In the high-vaulted refectory, the small arched windows of which looked
out into the garden of the monastery, and were darkened by a row of
lime-trees, sat the heavy-built abbot Johan in his laced leathern
arm-chair, with a lamp before him, at the supper-table, holding a kind
of instructive discourse for the edification of the humbly-listening
brethren of the order and the pupils of the monastery. Nearest him sat
eleven monks in black cloaks, among whom Peter Porter took his place as
the twelfth. The same number of little boys, who were educating as
monks, and wore black benedictine mantles, as well as the brethren of
the order, took the lowest place at the table, and eagerly partook of
the repast, while, however, they seemed to listen very attentively to
the abbot's discourse. On the entrance of the travellers the dignified
prelate half rose from his seat, with a look of annoyance, and bade
them welcome in St. Peter's and St. Bent's name, but almost without
vouchsafing them a glance, and in a tone which betrayed that it was
only in compliance with the rules of his order that he received such
self-invited guests. However, when the two tall knights approached him
nearer, with a reverent and courteous salutation, and the lamp on the
table lit up Sir Niels Brock's martial visage, the abbot's proud
bearing and repulsive looks suddenly changed. He signed a blessing over
the knight and his companions, and, with courteous condescension,
besought them to be seated, while he hastily, with a side-wink of the
eye, laid his finger on his mouth, and continued to address them as
strangers.
Besides the twelve brethren of the order and the monkishly-clad
children, there sat a person at the table, also in a black benedictine
mantle, but without the hood and complete dress of the order. He had
hastily risen on the entrance of the travellers, and appeared about to
withdraw; but, on hearing Sir Niels Brock's powerful voice, he turned
round to the newly-arrived guests, and nodded familiarly to Brock. It
now appeared that this person bore not the tonsure, and was even
adorned with a warrior-like beard; his forehead and eye-brows were
hidden by his yellowish red and combed down hair.
Brock started, and greeted him with surprise, but in silence.
"A guest from the world who hath sought safety in the dress of our holy
order and the sanctuary of the monastery," said the abbot. "I can,
therefore, only present him to you without mention of his name, as I
also have received you in the holy Bent's and St. Peter's name, without
asking of your name in the world, or the object of your journey."
"Your hospitality and high mindedness are well known throughout the
country, pious sir," said Brock, with another obeisance. "We are not,
it is true, among the persecuted. The object of our journey also is no
secret; but we equally acknowledge, with thanks and reverence, the
shelter these holy walls afford from storms of _all_ kinds."
"From the hour in which, by God's grace, I received the bishop's mitre
and the holy crosier," resumed the abbot, with the air of a prince of
the church, but with stooping head, and a kind of studied rhetorical
tone, "be it said without all vain self-commendation, and to the honour
of the Most High!--from the time St. Peter and his holy heir set me a
ruler over these souls, and over this asylum of the pious and
oppressed, I have striven according to my poor ability in the spirit of
St. Benedict of Nurcia, and with the pious will of St. Benedict of
Anianes before mine eyes, to give succour and protection to all
travellers and pilgrims, and all outlawed and persecuted persons,
against the wild turbulence of nature, as well as against human
ferocity and the violence and persecution of an ungodly world. You just
now interrupted me in a godly discourse, my guests! I spoke of the
Church's might and authority, which is now so scandalously assaulted by
the blind children of this world in our ungodly times. I was
inculcating the duties of our holy order on the children, and for the
edification of my dependents, on occasion of the crying deeds of
violence and injustice we daily hear of and see before our eyes. You
have also surely heard how shamelessly and treacherously the king's men
have dealt with the outlawed Count Jacob's men in Halland, and what an
outrageous and arbitrary act the royal vassal, Jonas Fries, hath lately
perpetrated here, on the boundary of my abbey's consecrated ground and
territory?"
"What I have heard is almost past belief, pious Father Abbot," answered
Brock; "but the matter is related very differently by the friends of
freedom and those of despotism. Rumour hath indeed possibly exaggerated
the stern vassal's despotic act."
"My fugitive guest, who sits there, can bear testimony to the truth,"
said the abbot. "The unhappy victim to the lawlessness and barbarity of
that royal vassal was his good friend and comrade."
"It is as true as that I stand here," began the warrior-like personage
in the monk's cloak, and rose from his seat. His accent sounded
half-Norwegian; the combed-down hair slipped aside for an instant from
his brow, and over his wild fiery eye a pair of bristly meeting
eye-brows and a large red scar were visible. "Thus are law and justice
now upheld in Denmark," he continued. "I had come down hither in
reliance on truce and treaty, but truth and justice are no longer
recognised, where the friends of freedom are outlawed. My comrade had
saved my life, and freed me from a degrading captivity; he was, like
myself, in the service of the Norwegian king. Three days since he was
taken captive at my side in broad day-light, by Sir Jonas Fries
himself, and dragged to his castle.--I escaped to the sanctuary of the
abbey; but when I yesterday, with the pious abbot's men, would have
liberated my unhappy comrade, we found him hanged, without law or
sentence, on Jonas Fries's closed castle gate."
"Ha, indeed! the more madly they act the sooner they will have to
account for it," exclaimed Brock, in a powerful martial tone, and
striking his large battle sword against the flagged floor. "The master
who hath such zealous servants may fare badly at last--that deed of
violence shall prove a firebrand----"
"We meddle not here with worldly matters," interrupted the abbot
hastily, with an admonitory wink, and a side glance at the attentive
and startled monks, who all, however, sat silent with humbly drooping
heads, and appeared to fear, rather than love, their despotic and
mighty superior. "Worldly matters are to me and my dependents, but
vehicles for spiritual things," continued the prelate with a devout
air, "and I only permit any discourse concerning them when it may serve
us for holy and edifying meditation, according to St. Benedict of
Anianes' pious will and injunction. I now forbid all further talk on
such subjects here. Refresh yourselves, my stranger guests! Pray a
silent prayer, brother bed-maker, and discharge thy duty towards the
strangers! Pray in silence, and retire to rest, children! Let every
brother set about his evening work! You must not suppose, my unknown
guests," he added, "that the conversers and lay brothers you have seen
here, alone perform the bodily labour which is incumbent on us all--it
is precisely in order to gain bodily strength for the performance of
the stern duties of our order that I give, as you see, occasional
dispensations with respect to the nourishment of the frail body with
substantial meat."
The brethren of the order and the monkishly clad children now folded
their hands, and muttered a prayer; they then departed, after they had
all, with a deep and submissive inclination of the head, kissed the
abbot's hand, which lay extended for the purpose on the arm of his
chair, in which he remained sitting, and gazed on his guests with an
attentive and searching glance. "You are welcome. Sir Niels Brock and
Sir Johan Papae," now commenced the abbot, in a confidential and
condescending tone, with a side look at Sir Palle. "This knight I know
not, but I presume you bring none with you but your most confidential
friends."
"The high-born Junker Christopher's gentleman of the bed-chamber, Sir
Palle, accompanies us to Wordingborg by his lord's command," said
Brock, hastily, "although we cannot boast of knowing him intimately."
"Ay, indeed! You are welcome also, Sir Palle," resumed the abbot, in a
tone of haughty condescension, once more assuming the dignified mien of
a prelate. "Your master, the junker, is now said deeply to repent his
sin and cruelty against our most learned and God-fearing archbishop,
and to feel a longing after peace and reconciliation with the holy
church? With all his errors, he seems still, however, to be of a more
tractable and pious mind than his hardened brother, and it may one day,
perhaps, stand him in good stead, for God resisteth the proud, but
giveth grace to the humble."
"Yes, my lord junker will now assuredly be converted, pious Sir Abbot,"
answered Palle, thrusting a large piece of meat into his mouth, by
which he was hindered from continuing his speech.
"To judge from the build of Sir Palle's person, _he_ stands most in
need of refreshment and rest," said Brock, with significance.
"According to his assurance, there is now the best understanding
between the junker and his brother."
"Ay, indeed! hum! well, then! It is good assuredly that brothers should
be united, provided it be in that which is right," said the prelate,
and broke off the conversation. Little was now said, and that only on
indifferent topics. Sir Palle's gormandising appetite perceptibly
decreased at the cautious pause in the conversation, and at the
sight of the fugitive in the monk's cloak, who had remained silently
sitting at that end of the table which was least lighted up, and who
kept his scrutinising eyes fixed upon him. As no one either ate or
drank any more, the abbot folded his hands and muttered a Latin
prayer; after which he rang a little silver hand-bell, and Pater
master-of-the-household entered.
"This knight desires instantly to retire to rest," said the abbot,
pointing to Palle; "perhaps you will go with him as his contubernalis
over yonder." As he said this, he winked at Sir Papae, and the taciturn
knight immediately accompanied Sir Palle and the master of the
household across the court yard of the monastery to the guesthouse,
which was situated apart.
As soon as the abbot was alone with Brock and the disguised fugitive,
he gave them a mysterious nod and arose. He took the lamp in his hand,
and opened a private door in the refectory which led to a long vaulted
passage. He went on before, and they followed him in silence through
the passage, and up a winding stair to the library of the monastery and
the prelate's private chamber; he opened all the doors himself, and
locked them carefully behind him. Sir Palle's indolence and love of
good cheer seemed to be contending with curiosity and repressed alarm.
"Whom take you yon sharp-eyed fugitive to be, Sir Papae?" he asked his
silent travelling companion, as soon as the monk had shown them to
their sleeping apartment and departed.
"I care not who he is," said the knight sullenly, and took off his
vest.
"It is assuredly one of the outlaws," continued Palle, anxiously.
"Truly it is strange to have sat at table, and now to sleep under the
same roof with such a fellow. It might get wind one day, and waken
suspicion."
"I will give you good counsel, Sir Palle," answered the sullen knight.
"Take your horse out of the stable again, and ride off at full speed,
despite night and storm! Our company may also seem suspicious to you. A
man like you, who holds his own peace and safety dearer than aught
beside, should never devote himself to the service of any master in
these troublous times. As far as I can judge you are as little fit for
the junker's as the king's service, and least of all to be your own
master, like me and other free men."
"The devil! Sir Papae! what do you take me for?" said Palle, bridling up
and highly affronted; "think ye I am afraid for my skin? I would fain
see the man who hath oftener risked life and blood in the service of my
master, than I have, and yet as a free man dare snap my fingers at the
world's rulers and tyrants. What my master, the junker, is about, he
must know best himself, and answer for--it concerns not me--_his_ head
truly is placed too high to be imperilled. When it comes to the push,
all falls on those beneath; yet when he calls you and Sir Niels his
friends, and sends you greeting and courteous invitation, as his
servant, I surely run no risk by companionship with you;--but an
_outlaw!_ think! perhaps even one of the regicides!--to have sat at
table with him may cost us all dear."
"You are in a very unpleasant position, Sir Palle." said the haughty
partizan, with a contemptuous smile. "With the king, you stand not
well, they say; and though you have already settled yourself
comfortably in the junker's service, it may end badly enough, after
all. If he gets but a hint how you keep the seal of his private
letters----"
"It is a shameful falsehood, I deny it positively," answered Palle,
glowing crimson. "But for the Lord's and our dear lady's sake,
excellent Sir Papae! bring me not into trouble by such talk, and beseech
Sir Niels also to be silent about it. I am in truth innocent as an
unborn babe. I know not in the least what either you or the junker have
in hand, and there was not a word about it in the letter; that is what
you say yourself; for what know _I_ of it?" he added hastily. "But
whatever it may be," he continued, "I pray you only to consider that,
after all, the king is a mighty man, and not to be jested with when he
is wroth. Even my own master, the high-born junker, I would in all
confidence here between us two, counsel ye to deal somewhat cautiously
with. Too much confidence in the great answers not, either;--in our
times one should in troth know how to obey the commands of one's
master, and nevertheless use one's own understanding,--do you see? To
speak plainly. Sir Papae! since the commandant at Kallundborg was forced
to lose his head, I have often had uneasy dreams."
"Now good night, my dear Palle!" said the knight, clapping him
compassionately on the shoulder. "I would not for a great deal be in
your place. It must be grievous for an honest knight adventurer like
you, who so faithfully strives to serve the great, not to be able to
fathom his master's mind, any more than his own stomach." The knight
then strode into his sleeping apartment and shut the door after him
with a scornful laugh.
"Another awkward scrape!" muttered Sir Palle, striking his forehead. He
threw himself into a chair and yawned. It seemed as though his body and
soul were at war. He appeared to feel a desire to sleep, but could not
rest. He threw himself once or twice on the couch, but soon rose again,
panting and puffing with uneasiness. All was now quiet at the
monastery; nothing was to be heard but the howling of the storm through
the chimney and around the high gable ends of the roof. After some
deliberation, Palle wrapped himself in his mantle, and stole softly out
of the door. He found the anti-chamber of the guest-house open, and
slipped out into the court-yard of the monastery. He looked around him
on all sides. It was dark and gloomy; there was not a light to be seen
in any of the twelve cells; but, from the second story of the principal
building a solitary lamp shone through the creaking boughs of the lime
trees. The light came from an apartment which Pater, head-cook, had
pointed out to him as the abbot's private chamber. Before it stood a
remarkably tall, thick, lime tree, which was not yet in leaf. Sir Palle
stole forward under the tree, and endeavoured to climb up its trunk;
the build of his figure rendered this very difficult for him to do; but
he succeeded at last by dint of much exertion, in getting so high up in
the tree, that at some distance he could peep in through the small
lit-up window panes. He beheld the abbot and Sir Niels Brock very
singularly occupied. A tall warlike form stood before them in ancient
knightly armour. The abbot was in full costume; he placed a helmet
(over which he appeared to be pronouncing a benedicite) upon the
warrior's head. Brock seemed to be rubbing the eye-brows and beard of
the armour-clad personage with an ointment. Palle listened in vain, the
storm prevented his hearing a single word of what was said; but he now
saw that the abbot opened a cupboard, and produced a black book with
silver clasps, which looked to him like a Testament. Sir Niels Brock,
as well as the steel-clad warrior, laid their hands on the book and
knelt. They remained in this position while the abbot fetched a silver
chalice from the cupboard, and went through the same ceremonies as on
the performance of low mass. He took a silver wine-flagon, filled the
chalice, signed a benediction over it, and drank himself. He then
opened a silver box, signed a cross, and a blessing likewise over it,
and seemed to administer the sacrament to each of the kneeling knights.
"Gracious Heaven! He is surely giving them the sacrament!" whispered
Palle to himself, "what can all this mean?"
The abbot now stepped back, and appeared to be speaking with great
emphasis and energetic enthusiasm. At last the knights arose and kissed
the bishop's hand, and the dismayed spy recognised the powerful tones
of Niels Brock, who clapped the steel clad warrior on the shoulder and
said, in a loud tone, "Now, then! in the name of all the saints, have
you courage, Kagge! The devil himself could not know ye now, or injure
a hair of your consecrated head."
On hearing the name of Kagge, Sir Palle became so alarmed, that he lost
his balance. The branch broke on which he had placed his foot, and he
was forced to let himself slide down the trunk of the lime-tree without
being able to save the skin of his hands or his rich attire, in which
great rents were torn. He fell with violence to the ground, and stunned
by fear and pain, stole back again in this pitiable plight to his
chamber.
Abbot Johan did not appear to his guests on the following morning, and
when Brock and Papae, during mattins, rode forth from the monastery with
the worn-out and hapless Sir Palle, the party had received an addition
in the person of a stranger, mounted on a large well-fed horse from the
abbot's stable, and clad in an old-fashioned suit of armour. His hair
and brow were hidden by an ample helmet, fastened under the chin with a
silver clasp. His meeting eye-brows and broad beard were shining, and
coal-black; over his coat of mail he wore a large silver chain, in
token of a knight's sacred vow. Sir Palle hardly dared to turn his eyes
on him. It was, indeed, impossible for him to recognize in this figure
the fugitive guest at the monastery; but he was nevertheless convinced
it was he, whom he now knew to be the outlawed regicide, Kagge himself.
Palle looked as though he already felt the rope round his neck, at the
thought of the dangerous company into which he was thrown. This new and
mysterious travelling companion rode in silence between his two
powerful friends. His glance was wild and restless; at first setting
out he often looked behind on all sides, as if he feared to be
recognised and pursued; but he soon, however, nodded confidentially to
his companions, and presently fell into a deep reverie. His dark
imaginings were occasionally interrupted by a wild and half-smothered
laugh.
"I have met with a good friend and kinsman here in the monastery," said
Brock, in a careless tone, to Palle. "He is a merry fellow, as you
doubtless perceive; and laughs at his own thoughts when there is a lack
of mirth and wit in his companions. He hath a true love at Wordingborg
whom he would surprise; but therefore he would rather be unknown, and
you can surely be silent where one ill-timed word might prove dangerous
to yourself."
"Yes, doubtless," answered Palle, "silence is a virtue necessity
teaches every wise man in our times; and here it is easy for me to be
silent, since I know not even the name of your honourable friend and
kinsman."
"That I will confide to you: he is called Johan Limbek, but gives
himself out to be Ako Krummedige, or Blackbeard, going on a pilgrimage
to the holy land," continued Brock in a lowered tone; "but keep this to
yourself. My kinsman is not to be jested with, do you see, and if you
disturb his love adventure by unseasonable talk you must be prepared to
break a sharp lance with him. He fights better than the devil himself.
I would only just mention to you,--he hath broken the neck of many a
doughty knight, ere this, in love adventures."
"He will scarcely find a rival in me," answered Palle, "although I am
reputed to stand high in the favour of the fair."
"Assuredly," replied Sir Niels, and laughed. "Who knows not that rare
ballad of Sir Palle's wooing fair Gundelille's driver lad?"
"Would that all dainty maidens and wooing were at the devil!" returned
Palle, angrily. "That dainty maiden will never more make a fool of any
honest man, as surely as Marsk Stig's vagabond brood are caged for life
at Wordingborg."
At these words the steel-clad traveller became attentive, and measured
Sir Palle with a scornful and angry look.
"See you," whispered Sir Niels, "my enamoured friend cannot even hear
maidens and rivals spoken of without the blood instantly boiling within
him. Beware, as I said before, Sir Palle, that you do not meddle with
his concerns." So saying, he turned, with a contemptuous look, from the
perplexed gentleman of the bedchamber, and joined his two other
companions, who seemed as little in a communicative mood as himself.
Absorbed in gloomy reverie, and almost without another word being
spoken, the travellers pursued the journey to Wordingborg.