It was near daybreak. The alarm and anxiety had ceased, with which the
inhabitants of Kallundborg had seen the night draw on. The peace and
stillness which had prevailed the whole night seemed to have lulled the
burghers, as well as the men-at-arms, into security. The lights were
extinguished in most of the houses. The men-at-arms nodded over the
expiring watch fires, and reposed on their mantles, in quiet groups,
while some paced up and down on guard, beside the piled-up lances. Even
the gay and vigilant Count Henrik was weary of the strained attention
which he now deemed unnecessary: he had sat down to rest, under an
image of the Madonna, without the Franciscan monastery, where a light
was always burning. He had lately inspected the sentries, and found
every thing in good order. He felt wearied, but kept off sleep, and his
eyes open, while his gaze dwelt on the waning and half-hidden stars.
His soul dreamed of warlike honours and proud victories, by the side of
the Danish monarch, and of the admiration of the ladies of Mecklenborg
when he should return with merited laurels and tokens of royal favour
to his fatherland. While engaged in these reveries, which led him
through half a life in a few minutes, he was suddenly disturbed by the
working of the balista, and a fearful alarm of fire from the monastery.
He started up, and beheld, with dismay, that burning stones were flying
from the loopholes and walls of the castle, in different directions,
and a high flame shot up from the storehouse of the monastery. In an
instant he was actively exerting himself in the rescue of the town and
monastery. Engines for extinguishing the flames were every where at
hand. There was a fearful tumult in the town; but the alarm was however
greater than the misfortune seemed likely to prove. Some single houses,
it is true, were fired; but the greater part were protected by the
snow, although the roofs were of straw. Many glowing stones from the
balista missed their mark, many cooled ere they fell. The storehouse of
the monastery instantly caught fire: it was necessary to sacrifice it,
and partly to pull it down; but not a single stone fell on the
principal building, nor on the guest-house, where the king had
established himself.
Meanwhile the king was instantly astir; none were more zealous and
active than he and Count Henrik; they rode constantly through the
streets, and were always first on the spot where any house was fired.
The king was highly exasperated--he often cast a glance of menace at
the castle. He halted without the burning monastery, by the count's
side, just as another discharge from the balista took place, and a
large burning stone fell down between their horses, and rolled hissing
into the snow.
"My liege!" exclaimed Count Henrik, "the burghers may put out the
flames, but we can do more; let us sally forth and storm instantly."
"Not yet," answered the king, shaking his head. "Look," he continued,
pointing to the flame-lit copper roof of the principal building of the
monastery; "when the sun stands highest, and the tower shadow falls
yonder, then will it be time; then will my patience have reached its
limits--its uttermost bounds."
As soon as it was daylight the firing from the balista through the
loopholes, ceased; but the parapets upon the outer wall were observed
to be filled with men-at-arms. The towers of the wall were also
perceived to be strongly garrisoned, and a numerous array of lances and
battle-axes glittered over the battlements in the grey dawn of morning.
The wall before the gate in particular was strongly manned, as well as
the tower above the gate, where they seemed most to apprehend an
attack. The great iron portcullis between the gate and the outward wall
was drawn up by strong iron rings. There was great alarm and tumult at
the castle and its garrison: a desperate storm and revenge for the
night's disturbance was apparently apprehended. The fire meanwhile had
been put out, as well in the monastery as in the town. The pious
Franciscans rang to mattins, as usual, and the king did not neglect to
share in their devotion.
"But--what is become of Aage?--Where is the Drost?" he asked Count
Henrik, as he again vaulted on his horse, without the church of the
monastery, in order to inspect the hastily prepared storming machines
with his general. "I saw him not the whole night, nor even just
now at mattins; it is not his wont, however, to sleep when I watch or
pray--least of all when danger is impending."
"I have not seen him since midnight," answered Count Henrik,
endeavouring to hide his embarrassment and uneasiness; "After our
adventure beside the sea-tower, I saw him last by yonder watch-fire,"
added the count, assuming a gay air. "It was a fine night; all around
was so still and peaceful. He must have got love fancies or some kind
of visionary notions into his head. He went towards the tower, without
desiring my company, and bade me not expect him before noon."
"Strange!" said the king, "Aage upon a light love adventure, and at
this time! It cannot be. Humph! what became of the spy you captured?
Hath he been examined? Hath he confessed?"
"He hath disappeared, my liege! 'tis a strange and almost
incomprehensible tale. I was myself at the sea-tower, two hours after
midnight, the man-at-arms was dead, but the devil had carried off his
murderer: that, they swore roundly, was the fact. He had lain bound in
the corpse-chamber of the drowned; no egress was possible; at midnight
he was heard to cry and howl, that the devil was carrying him off. No
one dared to enter the chamber, and when I came neither robber or Drost
was to be seen."
"How! the Drost!" interrupted the king; "what hath all this to do with
Aage? He lay not in the chamber with the murderer."
"True--excuse me, your grace," answered Count Henrik, clearing
his throat. "I speak at random, I perceive: that comes from the
night-watch."
"Truly, count! we must be broad awake to-day, especially since Aage is
not here," answered the king hastily, and rode down towards the tower.
"I will find out what is meant by that devil's story."
Count Henrik followed the king. The report of the disappearance of the
bound murderer, had already collected a crowd of curious persons, who
crossed themselves on hearing the terrific tale, which they repeated
one to another, with still more marvellous and more terrible
circumstances. Place was respectfully made for the king, who heard with
wonder from the guard the same tale as that current in the crowd, with
the alarming addition, that the Drost had entered at midnight into the
chamber of the raving murderer, and that all traces of him had likewise
disappeared. Various opinions were however entertained of the affair,
and some thought it was not the Drost, but the devil, who, in the
Drost's form, had entered the chamber of the dying murderer, to carry
him off in person.
"Tush!" said the king, "lead me to that accursed corpse-chamber! There
must be some trick in this." He hastily entered the murky stone
chamber, and looked around it on all sides with anxious attention.
There was no furniture except the bench appropriated to the bodies of
the drowned, which was streaked with blood, and on which hung some rent
and half-decayed rope. From the high iron grating in the wall, which
was hardly large enough to admit a sparrow, fell a faint light, which
glimmered on a plumed hat lying in a corner. "What see I here?"
exclaimed the king in astonishment. "The Drost's hat and plume;
and there is his green mantle also. Plundered, murdered, great
God!--Yet no! a robber would surely have made off with the booty. The
captured murderer was certainly sorely wounded?"
"To the death of the body, most gracious liege, according to the
surgeon's opinion," answered an aged monk, who, with a curious crowd of
the lower class, had thronged together with the men-at-arms, into the
tower after the king. "Ah, yes," continued the solemn Franciscan, in a
tone of devout exhortation, "it was a fearful end. Here we see
manifestly how the ungodly are punished. This blood crieth not unto
heaven, like the innocent Abel's, but it crieth unto hardened sinners
upon earth, from the road to the bottomless pit, that they may behold
the traces of the damned with fear and trembling. My pious hearers, men
may now-a-days delay _temporal_ death, by means of surgeons and
apothecaries, with St. Cosmo's and St. Damian's help; but _eternal_
death they never can: when the term is out, lo! then cometh he who hath
the bond, and fetches that which is his own, without respect of
persons. Here hath been given a sign, to the terror and warning of many
in our ungodly time: Sancta Maria! ora pronobis!"
"It is thou then, monk, who puttest those vagaries into the people's
head?" interrupted the king at last, with impetuous impatience.
"Believest thou, in truth, that the Evil One hath carried off yon
murderer, both body and soul?"
"St. Franciscus preserve me from doubting it!" answered the monk,
crossing himself. "He who can carry off the souls of the ungodly can
doubtless annihilate their sinful bodies. Lo! he hath but left these
blood-drops behind, as a witness of the power which is given him, and
also, though _he_ willed it not, to the honour of the all-righteous
Judge. The truth is so manifest in our sight, it were blindness and
heretical presumption to doubt."
"And, my Drost, my faithful Aage, believest thou the same of him?"
"Be not wroth, my liege?" answered the Franciscan with frankness, and
laying his meagre hand on his breast, "my conscience forbids me to
witness falsely on the brink of the grave, to please or flatter the
great and mighty, or to conceal the wondrous things which have taken
place in our sight, for the conversion of hardened sinners, with fear
and trembling. The noble Drost hath also disappeared in an
incomprehensible manner, and seeing that we know he had fallen under
the awful ban of the church, and was given over by our most venerable
archbishop to the destruction of the flesh, and the power of the great
enemy of souls!"
"Silence, presumptuous monk! thou knowest not what thou sayest!"
exclaimed the king, in the greatest wrath, darting a lightning glance
at the pale trembling monk; "let the prince of darkness take that which
is his! I will not quarrel either with him or thee for that; but this I
know, no devil shall injure a hair of my faithful Drost Aage's head,
whether he be dead or alive. There must have been a murder here, a foul
misdeed," he continued, "a shameless treachery. So help me God, and all
the holy men, it shall be discovered, and sternly avenged! Hence, monk!
hie thee to thy cell, and pray the Lord to enlighten thy understanding.
Thy intentions are good--it were sin to be wroth with thee. Go hence,
good people; ye stand in our way. Hither, my true men; the floor must
be broken up; the tower must be pulled down. If the Drost be not found,
one stone shall not remain upon another."
At the king's stern command the monk and all the idle spectators
departed. The spearmen came with spears and boat-hooks, and whatever
was at hand, and began to break up the stone floor. It was not long ere
they discovered the loose stone in the corner by the little iron
trap-door, which was hardly discernible in the faint glimmer of
daylight from the grating. "Look, look!" was the cry; "a trap-door! a
pitfall!"
"Ha! the murderer's pit! Here we have it!" exclaimed the king. "Torches
here, quick! I will go below, myself.
"Let that be my business, my liege," said Count Henrik. "Here is
assuredly the secret entrance to the castle," he added in a low voice;
"perhaps it might be used for our attack."
"No, Count! a king's path lies not through a fox's den"--interrupted
the king, proudly: "bring me but my faithful Aage!"
Torches were quickly brought, and the passage was searched. The king
however suffered himself to be withheld from descending. Count Henrik
hasted forward with eagerness and curiosity, holding a torch in his
hand, and accompanied by three men-at-arms. The torches were often
nearly extinguished by the subterranean air; they found however and
recognised the robber's body, which was immediately borne off by two of
the men, while Count Henrik and the third pursued the search. At last
they reached the great iron gate, which they vainly attempted to burst
open. Within, the sounding of horns and the clash of numerous weapons
were heard, and Count Henrik considered it advisable to hasten back.
The king had meanwhile obtained information of every circumstance
respecting the Drost's nocturnal visit to the tower, and was in some
degree tranquillised by the sight of the robber's body, when Count
Henrik returned and acquainted him with what he had discovered. "The
daring Drost is assuredly alive, if not quite in safety, my liege,"
said the Count, as he ascended from the secret passage, quite spent and
breathless. "As the murderer was found dead and alone, he cannot have
mastered the brave Drost; but it is plain they have had a hard struggle
together. Here is the Drost's sword; it was found close to the body.
There is actually a secret passage to the castle; but it is strongly
guarded, and we were near falling into the enemy's hand."
"Well, now we know where Aage is," said the king; "he meant well; but
'tis an arch trick he hath played us. Ere the sun goes down he shall be
free, by God's assistance," he added. "Woe to the traitors, should they
injure a hair of his head!"
The king left the tower, and the preparations for storming were
continued with increased zeal.
Towards noon the king, mounted on his white steed, stationed himself
without the eastern rampart of the castle: he was stern and silent. He
often looked with uneasy expectation and rising indignation towards the
gate of the town, where, in a few moments, his brother the junker would
appear, did he purpose taking any measures to effect a reconciliation.
Some horsemen, who were placed on the look-out on the hill by St.
George's hospital, returned at the time appointed, at full gallop, and
announced that the expected party was not to be seen on the road.
"Now then, in the name of the righteous God," exclaimed the king in a
low voice, but greatly incensed, "I have no longer a brother; the
measure is full--Let them sound to storm, Count Henrik; let the
trumpets thunder forth my wrath!"
Hardly was the command uttered ere the trumpets sounded to storm. The
sun stood highest in the heaven, and the tower shadow fell upon the
roof of the monastery. The whole force was instantly in activity. The
attack was made according to the plan concerted with the Drost, from
three sides at once; but on two sides feignedly, in order to mislead
the enemy, while the principal assault, in which the whole force of the
troop combined by degrees, was directed against the eastern wall, by
the tower gate.
The outermost drawbridge was speedily pulled down by the boat-hooks of
the brave boatmen and seamen. With the aid of all the fire ladders
belonging to the town, the outer wall was quickly mounted. No leader
was here present, and the junker's Zealand peasants, as well as the
Samsoeers, fought unwillingly against their countrymen. A brave
resistance was indeed made against the German Count Henrik, but
wherever the king himself appeared, the weapons dropped from the hands
of the Danish defenders of the wall, while they fell at his feet and
implored mercy. The outer wall came thus speedily into the power of the
king, who was himself one of the first who mounted it; but the most
vigorous defence was made from the tower, over the fortified gate.
Within was heard a powerful voice of command, and from the loopholes
and battlements rained a thick shower of stones and javelins. Count
Henrik saw the danger, and hastened to form a roof of shields for the
king's protection, while it was vainly attempted to tear down the great
portcullis which served as a sort of raised iron drawbridge over the
moat, between the outer wall and the gate.
"Fire the gate!" commanded the king, with wrathful impetuosity.
"Fire! fire, here!" was echoed from mouth to mouth, and crowds soon
flocked from the town, with torches of pitch, with fire and splintered
tar-barrels, which they threw in over the portcullis. The gate and the
tower were soon shrouded in smoke and flame, amid the shouts of the
besiegers.