falling backwards into the river.
"On, on!" cried Thorstenson, getting to his left side, and seizing the
rearing horse by the bridle: the animal plunged to the very brink of
the bridge, and appeared in imminent danger of falling into the gulph.
"On, on!" still shouted Thorstenson; but both he and Drost Peter vainly
sought to urge on their shy and strange steeds. This sudden stoppage
brought all the horses in the rear close together, and in the greatest
disorder, so that none of them could now stir without the certainty of
forcing another over the bridge.
"Lay down your arms!" shouted the voice behind them, "or we pitch you
over, one and all!"
Presently, Drost Peter's sword rang among the halberds, and Morten
Longknife fell, as his long blade whistled past Drost Peter's ear.
"Throw them over, the dogs! hack away!" cried the young robber chief,
behind.
With a wild shout, they commenced a furious onslaught from both sides
at once. Drost Peter and Thorstenson fought a dubious fight on the
brink of the bridge, in which their plunging horses were severely
wounded in the chest by the long halberds. A frightful battle raged
behind: the pirates pressed on, and the four huntsmen in the rear were
hurled, with their backs broken, together with their horses, into the
deep.
Rimaardson could now, for the first time, stir; and he dexterously
turned his horse about, to avoid the same fate as his unhappy jagers.
He was on the point of rushing upon the wild, shouting freebooters,
when his eye fell on the young robber chief, who wore the knight's hat.
The sword fell from his hand, and both grew pale.
"Hold, fellows! give place for them!" cried the leader of the pirates:
"in Satan's name, let them ride on!"
In an instant, not a single rover was to be seen on the bridge. Drost
Peter and Sir Thorstenson were relieved as by a miracle, and rode
hastily over the suddenly vacated bridge. Sir Rimaardson followed them
silently, and as pale as a ghost. They rode up the height above the
thicket, and there drew up their tired and bleeding horses. Presently
they saw the ten rovers take flight, with their dead comrade's body,
and disappear in the thicket at the opposite end of the bridge.
"How was this?" asked Drost Peter: "did the angel of death fight on our
side, and strike the murderers with terror? Are you also safe, Sir
Rimaardson?"
"Safe?" he repeated, gloomily: "yes, in Satan's name, I am safe. Better
for me that I were lying, crushed and mangled, with my huntsmen."
"What has happened to you? Are you wounded?" inquired Thorstenson.
"There is not a drop of blood in your cheek, and you are not the man to
grow pale in danger."
"I have received no wound in my body," replied the knight; "but a
two-edged sword has entered my soul. The unhappy robber chief, with the
knight's hat, was my outlawed brother, Lavé. God be gracious to his
sinful soul! If he fall into the hands of my coast-guards, I myself
must doom him to the rack and wheel."
Both the knights were amazed; and, whilst they could now comprehend the
reason of their wonderful deliverance, they also felt, with horror,
their fellow-traveller's bitterness of soul.
"Think no more of it, brave Sir Bent," said Thorstenson, at length,
consolingly. "In these mad times, a young hot-head may easily go
astray. If he was leader of these fellows, he deserves to stand at the
head of an army of warriors. The ambush was craftily and boldly
planned, if he knew us."
"If it was the sight of your loyal countenance that struck him with
repentance and dread, noble knight," said Drost Peter, "there is still
hope of his salvation. Our gracious queen's kinsman cannot be so deeply
fallen but that, with God and the Holy Virgin's aid, he can rise again,
if time be granted him."
Rimaardson shook his head, and was silent.
"Welcome, welcome to this side of the bridge, noble sirs," cried a
cheerful, lively voice; and Squire Skirmen came along, waving his cap
with joy. He was mounted on his little norback, and leading the horses
of Drost Peter and Sir Thorstenson. In an instant he was on the height
along with them. He dismounted, and returned his master the packet
confided to him.
"Here is the king's letter, sir," he said, joyously: "not a drop of
water has touched it, though there is not a dry thread on my body."
"My old dapplegray!" exclaimed Thorstenson, springing from his wounded
horse, which he set at liberty. The tall, gray steed appeared delighted
again to see his master, who patted and caressed him like a restored
friend, as he swung himself gladly into his own saddle.
Drost Peter, having again taken possession of the king's warrant,
extolled his trusty squire for his dexterity and management. He, too,
had descended from his strange horse, which bled profusely, and could
scarcely bear him any longer. He first examined the animal's wounds,
and bound his scarf about its chest; then, turning him over to the care
of his squire, he patted his own favourite brown steed, which pawed the
ground impatiently. "It was skilfully done," he said to Skirmen, as he
sprang into his saddle. "How did you get hold of the horses?"
"While you were all fighting, I did not wish to be idle," replied
Skirmen. "I soon found my little norback: he nearly pawed me to death
with joy, the dear fellow! The other two horses were also grazing by
the river. Giving a smack to the hack I rode, I let him gallop home;
and, had it not been for my little norback, I should have been sitting
in the mud."
"Thou art a devil's imp!" said Thorstenson; "and, if it were not that
thou art so stunted, there might be made a doughty wight of thee."
"You, too, were stunted once on a time," replied Skirmen, offended;
"else Satan was the mother of you."
They were now all mounted, and Thorstenson was already several paces in
advance.
"But my poor huntsmen!" exclaimed Sir Rimaardson, pausing: "might any
of them yet be saved?"
"I saw them hurled over," replied Skirmen: "it was a shocking sight. I
was already over the river, but I rode in again to save them. The black
steed was nimble, and swam ashore; but the three Wallachians are in the
mud."
"But the men--the unfortunate huntsmen?"
"Alas! that was the most lamentable part of the affair," replied
Skirmen, with a light sigh: "they had neither life nor a whole limb. I
had them drawn to land, and said, hastily, three paters and an ave for
their souls. Their corpses an old female peasant promised me to care
for."
"Brother, brother! this blood is upon thee!" sighed Rimaardson, with a
choking voice, and giving his horse the spur.
They shortly overtook Sir Thorstenson, and pursued their journey in
silence, and in earnest thought.
* * *
It was towards evening of the following day. In Flynderborg, which lay
near Orekrog or Elsineur, and almost in the same spot as the present
Cronberg, sat, in a large arched apartment, an elderly man in a brown
house-suit. There was a chess-board before him, and, opposite, was a
young and beautiful girl. It was Sir Lavé Little, and his daughter
Ingé. She wore the then customary in-door black dress of ladies, with
her rich, golden tresses bound with a fillet of pearls, worked in the
form of lilies.
After his conversation with Drost Peter in the guard-chamber, and his
short dispute with Chamberlain Rané, the anxious and wavering Sir Lavé
had not had an hour's rest. In the face of his stern kinsman, old Sir
John, he fancied he read that he was suspected of a private
understanding with the rebellious noblemen. His conscience did not
acquit him; and no sooner had he been relieved by Sir John from his
post in the guard-room, at an unusual hour, than he hurried away from
Nyborgand the Dane-court, that he might not be farther enticed into the
dangerous projects there on foot. He was the royal governor of
Flynderborg Castle, which, with huge wall-slings on its ramparts,
protected the entrance of the Sound, and received the ancient Sound
dues, as has since been more effectually done by the far more
distinguished Cronberg.
Sir Lavé Little certainly had not been guilty of any act that could
have been brought against him as evidence of treason; but he had been
at the recent Möllerup meeting with Stig Andersen, and had there, for
his friend and kinsman's sake, declared himself against the king with
more decision than formerly. That this meeting and its transactions had
been discovered, he knew; and he now feared, with reason, that he would
be called to account for expressions he could not deny, or even be
deprived, without legal trial, of his important post as commandant of
this castle. This secret anxiety pained him the more, that he was
obliged to confine it to his own breast. He held no familiar
intercourse with any soul in the castle. He lived there as a widower,
with his daughter, whom he regarded as still in some degree a child,
and feared to entrust her too freely with his affairs.
This, his only child, he loved exceedingly, albeit she little agreed
with him on many important public questions, in which she appeared to
take more interest than might have been expected in a girl of her age.
She was scarcely fifteen, but of a tall, erect growth; and already
expressed her will so decidedly, as often to astonish her wavering,
hesitating father. She was a granddaughter of the recently deceased,
powerful Sir Absalom Andersen, who traced his lineage from Asker Bag
and Skjalm Hvide, and who, in his testament, had duly remembered Sir
Lavé Little and his daughter.
Proud Ingé, as the froward damsel was already called by the people of
the castle, exceedingly resembled her high-souled deceased mother, and
had not only inherited the genuine Danish exterior of her mother and
the whole Absalom family, but also their ancient patriotic spirit, true
love of country, and attachment to the legitimate reigning family, in
inseparable conjunction. When she heard of the perils that threatened
the crown and kingdom, her dark blue eyes flashed, and she wished that
she could only, like her noble kinsmen, John Little, or David
Thorstenson, or Drost Peter Hessel, watch over the safety of the throne
and country with manly vigilance and vigour. Drost Peter's name she
seldom mentioned, and; as it always seemed, with somewhat of dislike.
That she had, from her childhood, been destined as his future wife, was
to her an insufferable thought, and aroused her sense of freedom and
womanly dignity to the bitterest degree. She could only faintly
remember the drost as a handsome, kindly youth, whom she had played
with when a child. At that time she appeared to have had some fondness
for him; but, from the moment that she became aware that she was
destined for his wife, his remembrance had become loathsome to her. It
was as if an unseen power had made him her hereditary enemy, and he was
the only man of whom she was disposed to think ill, without sufficient
reasons. She could not, however, conceal the interest she felt in the
many good deeds and excellent qualities she had lately heard ascribed
to the active young drost, whose important services to the crown tended
still further to elevate him in her estimation. Sometimes, indeed, she
would even forget their hated relationship, and break forth into
involuntary expressions of admiration. But the reports that, during the
last year, had been circulated to the drost's prejudice, had also come
to her ears. That he was much indebted to his comeliness and talents
for his rapid promotion, was a general opinion among the people, even
where they expressed themselves with the most delicacy and reserve; and
the supposed taint on Drost Peter's honour, which envy was only all too
zealous to exaggerate, converted Ingé's esteem for her preordained
bridegroom into contempt, almost amounting to abhorrence. She had
often, from that instant, begged her father rather to bury her in a
convent for life, than wed her to a men who, with all his merit, she
could never love and respect.
Until recently, the father had given only vague replies to these
petitions, and begged her at least to suspend her judgment until she
had seen him, and renewed her half-forgotten acquaintanceship. The
drost, he told her, was a distinguished man, a true favourite of
fortune, and that, except in case of absolute necessity, a promise made
to a deceased friend should be held sacred. Moreover, its fulfilment
had reference to the fortunes and future fate of two illustrious
families, through their prosperity and influence. But, during the last
half year, the father had frequently expressed himself dissatisfied
with Drost Peter, and with his zealous efforts to exalt the misused
power of the king.
On these points, however, proud Ingé warmly defended his conduct, and
also extolled him as a brave friend to his sovereign and country; yet
her joy was great when her father, on his return from the Dane-court,
declared her entirely free from every engagement with respect to Drost
Peter Hessel. He had given her his assurance that she should never be
required to wed this zealous royalist, whom every open-minded Dane had
the greatest reason to shun, though a certain degree of respect could
not be denied him for his sagacity and bold uprightness.
Never had proud Ingé felt herself so glad and lighthearted as on that
day; and she now seized every opportunity to evince her gratitude to
her father for a promise that first gave her a full consciousness of
her womanly dignity, and of being the free, highborn daughter of a
knight. When needful, she played draughts and chess with him, and
induced him to drive away his anxiety and discontent with a recreation
to which he was exceedingly attached. She was careful, however, to
conceal from him the slight interest with which she removed the taken
pieces, whilst her thoughts flew over the whole free and glorious world
she now saw opened up to her, and she joyfully recalled to her
imagination a long line of famous ancestors, amongst whom the noblest
women of Denmark had, from her earliest childhood stood before her eyes
as glorious images of light.
Father and daughter were still sitting silently at the game of chess,
and the Lady Ingé perceived that her abstracted parent heeded not his
moves, and often lost his pieces. He seemed as if in a dream.
"But tell me, then, dear father," she said at length, breaking the long
silence, "do you think it possible, as it was asserted when you were
away, that King Waldemar's grandson, the foolhardy Duke Waldemar,
really aspires to the crown, after the king's death?"
"Silence, child! Do not speak thus! It may cost us our lives," replied
the father, anxiously, and looking round him. "It is mere silly talk.
But those who bring such reports into circulation ought never more to
see the light. Do not listen to such conversation, my dear, good Ingé,
and give no heed to things you cannot understand. Discreet young
damsels should not busy themselves with state affairs, but attend to
their looms and household matters: I have often told you so. I rebuke
you needfully, my good child; for your discourse frequently makes me
anxious and uneasy."
"But when it concerns the country and kingdom, my father, we young
damsels are as much Danes as the young knights and swains; and it is
not the first time that Danish women have been obliged to think on
affairs of equal importance. Had the Lady Ingé, and the proud
Ingefried, not dared to think on something more than their looms and
kitchens, they had not bored Swain Grathé's fleet, and sank it to the
bottom; and then, perhaps, the great Waldemar had not been King of
Denmark."
"Where get you these stories, my dearest child? Whom have you heard
repeat these silly old tales that you have always at the tip of your
tongue? You have never heard them from me--that I know."
"Ah, my mother related them to me when I was very young; and she, also,
it was who taught me so many of our pretty old ballads."
"Ballads! There we have it! All ballads and chronicles lie, my child.
They are but fables and superstitions, which people invent who have
nothing to do but to please fools and children. When do you hear me
relate stories or sing ballads? People who have serious matters in
their heads, have other things to think about than such silly trifles."
"Truly, father, never have I heard you sing ballads or tell tales; but
my mother loved the old songs much, and delighted to sing them, and to
recite the pretty tales. If there were no true ballads, and if our wild
young maidens did not sing about our old kings and heroes, and our true
noble women, no great man or woman would be remembered longer than a
lifetime. Then it were not worth living in the world, when the most
glorious events that happen among us were mere passing show. What
avails it that we are rich and powerful, if we perform nothing that
deserves to be remembered when we are dead? and what to posterity would
be the lives of the greatest of mankind, if people had not a pleasure
in preserving their names and their exploits in songs and chronicles?"
"Ah, child, dearest child! this is only enthusiasm and superstition.
Whatever is worth being preserved is remembered well enough without
writing chronicles and singing songs about it; and in our times, people
should have something better to think of than such trifles and old
stories. Yet sing, in God's name, as much as you please, about old
kings and warriors: it will do no greater harm than it has done; only,
leave alone what happens in our own times. There is nothing in these
worth singing or talking about. 'No one is happy until he is laid in
his grave,' said a wise man; and it is a true saying. In these
unsettled times, my child, one cannot be too cautious: a thoughtless
word may do greater mischief than you dream of. Look out once more, and
see, by the banner, how the wind lies."
Ingé rose, and looked, from the little round window, into the
court-yard of the castle, where, over the arched gateway, waved a lofty
banner, adorned with the two royal lions.
"The wind is gone towards the east," said Ingé, carelessly, again
sitting down; "you expect some one from Scania, to-night, perhaps?"
"Not exactly so," answered the knight, rising. "An easterly
wind--hem!--and it was north-westerly only an hour ago. With this wind
no one can cross the Sound to-night. I must go and speak with the
ferrymen. I expect some strange gentlemen, child--people of
distinction, and my good friends. Should they arrive in my absence,
receive them in a friendly manner, and set before them the best there
is in the house. Entertain them as I know thou canst; but ask them
neither their names, nor whither they journey: that would not beseem
thee. Above all things, say not a word on state affairs, or of what
thou thinkest or dost not think on such matters. This is something that
thou must not have an opinion about. Now, now! redden not thus, my
child! Thou canst not surely be angry with thy father? Understand me
rightly. Thou mayest, in God's name, think what thou wilt--that nobody
can forbid thee: but these are not the times to say aloud what thou
dost think; and thou art never cautious, little Ingé: thou often
talkest, loudly and boldly, things that I dare scarcely repeat to
myself in my closet. Forget not, therefore, what I have been saying. I
shall ride, perhaps, to meet the strangers, and be back again in an
hour. If they come by another road than I expect, and arrive here
before me, see to their wants, like a good housekeeper. The porter and
steward know discretion; and, to-night, the castle stands open for
every traveller, without any one being required to announce himself.
Thou art not afraid to be alone, my child? Thou hast thy waiting-maids
at hand, and the castle is full of servants."
"Afraid?" repeated proud Ingé, colouring still more deeply; "nay,
father, of what should I be afraid? Thy friends cannot be thy
daughter's foes. But thou art so strange, my father--so mysterious--and
not glad, and at ease. Art thou unwell?"
"No, my child; but I have some unpleasant matters to think about, which
thou canst not understand. But take no heed of this. Do not sit here
alone, in the twilight. Get a light, and let thy maidens come in, and
sing ballads with thee. Thou mayest sing ballads, my child: it is
suiting to thine years. What I said about ballads I did not mean to
refer to thee. Only, be cheerful now, and be not uneasy on my account.
Nothing shall happen." With these words, he patted her kindly on the
cheek, and departed.
It began to grow dark. Her father's mysterious inquietude and
ill-disguised anxiety had made a singular impression on the young girl,
who otherwise had never known fear; and, as she now sat alone, in the
great gloomy hall, various alarming thoughts took possession of her
mind. She had heard many, in part unfounded, rumours of pirates and
robbers: these she cared little about. But that the land was full of
secret traitors, who threatened the destruction of the king, and all
his more trusty and attached friends, was a general, and, to the Lady
Ingé, a far more distressing rumour. This important fortress had
usually been kept strongly barred against every stranger who did not,
in the first place, give his name and errand with much preciseness. Why
an exception was to be made this evening, she could not comprehend; and
why her father had been induced to leave the castle at a time when he
expected important and distinguished guests, was equally inconceivable.
From his uneasy attention to the direction of the wind, and his
disappointment when he found it easterly, as well as from his
command not to ask the strangers their names, or whither they were
journeying, she supposed that he might be expecting some friends, who
were eluding pursuit, and intended passing over to Sweden that night.
Notwithstanding her father's reserve and cautiousness, she had observed
that he took a zealous part in the quarrel Stig Andersen and his
kinsmen were fomenting against the king. She was, however, only
imperfectly acquainted with the reasons for this quarrel. That the king
had outraged Stig Andersen's wife, and had been denounced by the
powerful marsk, she had heard; but of the particular circumstances she
knew nothing. According to her notions of a king, and the idea she had
formed in her childhood, from her mother's descriptions of the great
Waldemars, she entertained such a deep reverence for the name of
royalty, that she could not conceive how a subject should be offended
with his king, or that he should, in anywise, have a right to oppose
himself to his sovereign. That her father should be induced, either
from friendship, or on account of family ties, to forget his allegiance
to the king, was a thought she dreaded to dwell distinctly upon; but
now she secretly began to fear such a disaster, which, of all others,
she considered the greatest; and, for the first time in her life, she
felt herself in a state of anxiety. She looked round the gloomy
apartment, and fancied she beheld a lurking regicide, with a gleaming
dagger, in every corner. She hastily arose to call for lights; but
scarcely had she risen, before the door was gently opened, and a rough,
heavy male figure, closely wrapt in a coarse wadmel cloak, slipped
cautiously and stealthily across the threshold. The last faint traces
of expiring day revealed to her glance a wild, shaggy, filthy
countenance, more like that of a savage animal than of a human being.
She stepped back, and was on the point of uttering a cry of alarm; but,
blushing at her fears, she controlled herself, and recalled to mind her
father's instructions, that she should receive all his guests with a
dignity becoming the mistress of the house.
"Welcome, stranger," she said, as boldly as she could, though her voice
trembled, as she advanced a step or two. "My father will be here
immediately," she added; "allow me to procure a light."
"Nay, no light, fair maiden. Are you alone, here, in the castle?"
This question, in a deep, gruff voice, which struck her with its
subdued and mysterious tone, increased her alarm; and the tall, clumsy,
gigantic form advanced a few steps farther into the hall. She stepped
hastily back, and laid her hand on the latch of the kitchen-door, but
again took courage, and remained.
"Alone?" she repeated. "Nay: I am, it is true, a knight's daughter, but
I do not take upon myself to defend a royal fortress alone. If you wish
to see the garrison of the castle, you may do so in one moment."
"Let me not frighten you away, fair madden," said the stranger,
stepping back; "I have just come off the sea, and am not in train to
appear before fine women-folks. I am only an humble groom, sent hither
an my master's errand, to inquire whether Sir Lavé Little can shelter
his friends to-night; and whether a couple of royal hounds have not
arrived here this evening."
"My father's friends are welcome," replied the knight's daughter: "he
has gone out to meet them, and will be here forthwith. Of the hounds I
have heard nothing. If you are the strange gentleman's servant, you
shall immediately be provided for in the servants' hall."
She was about to lift the latch of the kitchen-door; but the stranger
raised his hand, almost menacingly. "Stay! No light. I go immediately,"
he muttered. "There are no strange guests here, then--no travellers
from Nyborg?"
"Not that I am aware of," replied Ingé; "but the castle is large, and,
although many royal soldiers be here, there is still room enough for
guests who are true to their king and country."
"Good. I shall bear my master this answer; and, if he is satisfied with
it, you shall soon see us. Farewell fair maiden. Although you do not
seem to wish that I should approach near you, I dare, nevertheless,
take my oath that you are as handsome as brave. You need not make an
alarm on my account, nor call the garrison together. I come here as a
good friend: my master's good friends are also thine." With these
words, be hastily departed through the door by which he had entered.
To prevent his re-entrance before there were lights and other persons
present, Lady Ingé first proceeded to lock the door after him. Then
calling her handmaids, she caused them to light all the wax-lights,
which were placed before bright shields, on the whitened walls of the
large hall. In the round side apartment, she ordered a table to be
spread for the mysterious guests who had been invited; and went,
herself, through the kitchen, to the castle-wards, to see that the
men-servants were present. She found them all, twelve in number, seated
at the supper-table, and returned to the kitchen without betraying her
anxiety. As soon as she had given the cooks and pantry-maids the
necessary orders, she retraced her steps, with evident composure, to
the lighted-up hall, withdrew the bolts from the front door, according
to the hospitable usage of the house, and desired two only of her
handmaidens to remain with her. They sat down, as usual, to their
sewing-table, and drew forth the various articles of feminine
handicraft they were busied upon. One of the maidens was a young,
lively girl, always full of news, and having much to tell. She looked
surprised at the numerous lights, and the sumptuous preparations, and
asked, inquisitively, who were the guests expected so late, and with
such unusual state.
"I know not," answered Ingé, in an indifferent tone. "But tell us
something new, little Elsie," she added, hastily, and seemingly to
amuse herself. "Have you heard anything lately concerning your
sweetheart? Does he come over to take you away this summer?"
"It will be some time to that yet, lady," replied Elsie, and
immediately broke off into her favourite topic. "He cares more about
his valiant master, at Möllerup, than about me, or all the girls in the
world. Since he has been with the marsk, in the Swedish war, he has
become somewhat proud; but I don't blame him for that: he can still say
he has helped to pull a king off his throne. You open your eyes, lady;
but it is, nevertheless, true and certain. Was not the Swedish king
dethroned? and by our valiant Marsk Andersen and his brave people? Mat
Jute is the marsk's right hand: he is almost as tall as his master, and
a daring fellow, you may trow. Shame fall it! were he not a poor
peasant's son, he would one day be a knight. But if he does not soon
let me hear from him," she continued, tossing back her head, "I shall
be no leaning-stick, indeed. If he no longer cares for little Elsie, I
shall bid him good-day, and look out for another. There are as brave
and handsome fellows in Zealand, and I am not exactly going to fall
sick for a Juttish landsknecht."
"You do not resemble your faithful namesake in the ballad," said Lady
Ingé--"she who fretted herself to death for Sir Aagé."
"It must certainly have been a long time since that happened, you well
may trow, my high-born lady. At present the world is wiser, and girls
are not so simple. Were they to fret themselves to death, now-a-days,
on account of young men's inconstancy, there would soon not be a living
maiden in the country. Nay, nay," she continued, humming over a song:--
"As, who that trusts the rotten bough,
So, she who trusts a young man's vow.
"As, who would grasp the eel, must fail,
So, she who trusts a young man's tale."
"This song is new," said Lady Ingé; "it is not so said in the old one:
there the faithful lovers are borne to the grave together."
"Much good might it do them!" exclaimed the maiden. "I cannot yet say
that I should be pleased, if Mat Jute were to die: a dead bridegroom
would never become a living one, were one to go ten times to the grave
with him."
"There must have been more fidelity in the olden times," said Ingé,
seriously. "It was better also for king and country. They must have
been happy people who then lived in Denmark."
"What happiness there was in dying of grief, noble lady, I cannot well
conceive; and what does it signify to the king and country, that there
is no constancy in a love-smit soldier?"
"I can tell you, little Elsie, that when there is no constancy in a
soldier in this respect, there is little in any other; and so he cannot
be depended upon when he is called on to defend the throne and the
realm. He who can forget and forsake his sweetheart, can still more
easily forget and forsake his master."
"By my troth, so does not Mat Jute," replied Elsie. "He would rather
slay every man alive, than permit any one to say a bad word concerning
his master. He once lifted his knife against me, on that very score,
though he vowed he loved me as the apple of his eye. He would not be
afraid to make a thrust at the king himself, if a regular war should
break out between him and the marsk."
"Are you mad, girl?" exclaimed Lady Ingé, in astonishment. "The marsk
is the king's subject. If he should wage war against the king, he would
be a traitor and shameless rebel."
"I do not understand that," said Elsie; "but this I know well, that if
the marsk could not have his wife secure against our king, when he was
waging war for him like a brave man, it is not so unreasonable, that,
as a brave man, he should feel angry, and do the best he can to right
himself."
"This is certainly a false and shameful rumour. A genuine Skiolding[17]
can never disgrace his high lineage."
"It is all the same to me," answered the maiden; "but I should be quite
as well satisfied if Mat Jute would only keep himself aloof from the
great and their quarrels. The small suffer at last, and he may one day
meet with some great mishap. I well remember how the ballad goes:--
"The knight, and eke his swain,
They rode from the Ting together:
The knight they let go free--
The swain they hanged in a tether."
"Let us rather sing one of the good old ballads, little Elsie," said
Lady Ingé, interrupting the light-minded maiden; "and lay rightly to
heart what you are singing, and so perhaps you may one day come to
recollect that you are a Danish girl."
"I can well bear that in mind," replied Elsie: "I can never understand
a word of German, and have trouble enough with the Jutlandish."
"But a Danish girl is true to her lover, and a Danish man deserts not
king or country. Do you remember the ballad of King Didrik? Let us sing
that."
Lady Ingé began, and her two handmaidens accompanied her:--
"The king he rules the castle,
And else he rules the land,
And he rules many a warrior bold,
With drawn sword in his hand:
For the king he rules the castle."
While they were singing, the door was opened; but Lady Ingé was
thinking only of the old heroic ballad that her mother had sung to her
when a child, and which always led her to fancy a king like Waldemar
the Great, and a castle like Flynderborg, where she was sitting, the
only castle she was acquainted with. The bold notes of the song, and
the remembrances of her childhood which it awakened within her, always
put her in a gay and happy frame of mind; and she felt herself secure
in the castle, which the king ruled with his warriors bold. Upon this
occasion, the song had the usual inspiriting effect. She had forgotten
all that so recently disturbed her: her eyes sparkled with lively
animation; and the maidens could only give ear to her, while she sang
alone, in her unusually deep-toned voice, in continuation:--
"Let the peasant rule his house and home,
His steed, the warrior bold--
The king of Denmark ruleth
The castle, keep, and hold.
For the king he rules the castle."
Lady Ingé and her maidens now for the first time noticed the tread of
spurred heels on the floor. They rose in astonishment, and Lady Ingé
with unwonted precipitation. They perceived three strangers in the
middle of the hall. One was in the dress of a huntsman, and the two
others were clad as citizens on a journey; nevertheless, under their
gray cloaks they had long swords, like those worn by knights. It was
Sir Rimaardson, with Drost Peter, and Sir Thorstenson. The mien and
expression of the fair songstress, on their entrance, astonished them;
and they remained standing, unwilling to interrupt her.
They now approached with much politeness, and saluted the knight's fair
daughter. Although they were not dressed as knights, their bearing and
manners instantly denoted them to be men of high station and dignity;
and Lady Ingé supposed them the distinguished guests of whom her father
had spoken. The first glance at their interesting and friendly
countenances gave her confidence.
"You are welcome, noble sirs," said she, with entire self-possession,
and returning their salute. "My father has been expecting you, and has
ridden out to meet you. You must have come by another road than he
anticipated. Your groom or squire has doubtless told you that there are
no strangers here?"
"We have only this instant arrived, noble lady," began Sir Thorstenson;
"and our squire could have told us nothing regarding the state of the
house, seeing that he has not yet penetrated farther than the stables.
That your father has expected us, we cannot at all suppose: indeed, we
thought we should have surprised him."
"To our astonishment, the gates were opened to us without any one
inquiring our name or business," said Sir Rimaardson. "This confidence
is flattering. Your song, fair maiden, we would not dare to disturb: it
was an assurance that, even although unknown, we should be welcome to
you, as men true to our king and country."
"For none else stands this castle open," replied Ingé. "Your names and
errand no one may presume to inquire about, noble sirs. You are
specially welcome to my father, I can assure you." So saying, she
regarded their manly, honest countenances with satisfaction and
confidence.
Drost Peter had not yet said a word, but stood perplexed, and almost
bashfully, before her, with a singular expression of surprise and
melancholy, and with a kind of dreamy pleasure in his calm, earnest
look.
"Step nearer, gentlemen," continued Lady Ingé, with a light heart, and
completely relieved from any doubt of disloyalty in her father's
connections, and from every uneasiness regarding the mysterious guests
expected: "you find here an open lady's room, where, truth to say, I am
glad to see the friends of my father, who can occupy his place in his
absence. He left me half an hour since, to return in an hour if he did
not meet you. A fellow, who represented himself as your groom, almost
frightened me in the dusk of the evening. The castle, at other times,
is never so accessible. Under these circumstances, you are to me the
more welcome. If you would please to take refreshment, gentlemen, it is
already prepared."
The knights looked at each other with astonishment.
"Some mistake must have occurred here, noble lady," said Sir
Rimaardson; "but, if you will permit us, we shall avail ourselves of
it, and defer the explanation until your father arrives."
"Permit me a question, noble lady," said Drost Peter, appearing at
length to wake from his sweet dream; his eyes, meanwhile, resting with
kindly interest on the maiden's open countenance and noble form; "and
pardon me if it is amiss. Is your Christian name Ingé? and are you the
daughter of the governor of this castle, Sir Lavé Little, and his noble
wife, deceased, the Lady Margarethé, Absalom Andersen's youngest
daughter?"
"You knew my mother, noble sir," exclaimed Lady Ingé, joyfully, and, in
her joy, forgetting his question and his singular solemnity of manner:
"but, nay, you could scarcely have known her, else you would have known
me also; for I am said to resemble my blessed mother exceedingly."
"I have seen your mother in my childhood," said the young drost; "but
she was then no longer young: she was, however, about your height. You
have inherited her eyes, noble lady, and, as I can hear, her deep,
sweet voice, and her fondness for our old heroic ballads. The one you
have just sung, I seem to have heard in my cradle: it recalls a time
when I had happy dreams about the days of our Waldemars, and of him who
ruled the castle, and so many warriors bold."
"That was no mere dream, noble knight," replied Ingé, with lively
interest. "That you and these good gentlemen are knights, I must permit
myself at once to believe, though I am not at liberty to put the
question. That the king, God be praised! still rules over every Danish
land and castle, and over many bold and doughty heroes, is no dream, I
know: this, at least, you and these good gentlemen will admit. If,
then, you have heard heroic ballads in your cradle, noble sir," she
added, with a look of confidence, "they have certainly not been sung in
vain."
Drost Peter blushed, but raised his eyes boldly, and with a look of
frankness. "If it please God and Our Lady," he said, "there is no dream
so marvellous that it cannot be fulfilled, and the good old times may
yet return."
A page now opened the door of the dining-hall.
"You have probably travelled far, and need refreshment," said Lady
Ingé, remembering her duty as housekeeper, and pointing to the opened
door.
Drost Peter, who was accustomed to courtly manners, involuntarily
offered his arm to the knight's daughter. She led him to the end of the
table, in the round turret apartment, and gave the maidens a signal for
their attendance. Sir Thorstenson and Sir Rimaardson followed the young
hostess, and Thorstenson took his place on her right hand. Two stately
pages set forth, on the fringed table-cloth, roast game and baked
barley-bread, while an active cupbearer took care to fill the wine-cups
from a large silver flagon. The two handmaidens stood respectfully
behind Lady Ingé's chair, with modest, downcast eyes, but ever and anon
contrived to cast a look of curiosity towards the strangers; the
handsome young drost, in particular, appearing much to attract them.
The conversation soon became general. Lady Ingé carefully guarded
herself against any expression that would appear to betray curiosity;
but still she would not have been displeased if her guests had chosen
voluntarily to discover who they were.
"The Dane-court is over, it is said," she remarked, when a fitting
pause ensued. "I regret that I have never been present at a Dane-court,
for one does not hear or see much in this lonely fortress. You must
have seen the king, noble sirs: I should like to know if he looks as I
picture him to myself."
"What kind of person do you fancy him, then, noble lady?" inquired Sir
Thorstenson. "I'll be bound you think him, at least, a head taller than
I am, and like King Didrik of Bern, or some other of those valiant
kings you sing about."
Lady Ingé looked at the tall knight with the long plaited beard. "More
valiant than you appear, he needs scarcely be," she answered; "but such
like I do not imagine him. At the head of a band of bold troopers, I
should think you were in your place; but--excuse me, sir knight--you
seem too hasty in your conduct to govern a kingdom."
Thorstenson stroked his beard. "In that you may be right, fair lady,"
he muttered; confirming, by his air of chagrin, the young lady's frank
expression.
"Were I to compare any of you with my idea of the king," continued Lady
Ingé "it would be this gentleman;" and her calm blue eyes rested
searchingly on Drost Peter. He started at the compliment, which a
playful smile seemed instantly to contradict. "But such a comparison
might not astonish you, noble sir," she continued, "if, instead of
deploring the departure of the days of the great Waldemars, you had
power to bring them back again."
The guests regarded with surprise the knight's young daughter, who
jested so good-humouredly; and, at the same time, with the dignity of a
princess, exercised over them a secret mastery, of which she did not
appear to be aware. Drost Peter's cheeks reddened; and he felt himself
both attracted and repelled, in a singular manner, by the bold,
composed girl. But, at her latter words, he seemed almost to forget
himself and his position, in a higher and more important thought.
"The power you speak of, noble lady," he commenced, with calmness and
earnestness, his large eyes sparkling with fire and energy--"that power
which shall recall to a people days of departed glory, you may well
miss, where it cannot be found save by a miracle. That power has no
knight or hero in Denmark--that power has no monarch in this world: it
must come from above, and it is not the lot of any single man to
possess and exercise it. If it flashes not from many thousand eyes
united, and pours not forth from every heart in Denmark, the greatest
king in the universe cannot raise the fallen, nor restore to the people
the lofty spirit of our ancestors."
"You may be right, noble sir," replied Lady Ingé, with an interest that
gave her cheeks a deeper tinge, and her eyes an almost dazzling
radiance; "but who has told you that this spirit is fled? Our king
himself I know not, and he is arrogantly blamed by many; but still I
know he has men by his side who boldly and bravely watch over the
security of the crown and the honour of the people. Among these, I may
venture to mention my own kinsman, the old Sir John: every Danish man,
I know, must respect him. Were the proud marsk, at Möllerup, as loyal
as he is brave, Denmark had yet perhaps an Axel Hvide, or a Count
Albert. David Thorstenson, too, I have heard named among the heroes of
our time; and you must certainly know, yourselves, many other names
which do honour to our age."
Sir Thorstenson nodded, and felt himself highly flattered to hear his
name among those of the young damsel's heroes. The adventure in which
he and his friends found themselves amused him greatly, and he took a
fancy to know the patriotic young lady's opinion of his comrades. "But
the best you forget, fair maiden," said he, merrily. "What say you of
Sir Bent Rimaardson, of Tornborg?"
"He guards our coasts like another Vetheman, they say: I and every
woman in Zealand have to thank him that we need not fear the wild
Norwegian algrev and the ruthless Niels Breakpeace."
Rimaardson bit his lips, and was silent in the presence of a renown
that his own eyes had so recently shown him to be unmerited.
Thorstenson wished to compensate for the failure of his joke, and
thought to give his other companion better cause to thank him for his
sally.
"But if you would name the eminent men of the king and country," said
he, hastily, "you ought, first and foremost, to have mentioned the
young Drost Peter Hessel, who so soon has had the good fortune to stand
so near the throne, and so deservedly."
Lady Ingé was silent for an instant, and her animation appeared
suddenly to be converted into coldness. A short and general silence
ensued; but to the young drost it was an eternity of torment. If he did
not expect to be extolled and admired by his childhood's bride, neither
did he expect to be, the object of her dislike and contempt.
"My father tarries long," said the knight's daughter, breaking the
irksome silence. "I am conversing with you, noble sirs, on matters
which probably are not befitting among strangers," she added. "But you
must excuse me, gentlemen. On certain subjects I forget, at times, that
my sex is seldom allowed the pleasure even of talking about the happy,
busy life in which we are not permitted to take an active part.
Respecting the person you last mentioned, you must allow me to be
silent. It matters little to him what a Danish maiden thinks of him, if
she cannot, like the queen, advance his power and fortune."
Drost Peter paled. He felt himself so deeply wounded with these words,
that he was on the point of making himself known, or, at least, of
defending himself against the last severe accusation; but, at that
moment, the door of the outer hall was opened, and well-known voices
were heard near at hand.
"The duke!" whispered Sir Rimaardson; and, to their surprise, they
perceived the duke with his drost, together with the algrev and Sir
Lavé, approaching the door of the dining-room.
Lady Ingé rose to receive her father and the new comers. The knights
also arose, and Thorstenson and Rimaardson looked doubtingly at each
other; but Drost Peter now felt himself entirely at his ease. The
injurious mistake had awakened all his pride; and the consciousness
that his own energy and merits had raised him to the honours he held,
gave him a boldness that bordered almost on insolence. He felt here all
the importance of his position, where, travelling on the king's errand,
he had right and power, if required, to act with royal authority. He
advanced towards the duke and his followers with politeness and
dignity, but without letting it appear that he knew them in the plain
gray cloaks in which they had wrapped themselves, as if they did not
wish to be recognised. He directed his salutation principally to Sir
Lavé, as governor and chief of the castle. The astonished Sir Lavé
instantly recognised the drost, and changed colour, but hastily took
occasion, from the drost's plain outer garment, to greet him as a
stranger of humble rank, that he had never before seen.
"I and these gentlemen are not unwelcome to you, then?" said Drost
Peter, while, without the least embarrassment, he presented to him his
travelling companions, without naming them. "We have, as you perceive,
sir knight, partaken of your hospitality without hesitation. We have,
besides, an errand to you, as royal governor here, which we shall
impart to you at your convenience."
Sir Lavé bowed, silently and distantly, with an anxious side look to
the duke and his followers, who did not appear the least surprised at
this meeting, and had hastily turned their backs towards Drost Peter
and his friends.
"We flatter ourselves that we are known to you," continued Drost Peter,
"notwithstanding the strange dress we prefer travelling in. The rumours
respecting the insecurity of the roads are not unfounded: we have had
serious proofs of that. You perceive that those good gentlemen there
have used the same precaution," he added, as he pointed to the duke and
Count Mindre-Alf, who, along with Sir Abildgaard, were engaged in
private conversation, in the dimmest part of the outer hall, and
closely wrapped in their large cloaks, with their backs towards the
dining-room.
Sir Lavé, in the meanwhile, had recovered himself. "Be pleased to
follow me to my private apartment, gentlemen," he said, with apparent
calmness. "I see my daughter has already cared for your entertainment;
I am, therefore, now at your service, and can hear your business
without interruption. Take care of my new guests, in the meantime, my
daughter."
He gave the servants a signal, on which they hastily took a wax-light
in each hand, and opened a little concealed door in the wall of the
circular dining-room. One of the servants led the way into a long dark
passage, whilst the other remained standing by the door.
"Let me show you the way," said Sir Lavé, going before them.
As soon as Drost Peter and his two companions had entered the dark
passage, the servant who had held the door open disappeared. It was
suddenly dark behind them, and the door closed with a hollow clang,
which made the knights start.
"This is a convenient arrangement," said Sir Lavé, in an indifferent
tone. "I must be prepared for all kinds of guests, you know. Gentlemen
like you, who come on important state affairs, I invariably converse
with as privately as possible, to avoid interruption."
The long passage led to the eastern wing of the castle, which projected
into the Sound. It was terminated by a narrow, vaulted, spiral
staircase.
"I must beg you to go one at a time here," said Sir Lavé: "the stair is
somewhat small, and you may be incommoded in getting a few steps
upwards. I often find this way troublesome; but one cannot be cautious
enough in these times, and a private message from the king must be
heard in private." As he spoke, he ascended hastily, without looking
behind him.
Drost Peter, who followed him closely, paused once or twice, and put a
few indifferent questions to him on the construction of the castle, at
the same time pointing behind him; but Sir Lavé continued to ascend,
and answered his inquiries without stopping or turning.
"Singular!" whispered Sir Rimaardson to Thorstenson. "Were he not the
brave John Little's kinsman, we should barely trust him. Saw you his
perplexity, and his look towards the duke?"
"If he betray us, it shall cost him his life," whispered Thorstenson,
laying his hand on the hilt of his sword: "he shall not go three
strides from us."
Drost Peter, observing that his companions whispered suspiciously
behind him, turned round, and laid his finger on his lips. "The wind is
still easterly," he remarked, in a careless tone: "nobody can well
think of crossing the Sound to-night."
"It is scarcely possible," replied Sir Lavé: "you must determine on
taking your abode with me to-night, gentlemen."
"That is not our intention," said Drost Peter: "beside, you have
guests, who probably have greater claims upon your hospitality, and
from whose society we necessarily detain you too long. Shall we soon
reach your private apartment, sir knight?"
"In a moment," he replied, as he redoubled his pace.
Drost Peter had mentally counted the number of steps, and had reckoned
the sixtieth, when they halted on a landing. An iron-studded door was
opened, and they entered a narrow turret-chamber, where there was only
a single window, which stood open, but was provided with strong iron
bars. The wax-lights flickered in the current of air, and the servant
lighted a large lantern suspended from the roof.
"Your closet almost resembles a prison," observed Drost Peter.
"It is sometimes used for that purpose," replied Sir Lavé: "it is the
most secure part of the castle. This tower, as you may perceive,
stands half in the water, but it commands an excellent view over the
Sound.----Now you may go," he said, turning to the servant: "nobody
must disturb us here. Desire my daughter and the strangers not to wait
for us."
The servant went out, and the knight locked the heavy door himself, and
put the key in his pocket.
"Now, I am quite at your service, gentlemen. What weighty message does
the king send me by three such important persons? Prudence forbade me
to recognise you sooner."
"We are sent by the king on a business of much consequence," said Drost
Peter, calmly and self-possessed; "and I, Drost Peter Hessel, am
authorised to demand active assistance from every royal governor in the
country. The object of our journey is a secret that no one is at
liberty to inquire into. But that you, Sir Lavé Little, as the king's
servant, and commandant of this castle, are bound, without objection,
to provide us with thirty armed men and a vessel, this letter patent,
to every royal governor in the country, will show you." So saying, he
handed the astonished knight an open letter to this effect, with which,
in addition to the royal warrants, he had taken care to provide
himself.
The knight perused the missive with evident uneasiness; taking a
considerable time to get through it, as if he found some difficulty in
deciphering the writing.
"I have nothing to object to this, sir drost," he said, at length. "A
ship and crew are at your service, whenever you choose to give the
order. But, as you have just remarked, in the present state of the wind
nobody can think of crossing the Sound."
"You perceive by the same letter royal," continued Drost Peter, "that I
am empowered, on my own authority, to demand aid from every royal
governor, to seize and conduct to Sjöberg whatever Danish knight or
vassal I may find on any suspicious business."
"I see so, with surprise," replied Sir Lavé. "But I still hope, sir
drost, that you do not mean to avail yourself of an authority so
extensive and arbitrary. Such a step, as you well know, is at variance
with the king's obligations to the laws and charters of the kingdom. He
cannot issue a letter to imprison any man, until he has been legally
accused before a provincial or state court of justice, and has had the
advantage of a legal trial."
"You forget the exceptions, Sir Lavé'," replied Drost Peter. "This
privilege extends not to rovers and criminals, and, of course, to
traitors least of all. Therefore, in virtue of this royal warrant, I
must demand of you, in the king's name, that you cause the castle to be
locked up, and deliver over to me, under safe escort, every stranger at
present within these walls."
Sir Lavé grew pale. "You are somewhat too harsh, sir drost," he said,
looking anxiously towards the window: "you would not compel me to
betray my guests? They are not accused of any crime; and, without
apprehending such treatment, they have confidingly entered beneath my
roof."
"This castle is not your's, but the king's," replied Drost Peter,
apparently striving to subdue a feeling of pity, as he regarded the
anxious castellan. "I fulfil a disagreeable duty," he continued; "but
where I meet the enemies of the king and country, I must insist on
their detention, without reference to personal feelings. One of these
gentlemen, moreover, to whom you have opened this royal castle, is an
open enemy of his country--that most notorious freebooter and
incendiary, the Count of Tönsberg."
"What say you? the algrev!" stammered the castellan, terrified, and
apparently highly astonished. "If that be true, then I am certainly to
blame. But I assure you that one of these gentlemen was quite unknown
to me: he came in the duke's train, and it is impossible I should
know--"
"I am willing to believe you, Sir Lavé, though appearances are against
you. You are not aware, then, that your illustrious friend and guest
has the famous pirate, Niels Breakpeace, with him, as his squire?"
"You alarm me, noble sir!" again stammered the castellan, in the
greatest embarrassment. "If I had suspected this, they had never set
foot within these walls. What is now to be done? If the castle is full
of traitors and pirates, our whole garrison is scarcely strong enough
to oppose them."
"By Satan! let _us_ take care of that," observed Thorstenson,
impatiently. "Lock up the doors straightway, now that you know our
errand."
"Courtesy I must beg of you for the present, and the matter must be
well considered," replied Sir Lavé, delaying. "With such powerful
criminals, it is a difficult business. I shall immediately give the
castle-warden a private signal to bar the gates, and prevent all
egress." He ran anxiously to the open grated window, and called out, in
a subdued voice, "Lock the gate, fellow! not a living soul must be
allowed to slip out!" He then took the key from his pocket, and struck
upon the gratings with it.
"Lock it yourself, rather," said Drost Peter, making a hasty movement
to take the key from his hand; but, at the same instant, they heard a
clank on the stones in the water beneath the tower.
"What have you done, sir drost!" exclaimed Sir Lavé, as if in the
highest degree terrified: "you have knocked the key out of my hand, and
now we are all prisoners here. The Sound roars loud, and not a soul can
hear us, as no one ventures near enough to this turret to liberate us.
And my daughter--my poor child--is now alone, amidst these traitors
and rievers." All started.
"Your daughter!" exclaimed Drost Peter, with great uneasiness. "Nay,
nay," he added, with more composure, "the traitors and rievers will
respect her. The duke and his drost are not rude and shameless
criminals, although they have niddings in their train. If you had
feared for your daughter, Sir Lavé, you would scarcely have brought
home such dangerous guests, and perhaps would not so readily have lost
the key of our prison here."
Sir Lavé was silent, and walked uneasily backwards and forwards.
Drost Peter and Sir Rimaardson observed the anxious castellan with
scrutinising looks, betraying, at the same time, their indignation at
this singular imprisonment at a moment of such great importance. None
of them any longer doubted that the duke had recognised them, and
suspected the object of their journey. It was, therefore, probable that
he would now seize on every means of escape, to carry out his daring
plans.
A suspicion of this had first crossed Drost Peter and his friends on
their way to the tower; and Thorstenson and Rimaardson had, therefore,
nodded to each other approvingly, when they heard the drost's bold
determination, on his own responsibility, to seize the duke on the
spot, notwithstanding that the royal warrant, strictly speaking,
required them to defer this step until they encountered the duke on
Swedish ground. This new and daring plan was now rendered impossible;
and, while the castellan shared the imprisonment of his unwelcome
guests, the duke and his dangerous train would, in all likelihood,
place themselves in complete security.
While such thoughts as these flashed rapidly athwart the minds of Drost
Peter and the cool Sir Rimaardson, Thorstenson gave vent to his
indignation, and broke out into the most violent invectives against the
troubled castellan, whom he did not hesitate to designate as a crafty
traitor, and an abettor of rebels and foreign pirates. He immediately
endeavoured to break open the door, and beat against it, like a madman,
with his iron-heeled boots, but in vain.
"Open the door on the instant!" he roared, at the same time drawing his
long sword; "or, by St. Canute, it shall cost your life, you cowardly,
crafty cheat!"
At his terrible threat, Sir Lavé sprang towards Drost Peter.
"It is impossible!" he stammered, in terror. "Protect me from this
madman, sir drost, until I can myself defend my life and honour. You
can bear witness that it is not I, but yourself, who have caused our
present imprisonment."
"For what has happened here, this gentleman shall be answerable when we
demand it," said Drost Peter, placing himself between Sir Lavé and the
enraged Thorstenson. "The commandant, as you perceive, is unarmed,
noble knight. Whatever may have been his conduct in this affair, he now
stands sheltered by the laws of chivalry and my protection. Let us
endeavour, with our united strength, to burst our prison-door. If we do
not succeed, we must be patient until we can procure aid."
"You are right, sir drost," muttered Thorstenson, sheathing his sword;
"niddings are never safer than when they go unarmed amongst honest men.
Let us now make a rush at the door together, and it may give way. Put
forth your strength, sir commandant, and let us see you do not spare
your boot-heels. You can then say, for your honour, that you have
fought with your heels."
Without answering this sarcasm, Sir Lavé, apparently with his utmost
effort, together with the three other knights, applied themselves to
the iron-studded door. The united shock made a fearful noise, which
rolled like thunder among the arches of the lonely tower; but as the
door turned inwards, and was provided with strong oaken posts, it was
not to be forced open in this fashion.
Greatly embittered, Thorstenson went to the window-grating, and
shouted, as if he would awaken the dead--"Up hither, fellow! or it may
cost your master, the commandant, his life."
But there was no reply. The restless Sound roared loudly beneath, and
no sign of a human being was to be seen on this side the tower, in the
stormy, murky night.
In the meantime, Lady Ingé, in her father's absence, had taken care of
the last-arrived guests, and invited them to the newly-furnished board.
As soon as the duke and his followers observed that their cautious host
had rid them of unexpected and disagreeable company, they relied upon
his cunning, and resolved to await his return, or, at least, to remain
quiet until Niels Breakpeace brought word that they might set sail.
They had thrown aside their gray cloaks, and shown themselves, before
their fair hostess, in their dress as knights.
The young duke, with politeness and princely grace, took his seat at
table, and on the young hostess' left hand. Sir Abildgaard took
Rimaardson's vacated seat; and the daring Norse freebooter stretched
himself rudely on the chair where Thorstenson had been sitting.
The strangers had not announced themselves; but, on their entrance,
Lady Ingé had heard Rimaardson's subdued exclamation of surprise--'The
duke!' and she surmised, with secret dread, that one of them must be
the, to her, hateful Duke Waldemar of South Jutland. Any other duke she
had not heard mentioned; and what was told her of Duke Waldemar's
ambitious and dangerous designs against the crown and kingdom, had
inspired her with so unfavourable an opinion of this personage, that
she had conceived as repulsive a picture of his appearance as was
possible. When she heard him mentioned among her father's new guests,
it inspired her with so much fear, that she had difficulty in
concealing it; and, when her father left the room with the three other
gentlemen, it cost her a great effort to fulfil, with apparent
calmness, her duties as mistress of the house, towards these dangerous
visitors, whose secret connection with her father filled her soul with
painful alarm.
Reserved, and sparing in her words, she now sat at table among them,
and only partially heard all the polite remarks which the duke and his
drost strove, in emulation, to address to her. These two personages
appeared to engross the smallest share of her attention, although their
easy, unconstrained manners denoted them to be fine, courtly gentlemen.
Their thoughtless countenances, and the trifling conversation in which
they indulged, did not appear to her to indicate men who could be
dangerous; and she deemed it impossible that, in either of them, she
saw the daring duke. At the same time, she believed it certain that, in
their companion, she beheld the hated pursuer of the king's life and
crown. He had not yet spoken a word; but his sharp look, and bold and
impudent features, betokened a craftiness and an audacity without
parallel.
With politeness, but without interest, Lady Ingé replied to the duke's
questions--whether she had ever been at court, whether she liked
dancing and tournaments, hawking or chess, and how she amused herself
in this solitary castle? She did not appear to notice the duke's
admiration of her beauty, and his easy, flattering remarks thereupon
to his drost. On the contrary, she gave closer heed to the short,
stout-built personage at the corner of the table on her right, who was
equipped, partly as a seaman, and partly as a knight of princely blood.
He had stretched himself, with vulgar carelessness, upon his seat, and
his fierce-looking eyes ran round the hall, as if he did not feel
himself quite secure, and, at the same time, had a contempt of danger.
His broad, low, animal forehead, was indicative of energy and defiance;
his short, crisped, sandy-coloured hair united with his matted beard,
and concealed his brutish, almost hideous under-jaw. His wide mouth was
greedily distended, and only half concealed two rows of strong,
shining, white teeth. His wild, rolling eyes met almost close to his
crooked nose, and lay deeply buried under a pair of bushy eyebrows. He
ate rapidly, gnawing, with a species of ravenousness, the largest
bones; while his sinewy hand often rested on a dagger-hilt, set with
precious stones. Whenever he raised the cup to his mouth, which was not
seldom, he drained it to the bottom. He appeared at length to have
satisfied his hunger and thirst. His brown cheeks were heated and
flushed with wine, and he began to cast lewd and impudent glances, now
at Lady Ingé, and now at her handmaids, as if comparing them, in order
to decide upon which his choice should fall.
"Now for pleasure, gentlemen," he broke forth at length, in a rough,
harsh voice, and in a singing Norwegian pronunciation. "What signify
your fine manners on a journey? and why stand the pretty wenches behind
the lady's chair? Take you the demure flat-nose, sir drost; I will hold
to the little roguish brunette; and thus we shall allow his grace to
retain the high-born, proud damsel for his own share."
He seemed about to rise, and the two handmaids, frightened, retreated a
step.
Lady Ingé was also alarmed, but she overcame her fear in an instant.
The guest's impudence, and his rude tones, provoked her. From his
foreign accent, she immediately knew that he was not the duke. With a
contemptuous look towards the unmanneredly freebooter, she rose from
the table, and turned, with calm dignity, to the other two gentlemen.
"One of _you_ must be the duke, then," said she; "and I am glad of it;
though, as the daughter of a Danish knight, I cannot rejoice to see a
man here who dares to revolt against the Danish crown. But, whichever
of you may be he, I appeal to him to protect me from the insolence of
that rude man, who is probably one of your grooms."
"Satan fetch the saucy minx!" exclaimed the pirate chief, laughing.
"Take you me for a groom, proud maiden, because I do not relish fine
talking, like these polite courtiers? When needful, I understand that
art, too; and, spite of any one, not a queen shall think herself too
good to sit at table with the Count of Tönsberg, or to embrace him."
"Recollect yourself, brave count," said the duke, in a tone of
authority, and rising: "we are not on board, nor in a tavern, but in
the house of an honourable knight, and one of my friends. This lady and
her handmaids are under my protection here."
"What the fiend! my young big-nosed duke, are you already tired of good
fellowship, and desire a quarrel?" growled the algrev, projecting his
legs, while he leant back on his chair, with his arms folded on his
breast. "I would rather advise you not to try such a joke. The Count of
Tönsberg can sup broth out of the same dish with both a Norse and
Swedish king, and has not need to make himself a dog for the favour. I
am not to be cowed by the biggest emperor in the world, least of all by
a little duke. As I sit here, I will undertake to turn you and your
genteel drost heels over head, if you have a mind to know whether you
or the algrev is the strongest."
The duke grew pale with indignation. Sir Abildgaard sprang up, and
placed himself, with his hand upon his sword, by the duke's side.
"Call the house-carls," said Lady Ingé to her maidens; and the
frightened girls, screaming, ran out of the room to give the alarm: the
lofty, earnest maiden herself remained standing, and regarded the
enraged men with attention.
"This is not the time and place to prove our strength, Count Alf; and I
am no boatman, who will drag a rope against a seahorse," said the duke,
with supreme contempt, and laying his hand on his sword. "The wine has
proved too strong for you; and what you say to-night, you will scarcely
repeat tomorrow. If you were to bear in mind where we are, and what
kind of a wind we have, you would perhaps come to your senses," he
added, in a haughty, threatening tone. "Here, the Count of Tönsberg is
of no more avail than Niels Breakpeace, or any other vile highwayman;
and if you do not wish to prove your strength with Danish gaolers, and
measure your height with the gallows of Orekrog, you will tame your
unbridled, berserk[18] courage, without the aid of the house-carls and
castle-warden."
They already heard a noise without, and the kitchen-door flew open.
"Bar the passage!" cried Lady Ingé; and the kitchen-door was again
closed.
The eyes of the maddened freebooter rolled wildly in his head. He
seized a massive silver trencher from the table, and seemed about to
hurl it at the duke's head; but, recollecting himself, he was satisfied
with twisting the heavy salver into the form of a rope. When he had
thus vented his rage, and given his opponents an astonishing proof of
his enormous strength, he appeared entirely calm and pacified.
"People don't understand joking in Denmark," he muttered. "We Norse
sea-dogs are not accustomed to weigh words. Be at your ease, proud
maiden; and sit you quietly down again, my noble young gentlemen. The
wine, perhaps, runs a little in my noddle, and so I don't like
standing. We sit here tolerably snug. But where is she off to, the
little roguish brunette? Let her come hither, and pour out for me; and,
death and the devil! you may have all the others: but the first
house-carl that sets foot in the room, I will fell him like an ox!"
He now appeared drowsy and heavy-headed, and lolled comfortably back on
his chair, as if he would go to sleep; but still kept his eyes half
open, whilst his left hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, and in his
right was clenched the silver trencher, which he had converted into a
heavy truncheon.
"He is inebriated, as you perceive, noble lady," now said the duke,
softly, to Ingé, while he offered her his arm, and led her into the
farther hall. "Pardon us for having brought with us this rude
travelling companion, who is, otherwise, a brave Norse knight, and of
noble birth; but, when in this state, there is no controlling him: he
becomes crazy, and fancies himself the powerful freebooter, Count
Mindre-Alf of Tönsberg. We must, at such times, talk to him after his
own fashion; and, in order to tame him, threaten him with rack and
gibbet. He will not now rise from the drinking-table so long as there
is a drop in the flagon, and therefore we can leave him. When he falls
fast asleep, he will suffer himself to be carried on board, like a log,
without moving. To-morrow, he will again be the smartest knight in the
universe, if he does not dream that he has been Count of Tönsberg
to-night."
"It is a singular weakness for a man so strong," replied Lady Ingé,
examining the duke with an earnest, penetrating look: "perhaps, also,
it was in consequence of his intoxication that he took you for the
duke?"
"Nay: there he was right, noble lady. I am truly Duke Waldemar; and,
although I am not welcome to you, your father has received me as his
guest. For his sake, as well as for mine, I pray you to send the
house-carls back, and not betray this private visit by any needless
alarm. Notwithstanding that I feel confident of being able to justify
myself against every accusation, I am at this moment misunderstood, and
under pursuit. It may coat your father his life, if people here should
recognise me."
Lady Ingé tottered and grew pale. The servants of the house had, in the
meanwhile, barred all egress, and some of them now came, storming
noisily, into the hall.
"Back!" cried Lady Ingé, suddenly recovering herself, and stepping with
calm authority towards them: "it was a mistake. There is no danger at
present. These are peaceful travellers, and my father's friends. One of
them has become intoxicated, and has frightened us with his wild
raving. You may return to the castle-stairs, and remain quiet until I
call; but three of you remain in the kitchen."
The house-carls obeyed, and went back; but the frightened handmaidens
did not venture to show themselves, and Ingé remained alone with the
duke and his drost.
"You are Duke Waldemar, then?" she said, regarding the proud young
nobleman with a composed and searching look, while she placed herself
so near to the kitchen-door that she could open it whenever she
chose. "Your drunken comrade within is likewise the open enemy of the
country--the notorious Norse freebooter and incendiary; your groom is
also a riever; and yet, with such a train, you dare to make yourself a
guest in a royal castle! You have betrayed my father: his life is,
perhaps, in danger. Where he has gone, you must know better than I. The
pursuers you speak of are probably here, in the castle. It is to me a
fearful riddle; but this I know, that at this instant I am mistress of
your freedom."
The duke started, and looked at the lofty, earnest girl with
astonishment; while Sir Abildgaard glanced uneasily round him, and made
an involuntary movement towards the door.
"The passage is barred," continued Lady Ingé; "but it costs me only a
nod, and it stands open to you. Promise me, Duke Waldemar, truly and
piously, that, from this time forth, you will undertake no enterprise
against the kingdom and country, and I shall then no longer prevent
your departure from this castle; but if you cannot or will not promise
me this, I instantly call the house-carls to seize you, as the
accomplices of this audacious freebooter."
The duke and Sir Abildgaard regarded each other with the highest
astonishment, and, for a moment, both appeared irresolute.
"Excellent!" exclaimed the duke, at length, in a gay and courtly tone
of politeness: "to a lady's humour we may, with all honour, give way."
But observing Lady Ingé's beautiful, serious countenance and determined
mien, he suddenly changed his manner. "I promise you, noble lady," he
continued, solemnly, "that I shall take no step that I do not hope to
be able to defend, before the Danish people, at every legal tribunal.
My conduct you cannot pronounce sentence upon; and you have no other
right or power to be our mistress here than we freely concede to your
beauty and patriotic spirit. If, then, you would not place your own
father in peril of death, you will allow the castle to be opened for
us, and not betray to any one what guests have been here."
Lady Ingé was silent. A mighty conflict seemed violently to agitate
her bosom: she held one hand tremblingly before her eyes, and, with
the other, indicated that they might depart. She then opened the
kitchen-door, and gave the house-servants orders to re-open the barred
passages.
The door of the fore-hall was immediately opened, and she perceived,
standing in the doorway, the same clumsy-looking fellow who had so much
alarmed her, at dusk, with his wild, brutish countenance.
"It blows south-east, and we can sail," said he: "all is clear."
"Good," answered the duke: "we are ready. Take care of the gentleman
within. Farewell, noble lady," he continued, turning to the knight's
fair daughter, with a genuine expression of respect: "I am sorry I must
number you among my foes; but I shall never forget this hour, and never
cease to esteem and admire you. Had Denmark many such women, scarcely
any man would need to boast of his valour." With these flattering
words, he raised her hand to his lips, bowed politely, and, with his
drost, hastened from the door.
The tall, rude groom had, in the meanwhile, according to the duke's
instructions, proceeded to the dining-room, where he first made free
with what remained in the wine-flagons. He then put all the silver
goblets into his pocket, and, taking the sleeping algrev's silver
truncheon from his hand, he placed it among the rest of his booty. He
then disposed himself to lift the drunken gentleman upon his shoulder.
"It is not needful, Niels," whispered the algrev: "I am not so drunk
but that I can well walk; yet I have been drinking stupidly, and must
allow I have enough. So just take me under your arm, and let us off to
sea."
He thereupon began to growl forth a snatch of some wanton song, and,
resting on the arm of his sturdy comrade, reeled into the next
apartment. Here Ingé was still standing, with her hand on the latch of
the kitchen-door.
"A proud little tit-bit, Niels," whispered the algrev to his rough
attendant. "Could we but take her with us, we should not leave Zealand
without a prime booty."
"It would be an easy matter for me to whip her up," whispered Niels;
"but, should she scream, we are betrayed. Ill birds are about already."
"The fiend take the proud wench, then! I would rather have the little
roguish brunette. But let the birds fly. Farewell, proud lady," he
said, aloud, as, staggering towards her, he kissed his finger. "Salute
our good friend, your worthy father. Thank him handsomely, for having
allowed us to drink a goblet here in peace, and put the hounds on a
false scent."
Lady Ingé answered not: she stood, as if rivetted to the floor with
terror; and, as soon as the fearful guests were gone, she bolted the
door after them. Exhausted by these unusual efforts, she sank on a
chair, almost unconscious. She still appeared to hear footsteps in the
court-yard of the castle; but soon all was still, and the castle-gates
were shut with a hollow sound. The noise aroused her from her stupor,
and, collecting her strength, she tried to recall what had happened.
The idea of her father's connection with the terrible guests fell on
her soul like an enormous burden. A flood of tears burst suddenly from
her eyes, and she wrung her hands in deep and boundless grief.
"But where is he?" she broke out again, in anguish; "and where are the
three brave men who went with him?" The angry sea-rover's parting words
occurred to her, and she made a hurried movement towards the door,
without exactly knowing what she intended to do.
At this moment, she heard a loud knocking at the front hall-door. She
started, but did not long hesitate, and withdrew the bolts. An active
stranger youth, in the habit of a squire, entered, and saluted her
respectfully. It was Claus Skirmen.
"Be not alarmed, lady," he said, hastily; "but may I inform you, if you
do not know it already, that there are pirates in the castle; whilst my
master, and the two knights who came with him, together with the
governor of the castle himself, are shut up in the eastern tower."
"Shut up by pirates! my father imprisoned!" exclaimed Lady Ingé, with a
burst of joy, incomprehensible to the young squire. "Are you certain
the pirates have shut him up? and how know you it?"
"Who has locked them in, I know not," replied Skirmen; "but, noble
lady, understand me rightly: they are prisoners in the tower. I was out
on the beach, washing our horses, when I heard some one shouting from
above, and I rode out of the water towards the tower, in the direction
from whence the sound came. They bade me look about, right under the
tower, for a prison-key: it was lying, fortunately, upon a great stone,
and here it is; but the entrance to the tower I could not discover. In
the court-yard they were shouting that pirates are here, and I could
not be heard."
"Give it me!" exclaimed Lady Ingé, anxiously snatching it from the
squire's hand. "Bring the lantern from the stable: make haste!" And she
hurried out across the court-yard, while Skirmen ran to the stable for
the lantern.
In the castle-yard there was a great noise. The servants were all in
commotion, and the old warden came towards her in great terror. "Ah,
God pity us!" he whined: "the vile sea-cats! Has any misfortune
happened, lady?"
"My father is imprisoned," she hastily replied, "and the strangers are
gone. Unlock the eastern tower for us."
"Ah, God pity us!" whined the warden, once more, and hurried to the
tower. "It was by your father's orders I locked his friends both in and
out, and asked them neither their names nor errand. That Satan who last
went out wrenched the key of the castle-gate from my hand, and opened
it before my very nose. They must have been rovers and heretics. I saw
them, from the castle-walls, hoist sail, and leave the haven, taking
the direction of Scania--and in this flying storm, too. God grant that
they may go to the bottom, neck and crop!"
"My father is locked in," exclaimed Lady Ingé, impatiently: "instantly
open the tower for us, I say."
"Ah, the infernal rogues! have they locked the governor in? God grant
they may sink!" cried the old man, obeying.
"Hence now, hammer and tongs, and break open the gates of the
tower--despatch!"
The tower-gate was now open. Skirmen came with the lantern, and hastily
preceded Ingé up the narrow, winding staircase. When she reached the
top, she heard high words within the prison, and recognised the voices
of her father and the strangers.
"This treason you shall pay for, Sir Lavé!" she heard exclaimed by a
harsh-toned voice, which she recognised as that of the stranger with
the large plaited beard. "If Drost Hessel will still be your defender,"
continued the angry speaker, "he cannot save your life when I denounce
you, and prove you to be a traitor to the country."
At these words, which only seemed to confirm her own cruel suspicions,
the unhappy daughter was well nigh sinking upon the spot. The name of
Drost Hessel had also attracted her attention in the highest degree,
and the key fell from her hands. It rolled a few steps downwards, and
Skirmen picked it up.
"Still, there is no proof of so heinous a crime," she now heard uttered
in the voice of the young gentleman who had known her mother, and who
had seemed to her so kingly. "Appearances are very much against you,
Sir Lavé," continued the same voice; "but we ought to think the best of
Sir John's kinsman as long as possible; and for what has yet happened
here, no one can legally condemn you."
At these words, a gleam of hope lighted up the soul of the magnanimous
daughter. "Yes, he may still be innocent!" she exclaimed, hastily
thrusting into the lock the key which Skirmen had handed to her. The
door was instantly opened, and the sight of the courageous girl
astonished the knights. Her father appeared still more surprised to see
her.
"Are the strangers still here?" he hastily inquired.
"Nay," replied the daughter, scarcely daring to look in her father's
face, lest she should read in his manner a confirmation of the crime
that she still hoped was a matter of doubt.
"Ha! escaped! Perdition seize them!" exclaimed Thorstenson, stamping
with rage. "Now, the object of our detention is clear enough."
"Do you know whether they have gone seawards or landwards, noble lady?"
inquired Drost Peter. "Can you tell us, with certainty, which route
they have taken? Your word is my surety that they are withdrawn, and
are not concealed within these walls."
Lady Ingé was about to answer, but her father seized her hastily by the
arm.
"Be thou silent, my daughter!" he commanded her, in a sterner tone than
he was wont at other times to use. "My persecuted guests, as you hear,
are no longer in the castle," he said, turning to the knights, and
suddenly becoming bold and determined. "It is now your affair to pursue
them farther, if you believe yourselves authorised to do so. I am
obliged to furnish you with fighting-men, and to provide you with a
sea-boat, if you demand it; but not to be a spy and an accuser. To such
meanness you shall not compel my daughter; and none of my people in the
castle shall give evidence in this matter until they are summoned to
the Lands-Ting, and in presence of their lawful judges. That I have
received the king's own kinsman, Duke Waldemar of South Jutland, into
this castle, I need neither deny nor feel ashamed of. I know of no
sentence passed upon him, as an enemy to the king or the country. Whom
he had in his train I know not, nor does it concern me. His servants
and followers were my guests, as well as he. I am glad that this
singular accident has saved him from a pursuit which I consider to be
alike illegal and tyrannical."
Thorstenson and Rimaardson looked with wonder on the previously
desponding castellan. Thorstenson struck his sword wrathfully on the
stone floor; but Drost Peter advanced calmly towards him.
"This concerns the safety of the crown and kingdom," he remarked,
sternly and gravely. "What has happened may be regarded as an accident,
and I do not intend to make Sir Lavé Little answerable for it. But if
you, Lady Ingé Little, know where the traitors and their piratical
train have gone, I, Drost Peter Hessel, demand of you, in the name of
your king and country, to reveal it, that we may not, by a bootless
journey, expose the royal house and the nation to the greatest peril."
Sir Lavé grew pale, and Lady Ingé regarded the authoritative young
drost with wondering eyes. She saw her father's embarrassment, and
observed a secret sign he gave her, by pointing towards the west; but
her resolution was taken.
"If you are Drost Peter Hessel," she said, calmly and firmly, "I know
that you have royal power and authority to demand faithful testimony
from every loyal subject. As a knight's free daughter, I cannot debase
myself by becoming a spy and an accuser, least of all, by betraying my
father's friends and guests. But the persons you speak of cannot be my
father's friends. They have not come as guests, but as disguised
robbers. According to the warden's account, who himself has seen them,
they are fled over the Sound, towards Sweden."
"In the name of our king and country, I thank you for this important
evidence, noble Lady Ingé," said Drost. Peter, taking her hand warmly.
"Yet a word in my own name, in the presence of your father, and of
these brave men. I hope the time may yet come, when you will as little
mistake Drost Peter Hessel's heart and conduct, as you now do his
fealty to his king and country. If you do not reject the hand which I
now give as a friend, it will be my greatest pride and happiness to
proffer it to you hereafter with a dearer title."
"Never, never shall that time come, as long as my eyes are open!"
exclaimed Sir Lavé, bitterly, and tearing their hands asunder.
"Silence, and go to your chamber, my daughter, I command you!"
Lady Ingé cast a look of fervent esteem towards her childhood's
bridegroom; and saluting him and his friends with silence and dignified
composure, she departed.
Skirmen ran down the stairs before her with the lantern, and across the
court-yard. On his return, his master and both the knights had already
gone out of the opened castle-gate. He hastened to bring their horses
from the stable, and followed his master. He rejoined them on the quay,
where Sir Lavé commanded the ferrymen to convey the gentlemen, in their
fleetest sloop, and without delay, to Helsingborg. Thirty men of the
castle garrison stood armed on the quay, and received the castellan's
orders to follow and obey the strangers. Having done this, Sir Lavé
took a short and cold leave of Drost Peter and Sir Rimaardson. To Sir
Thorstenson he silently handed his glove, and returned, with hasty and
troubled steps, to the castle. Thorstenson flung the glove
contemptuously after him, and leaped on board.
In a brief space, the knights, with their armed followers, were
embarked. Skirmen took charge of the horses. The wind was blowing
strong from the south. Drost Peter placed himself at the helm, and
ordered all sails to be set; and the sloop dashed along at a rapid
rate, cutting through the troubled waters of the Sound.
The night was intensely dark, a few stars only being visible. They
steered in the direction of Helsingborg, Drost Peter sitting silently
at the rudder; while Thorstenson, exasperated, paced up and down the
deck with Rimaardson, giving vent to his indignation against the crafty
castellan.
"Who would have believed it of him?" he growled: "I always took him for
a flounder, and thought it his only claim to be governor of Flounder
Castle."[19]
"Do not speak so loud, noble knight," whispered Rimaardson. "They are
his people we have on board; and see you not how they lay their heads
together? Should mutiny break out in the ship during this murky night,
our condition then may be worse than that we have just escaped from."
"The first man that grumbles, I shall cut down," muttered Thorstenson.
"Every Dane has not yet become a traitor."
Skirmen now ascended from the hold of the vessel, and approached his
grave master, who sat thoughtfully, with his arm over the rudder, now
and then casting back a look to the huge dark castle, where a single
light only was visible, shining from a turret-chamber in the
south-eastern angle. There, he knew that Lady Ingé, in her childhood,
had her apartment; and there, as children, they had often played
together.
"Master," said Skirmen, advancing a little nearer, "be not offended if
I disturb you in the midst of important thoughts. But steer you not
rather too much to the south?"
"You are right, Skirmen," answered Drost Peter, hastily turning the
helm: "yes, this must be the right course. It is dark, and we need to
have our eyes about us. Fortunately, I can see the light, yonder. Now,
tell me somewhat. You followed the lady from the tower. How was she
affected? Did she converse with you?"
"Not a word, sir, until I had set down the lantern, and was about to
depart: then, indeed, she asked me if I was your squire."
"And what did you answer?" asked the drost, hastily.
"Eh? what could I answer save 'yes,' sir? But now, are you not steering
rather southerly again?"
Drost Peter hastily corrected his error. "Said she nothing more to
you?" he resumed, after a pause.
"Ay, true: as she was entering the door, she dropped her red hair-band,
which I picked up, and restored to her. That I might not appear a lout,
without a word to say, I remarked that she wore the queen's colours as
well as my master, the drost. I perceived that she started on hearing
this; on which I drew myself up a little; for I know it is an honour
that no knight but yourself can boast."
"Stupidity--cursed bravado!" exclaimed Drost Peter, with unusual
vehemence. "Moreover, it is untrue: I no longer wear the queen's
colours."
"That I knew not, stern sir. You wore them, however, when we travelled
from Melfert."
"But now, as I tell you, I no longer wear them; and, for the sake of
bragging, you should say nothing but what you know for certain to be
true."
Skirmen was abashed, and remained silent.
"And what said she to this stupid boasting?" continued Drost Peter, in
a milder tone.
"Nothing, stern sir. Yet it occurred to me, that she was much moved
thereat.----But be not angry, stern sir: the helm is a little wrong
again."
"Certainly not: let me attend to that. Moved, say you? Why think you
she was moved? What foolish talk is this?"
"Truly by this, my master: she turned away from me, blushed deeply,
and, as it seemed to me, there were tears in her eyes."
"Nonsense, Skirmen! you must have mistaken.--Spring forwards, and put
that sail to rights!"
Skirmen hastened to obey his master's order, although he could not
conceive why he was so singularly abrupt and abstracted.
The young drost heaved a deep sigh, and looked back once more for the
light in the turret-window. It was no longer to be seen; and it seemed
to him as if, with that distant light, the fair, newly-risen star was
also extinguished from his childhood's heaven.
The wind now blew strong, and they already began to perceive lights on
the Swedish coast, when suddenly a wild shout was heard on board, and
torches flared in the midst of clashing swords and lances. Drost Peter,
surprised, sprang from the helm, and saw, with consternation, Sir
Thorstenson and Sir Rimaardson engaged in fierce conflict with the
thirty lancers from Flynderborg.
Drost Peter threw himself with drawn sword amidst the combatants.
"Peace here, in the king's name, or you are dead men!" he commanded, in
a voice which, without being alarming, had singular weight and
authority. They all paused, and gazed at him. Even the maddened Sir
Thorstenson, who had felled one man and wounded another, subdued his
rage, and stood quietly.
"Speak! what has happened?" demanded the drost. "Here, I am supreme
judge."
"Rebellion--mutiny!" cried Thorstenson: "there lies the ringleader."
"They think that we have arbitrarily compelled the commandant, and that
we are leading them into mischief," said Rimaardson.
The uproarious landsknechts pressed forward, uttering defiance, and
shouting lustily to one another: "We are free Danes, and will not
suffer ourselves to be cowed by three rovers. We know well enough, that
you would have murdered the castellan in the tower; and here are we,
carried off in the murky night, like cattle for slaughter, and no one
knows whither."
"Silence!" cried the drost. "Is there any one amongst you who knows the
king's hand and seal?"
"That does wise Christen--yes, that does Christen Fynbo," cried the
fellows.
"Let him come hither, then," commanded the drost, taking forth the
royal warrant addressed to governors of castles. "A torch here! and now
attend." He then read aloud, and distinctly, the order that he should
be supplied with a force, whenever it should be demanded. "There you
see the king's seal and signature."
"It is well attested, comrades," said the book-learned Fynbo; and the
greater number were pacified: still, a few solitary murmurs were heard.
"Now you have seen black on white for our right and authority,
fellows," continued Drost Peter, sternly; "but, even without this, you
ought to obey, when your governor has commanded you. Meantime are you
all my prisoners: I cannot employ fellows like you in the king's
service. Your leader has met with his reward. Cast him overboard, and
let the fish devour him. The rest of you lay down your arms
immediately."
The soldiers delayed, and a subdued murmur ran among them.
"Do you hesitate?" cried the drost. "Will you be doomed as traitors?
Cast the rebel's corpse overboard: his sentence is passed here--God be
merciful to his soul!"
Two of the landsknechts, who stood nearest the drost, silently laid
hold of the body of their fallen comrade, and heaved it overboard. It
splashed into the deep, and for a moment there was a fearful silence.
No one, however, had yet laid down his weapon.
"You have been misled, and in a mistake, countrymen," said the drost,
in a milder tone: "I shall intercede for you, for this time. But, now,
instantly lay down your arms, and descend quietly to the forehold.
Whoever murmurs, forfeits his life."
The astonished soldiers obeyed: in a moment they were all disarmed, and
shut down, within the fastenings of the forehold. The drost then went
quietly back to the helm, which Skirmen in the meantime, at his signal,
had undertaken to guide. There was a death-stillness on board. Sir
Thorstenson and Sir Rimaardson stood, with drawn swords, by the
hatchway of the prison-room, while Skirmen attended to the sails. The
storm had lulled, and day began to dawn over the Swedish coast, when
the last tack was made, and the ship glided in a right line towards the
haven of Helsingborg.
THE
CHILDHOOD OF ERIK MENVED.