PART I.

Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books

Transcriber's Note:

1. Page scan source:

http://books.google.com/books?id=A-M8AAAAYAAJ&dq

2. The diphthong oe is represented by {Oe] and [oe].

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?"