Some of the company in the knights' hall were entertaining themselves
with singing and lutes, but Junker Christopher had sat down to a grave
game at chess with the Duke of Langeland. Sir Niels Brock, Sir Johan
Papae and their silent friend with the helmet, tried their fortune at
dice and backgammon. Count Gerhard listened with the king, the Marsk,
and the young knights, to the adventures and songs of the German
minstrels. These foreign masters of song sought especially to entertain
the king and his guests with lays composed in honour of all crowned
heads, whom they lauded as their munificent patrons and protectors. At
last they addressed themselves immediately to the king in a strain of
somewhat exaggerated panegyric, particularly on his learning, and in
the same metre and high-flown phrase in which the Minnesingers formerly
sang the praises of their loves. Count Gerhard smiled, and the king at
last became impatient. "No! this goes too far!" he exclaimed; "would
you make me believe, Master Rumelant, that you are enamoured of me as
though I were a fair maiden? No more of this! Sing to us, rather of the
brave Nibelungen, and the hero Siegfred."
"As you command! most mighty prince! My generous and noble patron!"
answered Master Rumelant, with a bow; but he had been thrown into such
confusion by the king's displeasure at his flatteries, that he could
recollect nothing perfectly, but jumbled different songs together.
"Stop! let _me_!" interrupted Master Poppe, with his warrior-like
voice, and he now began the bold and spirited German epic poem of the
brave Nibelungen, in tones which rang through the hall. The lay gained
great applause, but it was a long epic, which became wearisome by the
monotony of the melody or recitative. When Poppe paused only for a
moment to take breath, or recollect, Master Rumelant instantly took up
the lay, and as soon as he made any mistake, or faultered, Master Poppe
recommenced with renovated powers; and thus it seemed as though the
poem would never be ended.
The king was, however, an attentive listener, and laughed once or twice
right heartily at the naive and vivid descriptions; but at last he grew
tired, and cleared his throat several times. "Excellent! excellent!
good sirs; thanks!" he said, interrupting the unwearied singers. "That
is enough for one time. There is marrow and bone in your heroic lays,
as well as in your warriors; they are almost as hard to despatch. Now
we should like to hear a Danish song. We have, indeed, no such single
heroic poem, unless it be our chronicles. In reality, they compose an
epic which I trust will never be ended. Our war songs are but fragments
of them, but they are therefore better suited for songs. They never
flag, but go on briskly, and that I ought to like right well, since I
am myself of a somewhat impetuous temper. We have, besides, no real
master of the art as yet," he continued: "but our songs are national,
and are sung both by knight and peasant. Where is the Drost?"
The Drost had been some time ago summoned from the hall, and no one
knew where he was.
"Now Marsk Oluffsen! do _you_ sing of our warriors and heroes!" said
the king. "But have a care you split not the good arches here in our
hall! I know your voice well."
"I would rather fight than sing songs for you, my liege!" answered the
Marsk; "they say I sing like a growling bear, but if you desire it I
will willingly growl you out a song." He then cleared his throat, and
began in a bass voice as deep and hollow as from an abyss.
"It was young Ulf van Jern,
Unto the king went he,
My father's death for to avenge,
Your men will you lend me."[8]
"Silence!" exclaimed the king, stamping vehemently on the floor.
The Marsk was silent, and stared at him in astonishment.
"What are ye thinking of, Sir Marsk! would you remind the king of his
father's death?" whispered Count Henrik in his ear.
"By all the martyrs! who ever thought of that?" said the Marsk, and
hastily withdrew. Soon after, the master of the household stepped
forward, and summoned the king and his guests to the supper-table, as
he threw open the door of the dining-hall.
As was customary when the king was present, all the etiquettes of the
table were observed according to chivalrous usage. Each knight had his
appointed seat, with a small separate trencher and napkin. When the
king went to take his place, he was wont to walk round the table of his
knights, and at times to cast an observant glance over these small
napkins, which were to lie whole and smoothly spread before the seats
of the knights, with bread and trenchers, or plates, in a prescribed
position. If a rent or a slit was found in the napkin, or if the bread
lay reversed, it implied a charge touching the honour of the knight to
whom the bread and napkin belonged, and the person thus accused was
instantly obliged to leave the table, and remain shut out from the
community of knights, until he should have justified himself. The day
preceding a tournament there were generally a herald and two
pursuivants, or under-heralds, present, at the king's table and that of
his knights, to watch over the observance of these customs. This was
the case on this evening.
When the king came to the middle of the knights' table, he stopped, on
remarking three trenchers upon which the bread lay reversed; he
started, and nodded to the herald.
"Who are to sit here?" asked the king with a stern look.
"The high-born knights, Sir Niels Brock and Sir Johan Papae, my liege,"
answered the herald, with lowered staff and a precise deportment. "Also
a certain Ako Krummedige, whom no one knows. It is he to whom it hath
been permitted to wear his helmet here in the hall, and keep silence
towards every one, according to his knights' vow at the holy
sepulchre."
"Who is their accuser?"
"An unknown knight, my liege! but he hath placed his covered shield as
a pledge in the armoury; he will appear and give his name when it is
demanded."
"Well! be watchful, herald! fulfil thy duty!" so saying, the king went
to take his seat.
Shortly afterwards Sir Niels and Sir Papae, with their mysterious
friend, appeared, and were about to take their accustomed places. On
seeing the reversed bread, however, they started; the knight of the
helmet changed colour and drew back a step; but Brock and Papae hastily
replaced the bread in prescribed form, and took their seats with a look
of haughty defiance; at the same moment the herald advanced with a
drawn sword in his hand, directly opposite to them on the other side of
the table; he slit, with the point of his sword, the three small
napkins before them. "Sir Niels Brock, Sir Johan Papae, and you who call
yourself Sir Ako Krummedige!" he said, solemnly, "In the name of Danish
chivalry, I cut asunder, as I have done your table napkins, every tie
of fellowship between you and knighthood. You are accused of treachery
and treason; of a Judas deed and projected regicide; therefore you are
ejected from the king's, and every honourable knight's society, until
you have met your accuser and justified yourselves, if you are able to
do so; in consideration of the gravity of the accusation, I demand of
ye, besides, your weapons, and announce to you that you are put under
knightly arrest."
The herald then beckoned, and the two pursuivants advanced to receive
the swords of the prisoners, and lead them to their confinement. All
the guests rose in astonishment, and the king's knights and halberdiers
drew their swords.
"Confounded mummery!" muttered the tall knight, Brock, as he rose.
"There, herald!" he called in a loud voice, and threw his glove on the
table--"Take that to my accuser! wherever he meets me, my good sword
shall prove him to be a liar and a fool--where is he? Dare he not name
himself and look me in the face?"
"Here he stands!" said a voice from the door of the dining hall, and
Drost Aage stood there erect and calm on the threshold, with his hand
on his sword, gazing with a searching look on the three accused
knights.
"I laugh at the accusation of a dreamer and a visionary," cried Brock
in a proud and scornful tone. "We meet. Sir Drost! I do but deposit my
sword in the hands of these men that I may receive it to-morrow,
acquitted by the king and knighthood, after washing out the blot here
cast on mine and my friends' honour with the blood of the calumniator."
He then delivered up his sword to the pursuivants.
Papae had risen likewise; he also threw his glove with a contemptuous
smile on the table--"There lies my pledge." he said, "and here is my
answer to my accuser, whoever he may be, even though he should be given
over to the devil, and the destruction of the flesh." So saying, he
flung his large battle sword on the flagged floor at the herald's feet.
They then both went with haughty and hasty strides out of the door,
casting one or two flashing glances at the Drost, and with the
pretended Ako Krummedige between them. This silent and disguised knight
had become as blanched in the face as his slit trencher-napkin. He had
given up his sword to the pursuivants; no sound issued from his blue
compressed lips--but his glance rolled with fearful wildness beneath
his bushy and blackened eyebrows; his legs tottered under him, and he
was forced to take hold of the strong Sir Niels to keep himself from
sinking on the floor. The Drost himself followed these dangerous
prisoners to see that the formalities of their imprisonment were
legally and properly conducted.
This singular occurrence had excited great astonishment. The general
silence was soon succeeded by a low whispering. The two daring knights
were well known; every one was aware that they were suspected of having
abetted the archbishop's flight. It was also known that they belonged
to the discontented in the land;--of friends they had not a few; and
they passed for brave, independent lovers of their country, who cared
not to flatter royalty, but had strength and courage to maintain the
liberties of the people, and their own rights in council against the
mightiest. That they should have joined in treasonable conspiracies did
not seem probable; and it was supposed the Drost had been too
precipitate in making this singular charge. As the king's favourite, he
was not free from the attacks of envy. "It is sad to think of the young
Drost," whispered one of the junker's knights, "he is such a dreamer he
scents treason everywhere, and makes the king to be hated, by his
ill-timed zeal." Respecting the unknown knight with the helmet, and his
guilt, there were many conjectures; he appeared in a suspicious light
to most of the company--but that one of the outlaws should have dared
to enter into the king's presence and sit at his table, seemed an act
of such presumptuous daring, that none believed it to be possible.
Meanwhile, all took their seats. Although the wine-flasks soon went
round, the company appeared, however, unable to forget the unpleasant
transaction which had clouded the king's countenance, as well as his
step-father's; and, as it seemed, had also thrown Junker Christopher
into an anxious and uneasy mood. It was not until all were seated, that
Drost Aage again entered the supper hall. He also was silent and
depressed. He took his seat directly opposite the king and Junker
Christopher. The three nearest knights rose to make room for him,
according to the ancient usages of the table, and he sat down without
saying a word respecting the accused and their crime. He seemed lost in
reverie, and appeared not to notice the unusual flagging of the
conversation around him; but his attention was in reality rivetted with
affectionate sympathy on the deep emotion he thought he discovered in
the king's countenance. The gloomy sternness before depicted in it
seemed now to be lost in thoughtful sadness. Eric sat with his wine cup
in his hand, and regarded with a kindly look his friend and step-father
Count Gerhard; at last he nodded involuntarily, and turned towards his
reconciled foe, Duke Eric of Langeland. "A health in honour of the
negotiator of peace and of my reconciled kinsman!" he said, suddenly
rising from his seat. All the knights stood up--and the king
continued--"Even this feast in honour of peace hath been made gloomy to
me by traitors; they shall have their deserts; to-morrow is the day for
passing sentence; to-day we will not think on it. At _this_ moment, I
trust in the Lord and our blessed Lady that no secret traitor drains a
cup in our hall. Long live Count Gerhard and Duke Eric!"
"Long life to them, and long live our noble king!" was echoed from
mouth to mouth, with great and nearly universal enthusiasm, while the
goblets rang, and the horn-players, on a signal from the herald, made
their instruments resound through the hall.
Junker Christopher had also joined in the general shout of acclamation,
and the king appeared especially to rejoice at hearing his brother's
voice so animated on this occasion. His eye sought the junker's while
he rung his glass against his; but Christopher's glance was cold,
restless, and irresolute, while his cheek glowed, and he twisted the
corner of his napkin with his left hand. A smothered sigh escaped the
king's breast as he again resumed his seat. Aage now observed, with
great astonishment, that there was a large rent in Junker Christopher's
napkin, which he was vainly striving to conceal with his hand. The king
seemed to have made the same discovery at the same instant. He had
suddenly changed colour, and his countenance expressed a fearful degree
of wrath and grief; he made a movement as if he were about to start up,
but instantly recovered himself by a strong internal effort; he set
down his cup directly before him on the table, and, by pushing his own
napkin from him, contrived to hide with it the rent in his brother's.
A look of affectionate admiration from Drost Aage was repressed by a
stern glance of the king's serious eye while he laid his finger on his
lips. "Music!" he called, and gave a signal to the herald. The hall
soon resounded with lively hunting horns. The gravity of the guests
presently disappeared, and each talked gaily with his neighbour; the
king himself appeared gay and in spirits, although Aage, indeed,
remarked that it cost him a desperate effort. When the castle chaplain,
at the conclusion of the feast, was about to pronounce the blessing,
all the knights had become so joyous and loud-tongued, that the herald
was twice compelled to remind them of the etiquette of the table. When
the repast was ended the king retired in haste to his private chamber,
and beckoned gravely to Aage to follow him. When Christopher rose, he
threw his napkin, as if by accident, under the table; he then went out
on the hall balcony, and whistled; soon afterwards the prince's large
hunting-hound came bounding through the hall, with a crumpled napkin in
his mouth.
The king had entered the private chamber with Aage; he had thrown
himself into a chair, and held his hand before his eyes. He remained a
long time in this posture. Aage stood in silence opposite to him,
regarding him with a look of sorrowful sympathy. The king at last took
his hand from his eyes, and he appeared to have wept. "Who hath dared
to destroy love and confidence between brothers?" he exclaimed; "if it
was you, Drost Aage, it is the last time I call you my Drost."
"I it was not, my noble liege!" answered Aage; "_who_ it was I know
not. May the Lord pardon that man among your true servants who so
unwisely and rashly hath grieved you! It must have been done secretly,
and without the herald's knowledge."
"I despise a secret accusation," continued the king; "it is unlawful;
it is in a high degree deserving of chastisement; it shall--yet no--no
examination can take place in this case. If he _is_ a traitor," he
continued, and deep grief was again visible in his countenance, "were
he capable! Be it as God wills--_I_ injure not a hair of his head.
Should I disgrace my father in his children? Should I doom my mother's
son outlawed and dishonoured? Should I myself, Great God!----" He
paused, and his hair seemed to stand on end with horror. "Look at me,
Aage," he resumed; "could _such_ a thought be harboured here?" He laid
his hand on his high and glowing forehead. "It burns within," he
continued; "but no unseen Cain's mark burns there. My hand was sternly
raised against him--love me he cannot--fear me he must. Well! let him
tremble before his liege and sovereign until he learns to love his
brother. Now, not a word more of this! It is perhaps only spite and
slander. Who dares charge my left hand of treachery against the right?
I know nothing as yet--I _will_ know nothing--I have known enough of
evil----" He began again after a thoughtful pause, and with a gloomy
downcast look--"have I not had traitors around me since I was a child?
Have I not seen my father murdered, and his shameless murderers in my
presence? Have not their bloody hands been secretly and openly raised
against my life from the hour in which I doomed them outlawed? yet have
they not had the power to touch me," he continued with cheerfulness,
and raised his head. "No assassin's dagger hath yet reached me, even
though excommunicated and given over to the Evil One. I know it, Aage;
I have seen it--the hand of the righteous Lord was betwixt me and my
deadly foes. No traitor and murderer--not even a soul murderer--no
sinful archbishop or pope--not the arch-fiend himself--shall shake the
crown upon this head." As he said these words he raised his hand and
looked upwards with a glance of almost prophetic inspiration, and there
was a nobleness and majesty in his countenance which seemed capable of
humbling the most presumptuous foe.
"My liege!" exclaimed Aage, with heartfelt joy, "the spirit which
speaks through you at this hour is not alone the spirit of royalty and
justice, but surely that of love also."
"Go to my brother, my faithful Aage," interrupted the king hastily;
"take him this----" He took a gold chain from his neck, to which hung
an image of the Madonna. "Pray him to accept this jewel from his
brother, as a memorial of this celebration of peace. Tell him our
unhappy father wore this image to the day of his death." The king
turned hastily away, and seemed desirous to hide the sorrowful emotion
which had caused his voice to falter. Aage stood with the chain in his
hand, and was about to give vent to the warmth of his feelings; but the
king turned suddenly, and said, in a stern voice, "Tomorrow a council
of knights will be held. The accused shall be arraigned, and defend
themselves if they can. All are equal here with respect to the law--be
they friends or foes. Woe to the accuser who hath not ample proof, were
he even my dearest friend! Go! and the Lord be with thee."
Aage bowed in silence, with wounded feelings, and would have departed,
but the king, on perceiving his emotion, stretched out his arms towards
him, and pressed him to his heart, without saying a word more.
Aage hastily departed with the chain. When the king was alone in his
chamber, he put his hand into his vest, and drew forth a rosary,
garnished with pearls and rubies. "Thy Christmas gift when we were
children, my Ingeborg!" he said, with deep emotion. "What thou knewest
I would ask for besides, thy angel joined me in prayer for at the
throne of Grace.--Christopher! Christopher! may God forgive thee the
thought thine eye betrayed!" He then imprinted a kiss on the rosary,
replaced it in his vest, and sat down quietly before his table to
attend to state affairs.