for them. As soon as they had refreshed themselves they mounted
their horses, and were about to proceed further, but the sound of
hunting-horns was now heard on the road from Elsinore, and three riders
in rich attire, with several knights and huntsmen, approached at full
gallop. It was the king's brother, Junker Christopher, with the young
Margrave Waldemar of Brandenborg, who was at this time the king's
guest, and the brave Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, who had lately
entered the king's service as commander of the army. They had been at
Elsinore, where Prince Christopher had received a Swedish royal embassy
on the part of the king. The margrave, it was said, had accompanied him
for his amusement, and to enjoy the beautiful scenery of Elsinore, but
had in reality joined the expedition at the request of Prince
Christopher, who anxiously courted the young margrave's friendship. The
prince seemed inseparable from him, and generally contrived to secure
his companionship whenever he was charged with any important mission by
the king, that it might give him opportunities, which he eagerly
sought, of raising his consequence in the eyes of the people.
Prince Christopher, or the Junker, as he was generally called, was two
years younger than the king. Though tall and strongly built, his figure
was far from being so well proportioned as his brother's. His large
features and long visage, shaded by coarse long black hair, had a
gloomy and sinister expression, which reminded the people but too much
of his detested father. His brother, the king, on the contrary, bore a
greater resemblance to his mother, the fair and talented Queen Agnes,
who, during the king's minority, had been for the most part at the head
of state affairs, but who now led a happy private life with her second
consort, Count Gerhard of Holstein, at the castle of Nykjoeping. The
popularity which the chivalrous King Eric had enjoyed from his
childhood appeared little pleasing to his brother, and many believed
that the prince secretly exerted himself to form a powerful party of
his own in the country. In the event of the throne becoming vacant, he
was in fact the member of the royal house who might first expect to be
called to the crown, but of this there was no reasonable prospect.
Notwithstanding that some differences had existed between the brothers
on the affair of the archbishop's imprisonment, King Eric was so far
from showing any mistrust of his brother, that he even promoted his
consequence by investing him with considerable fiefs in the country.
But Drost Aage strongly suspected the prince of entertaining ambitious
and treacherous projects, and the Drost's suspicions of Christopher
were rather increased than diminished by the zeal with which, the
prince seemed to enter into the negociations respecting the king's
marriage. As well on this subject, of such moment to the king, as on
that of the Swedish King Birger's marriage with the king's and
Christopher's sister Merete, there were at this time frequent
communications between the Swedish and Danish court. The young King of
Sweden was only in his sixteenth year, and wholly dependent on his
state council, which was composed of men of very opposite opinions, and
Drost Aage feared that Prince Christopher's object in receiving the
embassy was to increase if possible the obstacles to this double
alliance. Aage was, however, deterred from imparting his doubts to the
king by the fear of occasioning a dangerous misunderstanding between
the brothers; and Eric was so far from suspecting his brother of any
dishonourable design, that he considered his anxiety to meet the
Swedish embassy as a proof of fraternal affection. The young king
welcomed both Christopher and the margrave with much friendliness; and
as soon as he had greeted them, and the gay Count Henrik, turned
towards the Swedish ambassadors, who, with some Danish knights,
followed the princely comers. In the most dignified of the two Swedish
nobles Eric joyfully recognised King Birger's faithful counsellor, the
Swedish regent and Marsk, Sir Thorkild Knudson, a tall middle-aged man,
of a grave and noble countenance; but it was not without a feeling of
uneasiness that the king beheld his companion, a withered shrunken
figure, whose cold and wily countenance wore a perpetual smile, and
whose grey, staring ostrich-like eye had an expression of sinister
scrutiny. It was the Swedish statesman and Drost, Sir Johan Bruncke,
who, next to Thorkild Knudson, was the most influential statesman in
Sweden, and appeared to stand as high in favour with the weak King
Birger as with his ambitious brothers, while he gained a knowledge of
the individual foibles of each, and well knew how to work upon them for
his own advantage.
When the king had greeted the strangers, he proceeded with his
augmented train to Esrom monastery, where he conversed with the
ambassadors, and received letters from King Birger, Princess Ingeborg,
and his sister Merete, who, according to an earlier agreement, had been
brought up, as the future Queen of Sweden, at the Swedish court. Eric
seemed unusually joyous and animated after he had perused these
letters. His anxiety to hasten his marriage, and to have it fixed for
the ensuing summer, had met with the entire approbation of the royal
house of Sweden, and Princess Ingeborg's letter breathed the most
tender and devoted affection.
The difficulties and objections stated by the ambassador principally
regarded the misunderstanding with the court of Rome, and the
dispensation which was yet withheld, to which the king, misled by the
ardour of his feelings, did not attach the importance it deserved.
He invited the ambassadors to be his guests for some weeks, as he hoped
very shortly to remove all difficulties. The afternoon was spent
pleasantly in hunting, and in the evening the king, with the whole of
his train, repaired to Sjoeborg, where several cars, conveying the cooks
of the royal kitchen, and domestics of every description, had arrived
during the day.
CHAP. III.
The ancient fortress soon presented a scene of splendid festivity. The
spacious halls glittered with regal pomp, and resounded with the stir
and bustle which are the accompaniments of a court. With the exception
of the tower, the whole of the castle had been recently fitted up as a
royal residence. The king's principal counsellors had accompanied him,
and though he occasionally hunted, he did not therefore neglect state
affairs, which frequently occupied him until the night was well nigh
spent.
The king never inquired after the captive archbishop, whom he appeared
to have forgotten. A reconciliation, on suitable conditions, with this
important personage, was, however, doubtless the secret object of the
king's sojourn at Sjoeborg. The adjustment of this vexatious affair was
never of more consequence than at this juncture, as it was not only a
present hindrance to his marriage, but threatened to prove dangerous
both to state and kingdom. The king, however, was desirous that no one
should know the real purport of his visit, least of all the captive
archbishop, who would probably take occasion thereby to raise his
demands to the uttermost. Besides, Eric himself appeared not to have
decided what course to pursue in this matter. Although revenge had
never been his failing, and on the contrary he had often manifested the
most generous temper, the remembrance of his father's murder had
rendered him stern and almost implacable towards everyone connected
with the regicides, and he felt it was impossible for him to make the
first advances towards a reconciliation with Archbishop Grand. He
apparently expected the haughty captive would himself petition for an
interview, and pave the way to reconciliation by a humble
acknowledgment of his guilt. One week after another, however, passed
away, without any thing of this kind taking place. The number of guests
was daily increasing at Sjoeborg. The presence of the Margrave of
Brandenborg and the Swedish ambassadors, as well as that of the hunting
party and Prince Christopher's retinue, imparted an appearance of life
and gaiety to this otherwise dreary castle, which almost painfully
contrasted with its gloomy destination, and the many dark recollections
connected with the place.
One day in November, a singular procession approached the castle of
Sjoeborg. From two Hanseatic merchant vessels, which had anchored off
the fishing station, there landed a number of foreign seamen, who,
carrying the Rostock flag, and with large broad swords at their sides,
proceeded to the castle, amid the dissonant sound of pipes and
trumpets. At the head of the procession marched a tall stout man, in a
burgher's coat of fine cloth, trimmed with broad borders of costly fur.
It was the rich trader, Berner Kopmand of Rostock, well known at the
great fairs of Skanoer and Falsterbo, whither he was wont to bring rich
cargoes of cloth and costly spices. He was notorious for his
authoritative and overbearing deportment, and for the ostentatious pomp
by which he sought to acquire the reputation of a merchant prince. By
his side walked the almost equally noted Henrik Gullandsfar of Visbye,
also one of the most influential Hanseatic merchants, and an adroit and
politic negociator between the Hanse towns and the northern
princes,[10] They announced themselves at the castle as Hanseatic
ambassadors, and were admitted into the upper hall, while their train
was served with refreshments below.
A long conference took place between the king and the foreign
merchants, in the presence of the Drost and council, during which
Berner Kopmand was especially loud tongued, and the king preserved his
patience for an unwonted length of time. The great privileges which had
been granted by the king to the Hanseatic towns four years before, and
which he had since augmented and confirmed at Nyborg, had not satisfied
the expectations of the Rostockers; who demanded besides, the
recognition of their self-assumed right, to pronounce and execute
sentence of death on board their own vessels upon every Danish subject
who had injured them, and fallen into their hands. The Vandal towns,
together with the merchants of Mecklenborg and Lubec, were unanimously
agreed, on their own responsibility, and without distinction, to hang
every knight and noble who should molest them on their journeyings
through Germany.
"Enough," said the king, at last, breaking off the conference, and
rising in wrath, "I wanted but to hear how far ye would push your
impudent demands, and therefore let ye have your say. This is my
answer. My former promise to the towns I have hitherto kept; if they
content ye not, we Danes may easily learn to fetch what we want from
foreign lands, and export what we want not. When guests and strangers
are injured here they can complain; there is law and justice in the
land; but they who take the law into their own hands on Danish ground
or on the Danish seas shall be condemned as traitors and robbers,
whether they be knight or burgher, whether they be native or stranger."
So saying, the king turned his back upon the merchant ambassadors.
Without heeding their angry looks, he hastened to join his princely
guests, and the Swedish lords who awaited his coming, to set out on a
hunting expedition, and left the Hanseatic burghers to the care of the
Drost.
The incensed merchants instantly quitted the castle with their
followers, who had become intoxicated and unruly during their stay in
the lower hall. The Marsk (to the merchants still greater annoyance)
had taken upon himself to disarm them, as with bold presumption they
had ventured on liberties which outraged both law and custom. Their
weapons, however, were returned to them on reaching the shore, whither
Drost Aage and some other knights accompanied them, with cold courtesy,
partly to protect them from the assembled rabble, which had crowded
round the intoxicated seamen, to gaze at and deride them. On their way
to the strand the wrathful traders spoke not a word, but the blood
appeared ready to start from Berner Kopmand's crimson visage, while
there was a calm cold smile on the countenance of Henrik Gullandsfar.
When these important personages, with their reeling train, had entered
the boat, and pushed off from the shore, in order to row to their
ships, the portly Rostocker suddenly raised his voice, and shouted with
unrestrained wrath and bitterness, "Bring King Eric Ericson our parting
greeting, Sir Drost! Tell him from me, Berner Kopmand of Rostock, and
from Henrik Gullandsfar of Visbye, in our own and in the name of the
great and mighty Hanse towns, that we threaten him with deadly strife,
as the enemy of our liberty and of all noble burghership!"
Henrik Gullandsfar nudged his colleague's elbow in alarm; but the proud
choleric Rostocker continued, "Tell the King of Denmark, dearly shall
he rue the scorn and contempt he hath this day shown us; he shall rue
it, as surely as I am called the rich Berner Kopmand of Rostock! and as
surely as I am the man to ask what is the price of this state and
country, and how many pounds a king is worth, in our times, when the
lightnings of excommunication play above his head!"
"Such greeting and defiance you may yourself bring my liege and
sovereign," answered Aage, "if you fancy being sent back to Rostock
with your hands tied behind you like a madman." So saying, he turned
contemptuously on his heel, and returned with his knights to Sjoeborg.
He afterwards joined the king and the hunting-party, but made no
mention of this impudent defiance, which, though it seemed to him
indeed to be paltry and powerless, he yet could not but regard as a
striking instance of the insufferable pride of these monied
aristocrats, and of the boldness with which the equivocal position of
the king at the court of Rome had inspired the ill-affected and
discontented.
After a hard chase the king rode back in the evening to Sjoeborg, with
Drost Aage by his side. It was already dark. The cold November blast
whirled the fallen leaves around them as they rode through the forest.
The moon now rose behind the trees, shining with an unsteady light from
out the flying clouds, through the leafless boughs of the forest.
Behind them rode Marsk Oluffsen between Henrik of Mecklenborg and the
Swedish regent, whose return to Sweden was fixed for the following day.
Some hunters followed with the game caught in the chase. The rest of
the train remained at Esrom monastery. The king, as well as Drost Aage,
had been remarkably silent during the day. Since the arrival of the
Swedish ambassadors, tidings had been daily looked for, but in vain,
from the Danish embassy at the papal court. The king had not as yet
taken any step towards a reconciliation with the captive archbishop.
The journey of the Swedish ambassadors could no longer be delayed, and
the obstacles to the king's marriage were not in any measure removed.
The king and his faithful Aage now rode in silence by each other's
side, apparently occupied with a presentiment which they could not
banish from their minds, but to which neither liked to give utterance.
It was the unfortunate St. Cecilia's day, which yearly brought with it
to the king bitter recollections of the dreadful murder of his father
at Finnerup. Marsk Oluffsen appeared not to remember what day it was;
he jested merrily, after his fashion, with the German and Swedish
guests, and lauded the pious and frugal manner in which King Birger's
tutor, a certain Carl Tydsker[11], had a few years since restored his
young sovereign to health, namely, by making the same vow to three
saints at once, and afterwards drawing lots to determine to which of
the good saints the vow should be kept. "I have since wondered," said
the Marsk, laughing, "whether the victory over the Kareles[12] was
thrown into the bargain, and was one of St. Eric's miracles; if so, I
must acknowledge that Carl Tydsker was worth his weight in gold." By
this unlucky jest the Marsk wounded at the same time the national pride
of both his German and Swedish companions, without appearing himself in
the least to perceive it.
"When my countrymen as well as myself serve your king here in the
north, Sir Marsk," answered the brave Count Henrik, "I feel we deserve
thanks, and not mockery, whether we help him with prayer or with
sword." As he said this he struck his hand with some violence on the
hilt of his sword.
The Marsk looked astounded. He was silent; but his perplexity increased
on Thorkild Knudson, also addressing him in a serious tone. "Deem ye my
victory over the brave heathen to be a miracle, Sir Marsk?" said the
Swedish knight, with a calm smile. "Every thing is a miracle, if ye
will. Without heavenly aid no victory is won on earth; that even your
victorious King Waldemar was forced to acknowledge, yet that detracts
not from his glory. I reckon the victory of Wolmar with the heaven-sent
banner, to be that which gained him his fairest laurels. Our times are
more chary of laurels. Sir Marsk! we will not rob each other of those
we win with honour."
"By all the martyrs!" exclaimed the Marsk, with wide oped eyes and
crimson cheeks, "who ever thought of offending either you or the brave
Count Henrik? By my soul! I understand ye not," he continued in an
impatient tone; "were my brains as dull as those of other people, I
should be badly off indeed."
Count Henrik could not suppress a good-natured laugh at the absurd
contrast between the Marsk's words and his angry tone. The
misunderstanding was soon set to rights, and the conversation turned on
former and recent warlike expeditions.
Without thinking of what might awaken bitter recollections in the
king's mind, especially on this day, the Marsk now talked in a loud
voice of the feud, with Marsk Stig, and the taking of Hjelm, at which
he himself had been present, under David Thorstensen's banner.
"Yet you took not the daring Marsk Stig, either dead or alive," said
Count Henrik; "'tis a strange story they tell here of his
disappearance."
"His death, as his life, is shrouded in darkness and mystery," observed
the Swedish knight. "With us also he hath a dreaded name."
"He was a great general, though," said Count Henrik. "I would have
given much to have seen him. Was he as tall as Sir Niels Brock or the
Duke of Langeland?"
"He had a finer presence than either Niels Brock or Duke Longshanks, if
he measured not the same length. In that point, perhaps, both you and I
might have been his match; but he was a very devil of a fellow,--truly,
I believe neither Germany nor Sweden could boast of one like him."
"It is true we cannot boast of so highly esteemed a regicide," said
Count Henrik, in an offended tone. "I desire not to rival his fame."
"But, by all the martyrs! what is the matter now?" exclaimed the
astounded Marsk; "think ye I wished for aught better in the world than
to have knocked out his confounded brains? Therefore I may surely say
without offence, that neither you nor Marsk Knudson have seen his
match."
"For that both Count Henrik and I should thank the Lord," said the
Swedish knight solemnly. "The country which gives birth to such heroes
may have to pay dearly for the boast. In our country we have storms
also, at times; and alas! have to deplore the devastations they cause.
It is the same case here probably? I suspect that Denmark hath dearly
bought this sad experience, and learnt that one daring hand can make a
deeper wound in a nation's heart than a whole century can heal."
A rather embarrassed silence ensued. The king had heard the
conversation which had been carried on by the party behind him, and
sighed deeply.
"It was on _this_ night, Aage," he said, in a low voice. "For nine
years have I now borne Denmark's crown, and as yet I have not fulfilled
that I vowed when I saw _him_ last."
"Whom, my liege?" asked Aage, absently.
"My murdered father!" said the king. "Rememberest thou not the hour
they lifted the lid from his coffin in Viborg cathedral, and laid the
sacrament on his bloody breast? It was then I bade him my last
farewell. What I vowed to him was heard only by the all-knowing God;
but assuredly I will either keep that vow, or lose my life."
"At that time you were, as I was, a minor, my liege. If your vow to the
dead was other than a pious and Christian vow, you ought not now, as a
knight and sovereign, to keep it."
Eric was silent. The moon shone full on his noble form, and as he sat
calm and erect on his fiery steed, with the white plume in his hat, and
the purple mantle over his shoulder, he almost resembled the chivalrous
St. George, about to strike his lance into the dragon's throat. His
manly countenance was pale, and expressive of lofty indignation. "That
I vowed to the dead I must perform," he said, after a thoughtful pause.
"A wise monarch should disperse the ungodly."
As the king uttered these words an arrow whistled past his breast, and
stuck in Drost Aage's mantle.
"Murderers! traitors!" shouted the king, drawing his sword, while he
reined in with difficulty his restless steed. Aage rushed with his
drawn sword to that side of the king whence the arrow was sped; the
three other knights rode up in alarm. "An arrow! robbers! traitors!"
was echoed from mouth to mouth. They looked around on all sides of the
moon-lit road, but no living being was to be seen.
"Accursed traitors!" shouted Marsk Oluffsen, and dashed in suddenly
among the bushes on the left side of the road, where he had perceived
some white object moving. A shriek was heard, apparently from a female
voice, and the Marsk's horse started aside. At the same moment two
young maidens, in the dress of peasant girls, with long plaits of fair
hair hanging low over their shoulders, ran, hand in hand, across the
road, while a man of almost giant stature, in the dress of a Jutland
peasant, with a large broad sword in his hand, sprang forward, and
placed himself between the Marsk and the fugitives.
"Keep ye to me!" shouted the man. "It was I--it was Mads Jyde who shot.
I mean not to show a pair of clean heels: let the maidens flee, they
have done no ill, but I am the man who dares tilt with ye all." So
saying, he brandished his sword wildly around, and wounded the Marsk's
horse on the muzzle. The animal reared and snorted.
"Yield thee!" shouted Oluffsen, vainly aiming to strike his daring and
gigantic foe; "Yield thee captive, or thou diest!"
On hearing this affray, the king would instantly have hastened to the
spot, where he saw swords glittering among the bushes in the moonshine;
but Aage and the Swedish knight sought to detain him, while Count
Henrik immediately surrounded the copse with the huntsmen, and
dispatched a party of them after the fugitives. The Marsk had sprung
from his intractable steed, "Cast thy sword from thee, stupid devil!
Seest thou not thou art caught?" shouted he to the tall Jutlander.
"By St. Michael will I not," retorted the man. "None shall take Marsk
Stig's squire alive; keep but your ground, Sir Knight, and thou shalt
feel what Mads Jyde is worth." He now rushed frantically upon the
Marsk, but the warlike chief was his superior in swordsmanship, and
after a short but desperate fight the Jutlander fell, with his skull
cloven, to the ground. He half-raised himself again, and tried to lift
both his hands to his wounded head. "It was for thee, little Margaret,"
he gasped forth; "let but my master's children flee, and you are free
to----" More he was unable to utter; his hands dropped from his head,
and he fell back lifeless on the ground.
Meanwhile the king and his train had ridden to the spot. Some of the
hunters had overtaken the fugitive maidens, and brought them captive
into the circle of the king's train. All looked at them with surprise,
for as they stood there in the moonshine they had the air of princesses
in disguise. Their peasant's attire could not hide the delicate
fairness of their complexions and their singular beauty. The taller of
the two, who seemed also to be the elder, held the lesser and highly
agitated maiden by the hand, as if to protect her. She was herself calm
and pale. She looked in deep sorrow on the dead body of the man at
arms, and appeared not to heed the standers by. The younger maiden
seemed to be both frightened and curious. Though she could not be
considered a child--for she appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen
years of age--her deportment was quite childlike. She hid herself,
weeping, behind her sister, from the sight of the king and his knights,
while she nevertheless occasionally peeped, with looks of eager
observation, at their splendid attire.
"Speak out--who are ye?" asked the king, riding up to them.