour when I shall stand, with King Abel, before our Lord's judgment-seat. And yet, sir knight, it gives rise to strange thoughts, to have withdrawn a soul from mercy, and dispatched a sinner to everlasting punishment before his time. But it is the weakness of old age: I know it well. It is, besides, at night only that such thoughts come upon me. By day, when I look upon the bow, I feel proud that this hand once rescued Denmark from destruction. As I have said, it is only at night that my heart softens, and that I feel compassion for the sinner whom I slew."
"Pray the God of mercy for his soul!" said the knight, with a feeling of uneasiness.
"Nay, that can I not, sir drost--and it but little matters. What I could do for him, by the aid of a nervous arm, that I have done; but it is in vain--he is doomed to eternal misery. I drove a six-ells stake, of good charred oak, through his rotten carcase in the bog of Gottorp; but what availed that? The proud devil will not rest in the swamp, nor will he suffer others to sleep in peace. You have heard, no doubt, what is told about his night-hunts? Constantly, at midnight, he rides out, raven-black, on his courser, over Gottorp heath, with three fiery hell-hounds at his heels. God be praised! I have not seen it myself; but every midnight, be my sleep ever so sound, it whines and howls in my ears till I awake. Perhaps it is mere rumour and superstition, and perhaps it is but the blood which rushes to my head when I recline; but now, for three and thirty years, I have never been able to close an eye until two hours after the accursed midnight. And--hear you aught? Lord! how it howls and whines again!" He held both hands before his eyes, and shook his gray head in an uneasy and anxious manner.
"Unhappy old man!" said the knight, "mayhap it is neither the blood nor the dead that disquiets you. I rather believe that there is a secret doubt in your honest heart of the justice of the deed, or that it was well-pleasing to God. Shrive yourself, in this matter, to a God-fearing clerk; and seek to make your peace with the Lord, (who, in truth, can alone give and take it away,) not only for the sake of the past, but also for what has happened to-day. It was not the Chamberlain Rané, but a greater man, that we both saw well, who had fixed upon your Aasé for his victim. I knew him, and so much the worse. Me, perhaps, he will spare, for prudential reasons; but he will not relinquish his object because he has once miscarried. It will be a serious matter with you, too, on account of the squire who lies in the dung-pit. I know but one course, old Henner: you must over the Belt with the maiden before it is day. Your house and goods may be sold afterwards. But proceed, without delay, to my warden at Harrestrup. I shall provide you with a letter to him, and he will direct you to my vacant hunting-lodge near Finnerup. There, both you and the little Aasé are safe. The wind is favourable. Take not too long to think of it."
The old man had seated himself upon a bench: he leant with his elbows on the table, and his wrinkled forehead rested in his giant hands.
"Well, I shall follow your advice, and accept your offer with respect and thanks, my illustrious young sir," said he at last, with decision, as he arose. "It is not for the sake of this gray head: were it doomed to fall beneath the axe, I should not take flight, in my old days, to escape the blow. But the maiden must be saved: she is the apple of my eye and my soul's joy--she is good and innocent. She does not yet understand her strange dreams. God grant they may never be fulfilled! She must be saved; and you are right--time presses. You have also pointed my way to peace, sir drost, and I will follow it. I shall bid good night to my worldly calling, and, in your hunting-lodge, reconcile myself to my God and Judge as best I can."
With these words, he shook the knight's hand fervently, and went out, to make the necessary preparations for his departure.
The drost hastily drew forth the sheet of parchment that he had been reading, tore off a portion on which there was no writing, and, with a silver style which he carried about him, wrote upon it a few words to his warden at Harrestrup-Gaard, near Viborg. Scarcely had he finished the brief epistle, before long-withstood weariness overpowered him. The style fell from his hand; his long, dark-haired eyelids closed in spite of him; and he leant back on the bench, until he rested against the wall. Seated in this manner, in a few minutes he was fast asleep, and was busied, apparently, in his dreams, with some dear and familiar object. The soft gleam of the nearly-expiring light fell on his youthful but strong and almost stern countenance, which now, however, was lit up with a kindly smile; while, in his right hand, he held a rosary of rubies, which he wore concealed about his neck, and to which was attached a solitary amber jewel, which had seemingly belonged to a lady's necklace. His left hand still rested firmly, and with a half-conscious carefulness, upon the parchment that lay open before him on the table.
He was still securely slumbering in this position, when the door was gently opened, and a face peered in, which, though half concealed beneath a fisherman's shaggy cap, yet, with its thin, sandy beard and crafty features, betrayed the Chamberlain Rané. He was dressed entirely like a fisherman. He allowed the door to stand ajar, and, gliding noiselessly into the apartment, advanced on tiptoe to the table, where the knight's left hand still rested on the documents. After a scrutinising glance at the sleeper, his small gray eyes rested with curiosity upon the letter. He paused, and was about to slip it away; but the knight just then making a motion with his right hand, the artful spy hastily stepped back. He again approached carefully, looked upon the letter with strained attention, and turned pale when he saw his own name among a long list of others, in the open document, headed "Conspirators." He groped with one hand for a dagger, whose bright silver hilt projected from his breast-pocket; but appeared suddenly to restrain himself, as his eye fell upon the small slip addressed to the warden of Harrestrup. He seemed surprised on reading it, and, with a smile of triumph, went out as gently and cautiously as he had entered.
Shortly after, Drost Peter awoke, completely refreshed by his short slumber, and heard, in the apartment, loud noise and laughter, the jingling of bells, and the tread of iron-heeled boots with clattering spurs. He opened his eyes, and beheld a strong, heavy, and somewhat corpulent personage, whose round, jovial countenance, and strong brown beard, bespoke him to be in the prime of life. With a pair of large gold spurs on his heels, he trod the paved apartment firmly, and, casting his mantle aside with a gentle motion of his arm, exposed a knight's magnificent dress, and a pair of glittering gold chains. He paced the apartment backwards and forwards, in lively conversation with two less elegantly attired knights, and a lanky, awkwardly-built personage, whose short jingling jacket, and peaked cap with a long fox's tail behind, denoted his rank as a jester.
Surprised, the young drost seized the parchment document, which still lay open before him, and placed it hastily in his bosom. Thereupon he arose, and saluted the strangers with polite apologies that he had not sooner taken notice of them.
"Do I see aright?" he said: "is it the highborn Count Gerhard of Holstein I have the honour to salute?"
"Quite right, sir knight," answered the bluff, merry gentleman; "and, if I am not mistaken, you were my fortunate rival at the Swedish coronation tourney, last year--Sir Peter Hessel. Is it not so? and now, quite a drost, I hear?"
The knight gave an affirmative, by modestly bowing.
"You here behold a fortunate youth, my lords," continued Count Gerhard, turning to his companions: "this young gentleman can already boast of standing in higher favour at the Danish court than myself and some princely vassals of the blood. He wears the fair Queen Agnes' colours, and, as you perceive, watches over kingdom and country, like a true drost."
The strange knights smiled, and the lanky jester made up a droll face, while he set his bells a-jingling, and bowed before the drost until his nose almost touched the ground, the fox's tail flying over his cap, and striking the knight on the hand.
Drost Peter cast a careless look at the buffoon, and, with quiet self-possession, turned towards the princely lord. "The brave and wise Count Gerhard does not envy me the colours I wear," he began; "and, if you think I am not worthy of them, sir count, it is still open to you to settle the dispute; but only with sword and lance, and not with jeers and empty jinglings, or flaps from the fox-tail of your jester. Weariness, after unusual exertions, surprised me here for a moment. If, on this account, you think I am not so vigilant a servant of the king and country as beseems a drost, I nevertheless feel confident that I can vie in vigilance with you, or any gentleman of princely blood who calls himself a friend of the royal house of Denmark."
"You understand a jest, then, fair Drost Hessel?" answered the count, with a good-natured smile. "It was far from my wish to offend such a man as you. Only, you must not be angry with me, that, with a sincere heart, I hate your good fortune with a certain lady, and envy your last prize at the tourney. I accept with pleasure your invitation to break a lance with you upon occasion, and will most heartily settle your disputed rank as the fairest lady's knight: not at all in enmity, sir drost, but in all friendliness, cheerfully and pleasantly, as it becomes brave and honourable knights to contend. Do not be offended with my long-legged old man there," he continued, pointing to the jester: "he has, at present, a privilege with me and my friends, and intended nothing amiss. With every respect for honour, I do not think it sits so loosely on either me or others, that a privileged fool can shake it off with a fox's tail. You might even stand in need of such a fellow. In these very serious times, it is certainly highly necessary that one should keep a fool to jest for him, when he can no longer jest himself. It is, besides, both comely and christian-like, I think, to remind us that we are all as fools before our Lord. Now peace and good understanding."
As he concluded, he held forth his hand in a friendly manner, and the young knight accepted this token of reconciliation with joy. He now learned that Count Gerhard had just come over the Belt with his followers, on his way to Nyborg, to participate in the festivities at the Dane-court about to be held there. As Drost Peter was proceeding in the same direction, they soon agreed to travel in each other's company, and to start as soon as the count's followers had refreshed themselves.
While the newly-arrived guests sat merrily down to the table, which was still abundantly furnished with what they required, Drost Peter left the apartment. He proceeded to the kitchen, where he found Henner Friser and his granddaughter, prepared for their journey; and, having given the old man his brief dispatch to the warden of Harrestrup, he hastened their flight.
Old Henner had now his weapons and armour brought him, and quietly and thoughtfully equipped himself. With the long spear in his hand, the Frisian hempen mail on his breast, and the old rusty steel bow in a leather thong upon his back, he then took the young knight by the hand, to bid him adieu, and pressed it fervently, without saying a word. With tears in her dark eyes, the little Aasé seized the drost's hand, and pressed it to her lips, unable to say more than, "Thanks, sir knight. Farewell!" He patted her kindly on the cheek, and now first perceived the maiden's singular beauty, and that blending of dignity and childlike simplicity, which caused her countenance to beam with so much intelligence.
Claus Skirmen, also, seemed to expect a tender parting with Aasé. He had assumed a fearless air, not to appear moved, or to betray what was secretly passing in his heart; but she drove him, with her mantle, playfully towards his master, while she dried her eyes, and skipped out of the kitchen.
Before sunrise, Drost Peter, with Count Gerhard and his followers, rode merrily away through the streets of Middelfert. Claus Skirmen followed on his norback, along with the count's most grave jester. The bold young squire looked once more in the direction of the quay. There stood the armourer Troels, among a number of burghers and porpoise-hunters, all silently and earnestly regarding a little skiff, which was making way, with a favourable wind, across the Belt, and from which Henner Friser and his granddaughter still beckoned them a friendly farewell.
It was a beautiful spring morning. A light mist hovered upon the meadows. Bright dew-pearls trembled glitteringly in the dawn, on the slender cobwebs, amidst the newly-sprung bushes by the road-side. The knights had arrived at a height just beyond Middelfert. The sun now arose directly before them, enlivening the magnificent landscape, while a thousand larks poured forth their lively songs overhead.
As the travellers rode leisurely along, the better to enjoy the charming scene, a tall, lanky horseman galloped swiftly past them: he was dressed as a fisherman, with a large hairy cap drawn over his eyes. The knights had not taken much notice of him; but Claus Skirmen rode hastily up to his master. "That was Chamberlain Rané, sir drost!" he said, eagerly: "his sharp fox's nose stuck out beneath his cap. Shall I after him?"
"It is not requisite," answered Drost Peter, knitting his brows. "If he travels this way, we shall meet him, time enough, at Nyborg."
"But, should he speak first with the king, sir, you know well how it will go."
"That I know very well," answered the drost: "let him ride on."