Taking one of the lights, he proceeded towards the door of the

riddersal; but before he reached it, it was softly opened, and a wild,

shaggy face peeped in, but instantly disappeared, and the door was

immediately closed again.

Drost Peter quickly rose, and the young castle-warden stood, as if

petrified, with the light in his hand, in the middle of the floor.

"Death and misfortune!" he whispered: "Skirmen has gone off with the

court-warder, and has left the gate open. For a certainty, there are

thieves or robbers in the house. Let me rouse the house-carls? One does

not know how strong the rascals may muster. I shall go through the

kitchen, and do not open this door until I return." And as he spoke, he

hastily placed the bar on the door of the riddersal.

"Well, make haste!" said Drost Peter: "if I saw aright, it was the

bull's face of Niels Breakpeace. So, then, Skirmen was right."

The warden went quickly away, and Drost Peter stood alone in the

apartment. He had drawn his sword, and leant upon it to collect himself

and listen. He heard many voices in the riddersal.

"Is he here--is he here? how many are there?" inquired a number of low

voices in the same breath.

"There are only two men, and the cursed drost is one of them," uttered

a deep gruff voice. "Come, fellows: he shall not lead us into mischance

again!"

They attacked the door violently, but the bar held fast.

"They have secured the door; but we can easily snap the bar," said the

same harsh voice. "Run against it, lads. Let us break open the door--it

yields!"

The bar gave way with a frightful crash, the door flew open, and nine

wild, sturdy fellows, with Niels Breakpeace at their head, rushed in,

with short battle-axes and shining daggers in their hands. Drost Peter

retreated a few steps, and placed himself with his back against the

wall, in a position where he could defend himself for a time, and keep

the rievers at bay with his long sword. He looked at the wild fellows

sternly.

"Are you such vile niddings," he cried, "that ten of you must fight

against one? I see at least one man amongst you who has received the

honour of knighthood from Denmark's king; and so far as I know, the

stroke has not yet been washed from his shoulder with boiling water.

Stand forth, Sir Lavé Rimaardson! You are the only one of these fellows

with whom I can worthily do single battle for life or death. If there

is yet a spark of honour in you, advance!"

Niels Breakpeace and his comrades did not appear to notice this

challenge, but pressed forward to overwhelm their single antagonist.

"Out of the way, rascals!" shouted a vehement youthful voice; and a

handsome fellow, with a red feather in his cap, and a wild, audacious

countenance, sprang forward. "Whoever dares to touch the drost, save I,

I cut down on the spot," he continued: "one to one, and ten to Satan!

Come, Drost Peter Hessel! This is the second time we have met since you

made me an outlaw in Denmark. On Vaarby Bridge I had a hindrance: had

my brother's blood not been a little thicker than the water of the

stream, you should never have crossed the bridge. We stand now on a

greater bridge--one that leads from earth to heaven, or--hell, as it

may happen; for here must either you or I bid this fair and pleasant

world good night!"

With these words, he threw aside his battle-axe and drew his sword,

which was of the same length as Drost Peter's; and, that he might not

have any advantage over his antagonist, who stood bareheaded before

him, he cast his feathered cap on the floor.

"Well, if it is to be a regular cockfight, I am quite willing," growled

Niels Breakpeace; "but if you don't make quick work of him, Sir

Bigsnout, I shall."

The coarse robber chief and his comrades laughed, well pleased, and

formed a close circle round the two antagonists. There then began a

warm and serious combat, but conducted according to all the laws and

usages of chivalry. Placing foot to foot, they swerved not a hair's

breadth from their positions. Neither of them used the point of the

sword, but hewed with the sharp edge, and aimed only at the head and

breast, or between the four limbs, as it is termed. The single light on

the table only partially illumined the apartment; and the clashing

swords of the knights met so quickly, that a glimpse of them could

scarcely be caught. Every instant threatened a mortal blow to one of

them; but they both appeared equally skilled in their weapon, and

neither of them could succeed in wounding his adversary, though, like

constant lightning, their blades flashed over their heads.

"Shall I put an end to the game?" growled Niels Breakpeace, raising his

broad battle-axe.

"By Satan! are you invulnerable?" shouted the robber-knight, springing

impatiently towards his antagonist, and, contrary to the rules, with a

daring and dangerous lunge. But at the same instant the sword fell from

his grasp to the floor, together with the first three fingers of his

right hand.

"Now, you shall never more swear falsely to your king and knighthood!"

cried Drost Peter, enraged.

"Cut him down, the Satan!" shouted the furious robbers, pressing in

upon the drost, who, with his back against the wall, defended himself

desperately.

He had already received some wounds, and was bleeding freely, when the

kitchen-door flew open, and warden Tygé rushed in, with half a dozen

half-intoxicated house-carls. They came staggering forward to assist

their master, and a sanguinary battle commenced with daggers and axes.

The robbers had still a great advantage over the reeling house-carls,

who could scarcely distinguish friend from foe. With wild shouts they

tumbled among one another, and Drost Peter and Tygé alone fought with

deliberation and security; but they were nearly overwhelmed, when a

noise in the court and the sound of a horn were heard.

"Skirmen!" joyfully exclaimed Drost Peter and Tygé at the same time,

and their blows fell with redoubled energy.

The robbers, taken by surprise, retreated with their crafty leader

towards the entrance of the riddersal; but, in the next moment, the

shattered door was entirely driven in, and Skirmen rushed to his

master's aid with ten active house-carls, two of whom had some trouble

in restraining the fury of three men, whom they guarded, bound, between

them. After a short but desperate resistance, the powerful Niels

Breakpeace and his comrades were disarmed and bound. They cursed and

vociferated furiously; but, at the drost's command, they were

immediately led off to the tower-prison.

Lavé Rimaardson still lay, with his hand mutilated, on the floor. The

proud young robber had been for some moments without consciousness;

and, when he now recovered his senses, he learnt what had happened, and

found himself bound, and in the hands of his enemies. Drost Peter was

about to bind up his wounded hand; but he instantly sprang up, tore

away the bandage with his teeth, glared wildly around him, and would

not suffer it to be dressed, cursing his limb, and conducting himself

so furiously that it was requisite to use force with him. As soon as

his hand was bandaged, his feet were set at liberty.

"Attend to him closely," said Drost Peter, as the warden was dragging

him, struggling, from the door. "Give him the best prison, and good

fare. A great man may yet be made of him; and although his life is now

in the king's hands, I shall rejoice if he can be saved from the

wheel."

"Drost Peter Hessel," exclaimed the young robber, pausing on the

threshold, in an attitude of defiance, "I hate you to the death; but

you are a brave fellow, and I should not be ashamed of falling by your

hand. If you can save me from the wheel, do so. But not for my sake: I

can die on a wheel, in the open air, as easily as on a wretched bed.

But I have a brother--and I bear a noble name:--you understand me?"

He paused, and a convulsive motion of the muscles around his mouth

betrayed feelings for which he instantly seemed to blush, as he strove

to control them. "Bear in mind that I am your fair queen's kinsman,

and, perhaps, a little allied to yourself," he added, with a bitter

smile. "But think not that I am afraid of death; and expect no thanks

from me, if you save my life!"

"Away--away with him!" cried Drost Peter, provoked by his coarse

allusions, and the daring accusation couched in his words and haughty

mien. "By a perjured and dishonoured knight, no honest man need feel

affronted," he added, turning his back on the prisoner, as the warden

thrust him out of the door.

"You are bleeding, sir," exclaimed Skirmen: "allow me to bandage you."

"All in good time," replied the drost. "I would first hear whether you

deserve praise or censure. Did you withdraw the court-warder from the

open gate, and suffer the robbers to slip in, in order that you might

look after them?"

"If the gate was not locked after us, warden Tygé must answer for that,

stern sir," replied Skirmen. "I did not trouble myself on that score. I

led the carls to the great Daugberg lime-pit, and there found something

of what we were in search: three unruly fellows we have fettered and

brought with us, and as much gold and silver as we could drag. When we

returned, we found the gate open, and instantly noticed the confusion.

It was a God's blessing we returned in time."

"Thou art a smart youth, Skirmen," said Drost Peter, patting him on the

shoulder; "I have seen thee fight like the best knight. The booty thou

shalt bring to the king with thy own hands; and if he does not dub thee

a knight, within a year and a day I will do it myself."

"Master! dear, good master!" cried Skirmen, with the utmost glee, and

warmly kissing his master's hand: "if ever I deserve to be knighted,

let it be by this hand! It will do me far more honour than such a

king's--"

"Skirmen!" interrupted Drost Peter, sternly and gravely, "dost thou,

too, dare to censure my king and master? Thou servest me at present:

if, hereafter, thou shouldst be made a knight, thou wilt then serve the

king and country; and no servant should despise his master."

"But can you in your own heart, then, noble sir drost--"

"I can be silent, where the heart cannot speak without making the

tongue a traitor; and that is ever the case when it contemns majesty.

Be thou now also silent, and bandage me. There was still hero-blood in

the arm that gave me this wound," he added, sadly, as he bared his arm.

"This wild Rimaardson fights well. God support his noble kinsman, when

he learns what has happened here!"

Drost Peter, attended by his careful squire, then went to his

bed-chamber, and everything was soon as quiet in Harrestrup Castle as

if nothing had occurred.

Before daybreak next morning, Drost Peter, together with twelve smart

house-carls, was already on horseback, and rode off to meet the king.

The castle-warden and the remaining house-carls he left behind, to wash

out the traces of the night's encounter, and to guard the prisoners,

who were chained in the tower. Skirmen, with his master's permission,

rode to the hunting-seat where Henner Friser and his granddaughter

resided, to inform them of the king's arrival, and to attend to their

security.

Drost Peter did not regard his wounds as of much consequence, and had

not troubled himself about Skirmen's scruples, or his foster-mother

Dorothy's inconvenient attentions. It was not until long after the

conflict with the robbers was over, that the old lady awoke, and became

aware of what had occurred, when, in her anxiety for her dear young

master, she went and awoke him in the middle of his most refreshing

sleep, to ascertain his actual condition; and, notwithstanding his

order to the contrary, she kept watch at his door for the remainder of

the night. In fact, it was not until she had seen him lively and active

on horse back, that she found time to cross herself whilst lamenting

over the sad havoc and confusion that pervaded her hitherto well-swept

and polished apartment; and whilst she sought to remedy the disaster by

the aid of brooms and scouring-cloths, she was doomed to the farther

sorrow of beholding, on a fasting stomach, the pitiless Tygé tap the

whole of the German ale into the sewer.

The sun had not yet risen when Drost Peter, with the twelve

house-carls, rode by Daugberg quarries. He stopped to examine the spot,

and inquired of the house-carl John, who had accompanied Skirmen, how

they had managed to seize the three fellows, and to possess themselves

of the immense booty.

"That I shall soon tell you, sir," replied the house-carl. "As we stood

on this spot, we saw a light in yonder big hole. None of us had exactly

a fancy to enter it; but the mad Skirmen outshamed us, and immediately

crept into the mouth. We then took courage to follow him. The light

must have been that of Satan himself, and we were certainly a hundred

ells under ground before the steps ended. One could not see the other,

and many of us came down on our faces on the confounded smooth

limestone. We were, however, as still as mice, and I could hear porter

Soeren breathing through his nose. Where Skirmen had got to, God only

knows; but we suddenly heard a wild cry, and the noise and clash of

weapons in the dark, a little way before us. We started forward after

the sound, and I got hold of a long nose, and held fast; but to the

nose there belonged a pair of sturdy fists, and I had a long struggle

with the fellow before I got him on the ground. Porter Soeren had also

his work to do with a fellow still stronger. One, Skirmen overpowered;

and those who had not taken a robber, struggled with one another to

their heart's content. At last Jasper Strongwind arrived with a lighted

brand he had got hold of; and as soon as we saw how matters stood, and

that we had got hold of all that were to be found, we bound them hand

and foot, and resolved to empty the treasury; and then the job was

done."

"The luck was better than the judgment," said Drost Peter; "but still,

I must confess that Skirmen is a bold fellow. I should not like to

imitate this adventure."

While they were yet speaking, a horseman, in a gray cloak, and mounted

on a gray steed, overtook and passed them at full gallop. None of them

had seen him on the way, and they therefore supposed that he had issued

from one of the quarries.

"Light the torches, carls," cried Drost Peter, dismounting. "We must

search these robbers' dens before we go farther."

They lighted some of the torches which they had brought with them to

illuminate the road, if the king should arrive late; and, whilst six of

the house-carls were left with the horses, Drost Peter, with the

others, proceeded to search the suspicious pits and holes. From the

first quarry which they examined, they brought several weapons, and two

gray cloaks and hood-masks; the other pits they found empty, and

without any traces of having been recently used as a retreat for

robbers. For perfect security, however, Drost Peter left behind four

carls, as a watch over them, and, in profound thought, rode forward

with the others on the way to Scanderborg.

The king, according to his appointment, had left the palace early; for,

however frequently he might change his mind on other matters, he was

extremely punctual with regard to journeys of pleasure. Drost Peter met

him half way from Harrestrup; and when he informed him of what had

occurred there, and mentioned the large booty which had been taken from

the robbers, the king appeared much gratified, and continued his

journey without delaying. Old John Little, as well as Chamberlain Rané,

and a number of huntsmen, who accompanied the king, seemed to listen to

the drost's relation with some doubtfulness; while his sharp looks

detected an uneasy expression in Rané's countenance. But when the drost

informed them that he had himself searched the Daugberg quarries, and

set a watch over them, the doubts of the old knight appeared to vanish,

and he laughed, and jested gaily, but at the same time kept his eye,

unobserved, on every look and gesture of the chamberlain.

It was past midday when the king and his train stopped at the

celebrated lime-quarry, which he had previously determined to examine,

and which he could not now pass without some attention. When he

perceived the armed house-carls before the pits, he started, and

inquired of the drost if they were his people, and with what view they

kept watch there, since the robbers had been seized, and the caves

searched.

"It is still possible that we have not discovered them all, sir king,"

replied the drost. "Perhaps, too, they belong to a confederacy which it

were important to root out. So long as your grace remains at

Harrestrup, I consider it my duty to watch these lurking-holes

closely."

The house-carls, with lighted torches, stood by the entrance to the

largest pit, when the king, dismounting, advanced a few steps and

looked timidly into it.

"It is not worth wasting time upon," he exclaimed, suddenly, and

proceeded to remount. "Whoever chooses may descend. Run thou, Rané: it

was thou who had so much to tell me of this lime-quarry."

"It is certainly worth seeing, sir king," replied Rané, as he zealously

prepared himself to descend, along with a number of huntsmen and

falconers.

Old Sir John had also dismounted; and, taking a torch, he examined the

pit with much interest, but without venturing down.

"It was a good capture, Drost Peter," observed the king, as they rode

leisurely on: "they were a daring and dangerous band. This famous Niels

Breakpeace shall not again escape; for, before sunset, they shall all

be executed. We can thus sleep soundly to-night, and begin the chase

early in the morning."

Drost Peter remained mute.

"Why are you silent?" continued the king. "Have they not been seized by

yourself in the open commission of robbery? Such fellows deserve not a

long trial."

"They arc all punishable with death," replied Drost Peter, "but it is

still desirable that they were allowed time to shrive themselves, and

look to the salvation of their sinful souls."

"The time will not permit," replied the king. "I shall not sleep under

the same roof with robbers and murderers. If I am to be your guest,

Drost Hessel, these malefactors must sleep on the wheel to-night."

"If you command it, sir king, they can be conducted this evening to

Viborg prison, and you need neither rest under the same roof with them,

nor consign them to so sudden a doom. There are men amongst them born

to something better than to end their lives so shamefully and

unexpectedly."

"None are born to that," replied the king, musingly. "If one could know

what was sung at his cradle, if it had any meaning," he continued, "I

should be glad to learn what was sung at ours: it would be well to know

that in these times. Is there any one of note among them?"

"There is one of them, at least, who belongs not to the outcasts of

humanity--in whom there is still left a remnant of honour and of lofty

mind; and whose soul, perhaps, may still be saved. His birth and rank

are certainly now his strongest accusers: he is of high and noble

blood, and from your own royal hand, sir king, he had the honour to

receive the stroke of knighthood."

"That does not plead for him, truly. There you are right. He must die:

a noble-born knight deserves to be punished with tenfold severity, when

found among robbers and highwaymen. Who is he?"

"Sir Lavé Rimaardson--your noble queen's kinsman, and brother of the

trusty Bent Rimaardson."

The king started, and drawing up his horse, he threw on Drost Peter a

scrutinising glance, in which, as he blinked uneasily, a secret

suspicion might be traced.

"The queen's kinsman, say you?" he exclaimed--"the outlaw, Lavé

Rimaardson?--he who has dared to defy me, and to stir up the peasants

to rebellion?--he whom you yourself assisted to adjudge an outlaw?"

"Even he, sir king."

"And you would now defend a rebel, and intercede for so vile a

criminal, Drost Hessel?"

"Defend him I will not, sir king; but to crave mercy for a sinner, I

still may dare. With the most righteous of all judges, clemency is the

greatest quality. I pray you, my king, to consider his brother's

services to the crown and country, and his relation to yourself and the

royal house."

"No! I shall now prove to you, and to my faithful subjects," replied

the king, with secret satisfaction, "that, in the exercise of justice,

I have no respect to high descent and birth, nor even to those allied

to me by consanguinity and princely blood. Sir Lavé Rimaardson I will

myself see upon the wheel before the sun goes down. Onwards!"

The king set spurs to his horse, and all followed. Those who had been

examining the pit, hastened to overtake him, and Sir John again rode by

his side. The old knight had not heard the conversation just related,

but he observed that the king was chafed and disquieted. He rode on in

silence, for some minutes, with unusual rapidity, but not inattentive

to the king's angry looks and Drost Peter's uneasiness.

"Why hasten you thus, sir king?" at length inquired the old knight.

"Yonder you may see the tower of Harrestrup Castle, and the sun is yet

far up in the heavens."

"So much the better!" observed the king. "Who is the executioner of

felons here? Where resides the hangman of the district?"

"Daugberg-Daas is the place appointed for executions, sir king,"

replied Sir John, who was well acquainted with everything relating to

the administration of law in the country: "that was the wheel, which we

saw above the lime-quarries, yonder. The officer of justice you inquire

for has free quarters in Daugberg."

"Good: let him be summoned immediately."

The old knight was surprised, but obeyed without replying, and

instantly dispatched a huntsman back to Daugberg for the executioner.

He then continued to ride silently by the king's side until he

considered his momentary irritation was allayed.

"You do not intend to render your entrance to the castle of Harrestrup

memorable by a sudden execution, sir king?" asked the old counsellor,

as he now rode alone with him up the narrow pathway. "I do not intend

to intercede for such gross offenders: severity is, in these times,

highly necessary; but, when we have them securely captive, and there is

no rebellion in the country, I like not such hasty justice."

The king was silent, and blinked uneasily.

"Such haste, my king," continued old John, "may easily lead to

injustice, or be regarded as a sign of fear, which may weaken the

confidence of your people in the power of the state. A giant, conscious

of his strength, need not hasten, for his security, to slay a few

captive pigmies. Besides, not even the greatest criminal ought to be

sentenced without a legal trial."

"The crime is manifest," exclaimed the king, erecting himself; "the law

is well known; and doom I now pronounce:--they shall be broken on the

wheel. You shall conduct them to the place of execution, Sir John; and

you will be answerable to me that the law and sentence are fulfilled,

in all their severity, before the sun goes down. I will hear no

objections--it is my royal will."

Sir John remained silent, and they rode slowly up the steep path to the

castle, where Drost Peter dismounted, and placed himself by the side of

the king's horse.

The train of attendants had stopped, and there was now heard,

behind, the quick tread of horses, and the rumbling of wheels. The

huntsmen and falconers looked back: it was the messenger Sir John had

dispatched for the headsman. He approached at full gallop, with a

little broad-shouldered companion, on a miserable hack. The stranger

wore a hairy cap, and a short, blood-red cloak; and held a large bright

axe in his hand, whilst a sword of unusual length hung over his

saddle-bow. A couple of rough-looking fellows followed with a small

cart, in which were chains, fetters, a wheel, and all manner of

horrible instruments of death and torture.

With this fearful train, the king and his company ascended to

Harrestrup Castle. Drost Peter was silent, and Sir John spake not a

word.

Outside the gate, and unknown to her master, old Dorothy had erected a

triumphal arch, which was adorned with wreaths of box, yew, holly, and

all the flowers that could be procured at that season of the year;

whilst she herself stood by the side of it, arrayed in white, with a

large nosegay in her hand, and attended by her pantry-maids and

milkmaids, prepared to receive the king in a fashion which she intended

should please and surprise both him and her dear young master. Since

the king had pardoned her, when she was condemned to be buried alive

for her womanly honour's sake, she had never been able sufficiently to

extol his clemency and graciousness; and now, on this extraordinary

occasion, to show her gratitude, she had, for more than two months,

been exercising all the servant-maids of the castle in a ballad, which

they had never heard sung before, but which was necessarily joined to a

popular old tune. This song, which she had received from her confessor,

was a free translation from the Schwabian meistersinger, Reinmar von

Zweter's, flattering verses on the king, wherein, however, some of the

true features of royalty were caught.

Outside the arch, and opposite to Dorothy and her maidens, stood the

warden Tygé, with a portion of the brave garrison of the castle.

Dorothy had decked their helmets with silk ribands and green sprigs,

and, with their bright halberds in their hands, they stood in a

respectful posture, and as immoveable as statues.

When Drost Peter perceived these festive preparations, so little suited

to his own frame of mind, and to the harsh appearance of the royal

train, he was singularly and painfully affected. The slightly-built

arch was not unlike a gallows; and the old nurse, in her white dress,

reminded him of the so-called corpse-women, who conducted interments in

commercial towns. At the head of the ridiculously dressed-up milkmaids,

who were intended to represent fine ladies, Dorothy felt as dignified

as a queen.

In a less serious mood, this spectacle would perhaps have extorted a

smile from the lively young drost; but now it augmented most painfully

his gloomy state of mind. The king did not appear to give much

attention to these tokens of homage, which he was accustomed to see in

every small trading town, and even where he knew that he was detested

by the majority of the inhabitants. Such demonstrations of homage were

most frequently got up by the crafty chamberlain, who sagaciously

reckoned that, if these flatteries did not always obtain the king's

applause, they seldom called forth his displeasure.

Notwithstanding the tastelessness and farcical character of this

parade, it was apparent that it was prompted by simple good-nature and

true respect for the king, when the old nurse, with her thin, tremulous

notes, and accompanied by the grating voices of the Juttish milkmaids,

offered to him, in Danish, the German meister-singer's homage:--

"I prize the king who wears the crown,

And brings the country great renown.

"He helps the widow in her need;

His bounty doth the orphan feed.

"He guards his land--his name is dear

To all his people, far and near.

"His heart is warm, and great his mind;

His speech to one and all is kind.

"His hand is just to great and small,

Nor riches do his heart enthral.

"And he whose fair renown I sing.

Is Erik, Denmark's famous king."

The aged but zealous leader of the songstresses now first fixed her

eyes upon the king, and when she beheld his austere countenance and

blinking eyelids, she became deadly pale. She stared at him, like a

sorceress who had conjured up some fearful spirit, and was suddenly

horrified on beholding the mighty unknown which her incantations had

summoned forth. She involuntarily crossed herself, and turned away her

look; but the apparition of the executioner and his rough assistants,

who closed the procession, raised her terror so high that her senses

forsook her, and, with a convulsive shriek, she fell to the ground. The

king succeeded in curbing his startled horse, and rode hastily in with

his retinue.

Drost Peter, who had not observed what occurred, hastened to assist the

king from his saddle, and conduct him to the large riddersal, where

stood a table magnificently spread, and where the king, by another of

Dorothy's arrangements, was received with a burst of music more

sprightly than harmonious. The band was composed of rustic fiddlers and

shawm-blowers, who were wont to exercise their skill at the weddings

and merry-makings of the peasants. They scraped and blew with might and

main, until the perspiration stood on their foreheads. They bowed so

profoundly, too, and were at the same time so zealous to please the

king, that they produced the most woful discords. Drost Peter silenced

them, and sent them away; whilst the irritated monarch held his ears,

and Chamberlain Rané, with a malicious smile, praised Drost Hessel's

ingenuity in providing so pleasant a surprise for his majesty.

"This device of my old foster-mother's is better meant than happily

executed, sir king," said Drost Peter. "I hope you will excuse such an

innocent blunder of my domestics, who are not acquainted with courtly

manners."

The king, who had become absorbed in thought, made no reply.

"I am not very tenderhearted," observed Sir John; "but I confess that

this cat-music has quite softened me, for I perceive that it was well

and honestly meant." The king appeared not to hear this remark; and Sir

John addressed himself to the drost: "Was it your nurse who sang to us

outside, Drost Peter? I scarcely recognised her in her finery."

"I scarcely knew her myself," replied the drost: "in her simplicity,

she wanted to surprise me, too, with all this pomp."

"She screeched like an owl; but, nevertheless, it was quite touching,"

said the old knight, in his usual gay and careless tone, desirous to

bring the king into a better humour, and dispose him to defer the

executions he had so suddenly determined on. "The good women sang your

grace and clemency, my king," he continued; "but they lost their voices

when they perceived the hangman in your train. Will you not, then,

sleep on your resolution tonight, and allow us to send the prisoners to

Viborg? Methinks it were better to partake of an enlivening meal here,

than to dwell on such serious matters?"

This latter suggestion, which Drost Peter supported by pointing to the

seat of honour, seemed to meet the king's approbation. He remained

silent, but took his place at the table, and swallowed one or two

goblets of wine. Old Sir John attempted to introduce some lively

conversation, but failed in his design of putting the king into better

humour.

In the court, opposite the window, sat the executioner on his raw-boned

horse, awaiting, with his ferocious assistants, the king's commands.

Dorothy was carried sick to bed; and the sight which had operated so

violently upon her, had also made a singularly painful impression on

the other domestics. Warden Tygé, in the meanwhile, attended to the

huntsmen, falconers, and pages, who were sumptuously entertained in

three different apartments. But throughout the castle as great a

silence reigned as if a funeral company had been assembled.

The king suddenly arose. "I will see the fellows," he said, in a tone

of determination: "there can be nothing wrong in that. Let them be

brought hither, drost; but heavily chained, and under a strong guard."

Drost Peter immediately left the apartment to execute this order, and

in a minute afterwards he again entered the riddersal. The king was

pacing the floor with rapid steps, whilst Sir John and the chamberlain

stood silently watching the changing expression of his countenance.

Drost Peter had also been standing for some moments in silence before

the king's eyes met his.

"They will be here instantly, sir king," he said, advancing. "Permit me

yet one word. None of these men were taken in any robbery. They have

not deprived me of my property; and Sir Lavé Rimaardson did not attack

me until I challenged him to single combat. He cannot be condemned as a

robber before investigation, and a formal trial, according to the laws

of the country."

"Silence!" replied the king: "an outlaw has no rights. But here we have

them: I shall examine them myself."

Niels Breakpeace and twelve chained robbers now entered, under guard of

warden Tygé and his armed house-carls. The robber-chief stepped forward

with an air of proud defiance, at the head of his comrades; but Lavé

Rimaardson, who seemed to blush at being found in such company,

remained in the rear.

"Who is your leader?" inquired the king.

"I!" answered Niels Breakpeace, looking so daringly at him that he

retreated a step.

"What is your name?"

"That every child in Denmark knows," replied the haughty robber: "with

it the mothers can still their cubs, if even they have a knife in their

throats. My name is sufficient to scare into corners all the wenches in

your kingdom, and many a big-nosed fellow, too. If I had but an arm

free, sir king, I should not give you time to hear my name out. Niels

Breakpeace I am called. If you were as able a king as I am a robber, it

would be better for kingdom and country, and perhaps I should now have

been at your right hand."

"You confess, then, you are a robber, and that these fellows are your

accomplices?"

"Were we to deny it, we should be scoundrels and mean scurvy fellows,"

replied Niels Breakpeace. "Lies and deceit you are perhaps accustomed

to at court. I and my comrades are still honest in this respect."

"Good!" exclaimed the king. "You all know, then, the punishment to

which the law condemns you. Prepare yourselves, therefore, to die

within an hour."

"As well first as last, sir king! We all go the same way. But if you

will suffer me to live till to-morrow, I will tell you something that

may be of service to you, and that will, perhaps, defer our otherwise

speedy meeting in another place."

The king opened wide his eyes, and cast a glance at Chamberlain Rané,

who gave him a secret wink, and pointed to the dirk-handle which

projected from the breast-pocket of the robber-chief.

"Ah, indeed!" said the king, again turning to the robber. "So, fellow!

you would raise fear and curiosity in me, to obtain a respite, that you

might escape, and do fresh mischief. No, no! That trick is stale and

worn-out. If you cannot hit upon something better, you shall not live

out the present hour."

"'Tis well! Let me go before, and prepare your place. This service I

shall do you for old acquaintance' sake. There, now, you need not look

so lofty, your grace! We two will soon be the same height, on the

straw. What you and your equals do in the great way, I and mine have

done in the small, you see: that is all the difference. If, for that,

you will make me your herald to the other world, I must submit; today,

you have still the power to do so: but you will rue it, sir king! We

shall soon meet again, and then you will confess that Niels Breakpeace

intended better towards you than yourself."

"Put him aside!" commanded the king: "he shall be executed the last. If

he does not confess that which he says he can acquaint us with, he

shall be put to the severest torture: you hear, Sir John--the

severest."

Sir John replied by a silent bow to this stern mandate. An expression

of sorrow was visible in the countenance of the old knight; but he

hastily drew his hand across his furrowed brow, and was again calm and

composed.

"Come forward, Lavé Rimaardson," cried the king; and the wild and

desperate youth advanced, with an air that awoke the utmost pity and

compassion in all, save the king and Chamberlain Rané, both of whom

regarded him with secret anxiety.

"It was you whom I dubbed a knight with this sword, three years ago,"

said the king; "and now the hangman of your native town shall break

your knightly weapon, and suspend your shield, reversed, beneath the

gallows. You confess that you have been associated with these audacious

and notorious robbers?"

"Yes, King Erik Christopherson," answered the young robber; "I confess

that, and more: had we two met in Daugberg quarry, half an hour since,

you should no more have seen the sun go down than I now expect to do."

"Ha! a conspiracy!" exclaimed the king. "You are not merely robbers and

highwaymen--you are traitors, and audacious regicides! Who has paid you

for the King of Denmark's life?"

"I am not a hired assassin," replied Lavé Rimaardson, proudly: "I am a

knight of princely blood, and no king shall offend me with impunity. In

the hour that you adjudged me an outlaw, I swore your death and

downfall, King Erik! And were my right hand now free, I should keep my

oath, and this moment would be your last."

"Madman!" exclaimed the king, stepping back; "if, by such audacious

confession, you think to gain a respite, you are mistaken: you shall

not even have time to name your accomplices, if you have them."

"There you are wise, King Erik," replied Rimaardson, with a

contemptuous laugh. "Be sparing of the moments you have yet at your

disposal. You know not how few they are; and, when your hour of

reckoning comes, you will have more to account for than the sinners you

now condemn to the rack and wheel."

"Peace, wretch!" cried the king, enraged; but an uneasy blinking of his

eye seemed to indicate a sudden change in his feelings. "Your life is

in my hands," he continued: "you are an outlaw and a rebel, a robber

and murderer, and have even sought the life of your king and master;

but Drost Hessel has testified that there is still within you a remnant

of honour and of chivalrous spirit. Your brother Bent, too, is a trusty

and deserving man; and your ignominious death, in company with these

felons, would cast a shadow even on my throne. Think you not now, that

King Erik Christopherson could still show you favour?"

"Yes! with endless imprisonment in fair Sjöborg: is it not so?" replied

the haughty prisoner. "No! I do not, by a perjury, sell my soul and

salvation, or, to save my life, forswear my revenge: it shall and must

arrive, if not by my hand, by another's! When the harvest is ripe,

reapers enough are to be found--"

"Satan, speak out! What mean you?" cried the king, in painful

uncertainty. "Wretched felon! know you not that I have racks at hand?

Look through that window: there stands he who can unbind your tongue."

"It is unnecessary, King Erik," replied the prisoner, suppressing his

voice, but raising his head and gazing on the king with a dreadful

look: "your hangman need not cut me for being tongue-tied. If you will

hear the truth, I shall not conceal it in my dying hour. However great

may be my crimes," he continued, in a louder tone, "I am still superior

to the nidding who betrayed and dishonoured the wife of his best

friend, whilst he bled in the nidding's behalf in the field of battle.

If the brave Stig Andersen does not take full revenge for his wife's

dishonour--if the blind, crazy father of Fru Ingeborg has not sight and

sense enough remaining, to guide his sword into the false heart of King

Erik--then there is not an honest drop of blood in the hearts of Danish

nobles, and they deserve no better king than they have got."

The king had become deadly pale, whilst he foamed with rage, and his

hand convulsively clutched the hilt of his large sword. He plucked the

weapon from its scabbard, and rushed furiously on the prisoner, who

remained immoveable, and laughing wildly.

Drost Peter sprang between them. "This is no place of execution, sir

king," he said, warmly; "and you are no executioner, to slay a

defenceless prisoner. He is an insolent traitor, it is true, and I no

longer intercede for his life; but my house shall not be stained by a

deed unworthy of yourself and your crown. If you will and must have the

blood of this youth, you have brought an executioner with you."

The wild rage of the king had suddenly abated. He angrily bit his lips,

as he sheathed his sword, and cast a look at the daring drost, which

plainly enough indicated that this was the last time he should suffer

himself to be guided by such a bold adviser.

"Well, Drost Hessel," he said, coldly, "you are right: I had nearly

forgotten my kingly dignity in the insolence of this daring criminal,

and you have not been far from forgetting the respect you owe to your

king. I shall, however, follow your wise advice. Have the prisoners

conducted to the place of execution, Sir John. Lavé Rimaardson is the

first who falls: that honour I award to his high birth. He shall die by

the sword; but his head shall be placed on a pole, and the foxes shall

tear his limbs to pieces. The others shall be broken alive on the

wheel. Now, away!"

Sir John gave the warden a signal to lead forth the prisoners. Lavé

Rimaardson cast a look of contempt towards the king. In going, he laid

his wounded right hand upon his breast, and, with averted face, he

silently pressed Drost Peter's hand with his left.

At the door, Niels Breakpeace sprang strongly upwards, rattling his

chains. "Merry now, comrades!" he cried, with a shout of wild laughter:

"let me now see you behave yourselves like men, and thrust out your

tongues bravely until they are bit off. Follow my example till the

last, and do honour to your chief. When you have seen them all on the

wheel, sir king," he cried, in a tone of mockery, and once more turning

round haughtily, "then comes the turn of those of greater note. If you

come yourself, and, like a merciful headsman, give me my finishing

stroke, I shall whisper a secret in your ear, of which you will know

the truth when St. Cecilia's day is gone by." With these words he

departed.

The king turned away with a look of contempt, but seemed discomposed by

the parting words of the robber-chief. "Stay!" he cried. "Yet, nay,

they shall not befool me, the crafty vermin! I know their tricks. With

such mysterious talk has many a hardened villain escaped the gallows.

Let my horse be brought forth, Rané. I shall observe, from a distance,

whether they maintain their defiance to the last."

Rané went out, and soon afterwards returned, saying, "The horse is at

the door, your grace."

"Your's, too?"

"At your command, sir king."

"I think, however, I shall consider. People do not sleep soundly after

such sights, and we must be up betimes in the morning. All is ready for

the chase, Drost Hessel?"

"Nothing shall be wanting, sir king," replied the drost, with a look of

composure, which ill concealed the agitation of his feelings.

"I shall, nevertheless, ride to Daugber-Daas," observed the king: "it

is still a diversion, and people may shut their eyes on what they do

not care to see. You must confess yourself, my conscientious drost,

that, in this matter, I have been both just and gracious."

Drost Peter bowed, but said nothing.

"My polite host bears me company, of course?" added the king, in an

apparently friendly tone, but with anger in his heart.

"It will be much against my feelings, my king; but if you so command, I

obey. No injustice has taken place, I confess: but this is not a royal

spectacle, and I wished you worthier entertainment on this visit,

which, now, I dare not call gracious."

"Let us set off. You can follow me," said the king, as he departed.

Rané smiled; and Drost Peter followed his royal guest, with a tortured

heart, and in the gloomiest mood.

Next morning, when the sun arose, he shone on the corpses of the

thirteen robbers on Daugberg-Daas. In the valley beneath was heard the

merry sound of horns and the baying of hounds, as a magnificent

hunting-train rode by. At its head, between Sir John and Drost Peter,

was the king, in a handsome green hunting-suit. Behind them, bearing

falcons and other hunting-gear, rode six smartly dressed pages, among

whom was the little kindhearted Aagé Jonsen, bearing the king's

favourite falcon. Next came, at the head of a troop of royal huntsmen,

having thirty hounds in leashes, the Chamberlain Rané, who, like those

he headed, was lightly armed with a bow and short hunting-knife; but he

wore, besides, a magnificent small sword, with glittering gems in a

hilt of silver, which the king had recently presented to him as a

testimony of his favour.

Squire Skirmen was absent, as he had not yet returned from his visit to

Henner Friser at the forest-lodge. He had obtained permission to remain

until the afternoon of this day; and his place was now taken by warden

Tygé, who closed the cavalcade in company with some archers, and a few

active huntsmen from Harrestrup.

As the king passed Daugberg-Daas, he closed his eyes, and gave the spur

to his steed. When they had left the hill some distance behind, he

turned to his right, and addressed old Sir John.

"They obstinately maintained their defiance, then?" he said. "Yesterday

evening, I wished not to disturb my night's rest by listening to the

end of your narrative; and I went not so near to the spot myself that I

could hear what they said. Would the audacious Niels Breakpeace reveal

nothing?"

"Not a word, sir king; but he laughed horribly in the pangs of death,

and promised that, within eight days, he would tell you all he knew."

The king blinked anxiously, and became pale. "Tell me, my dear Sir

John," said he: "do you think all the threats and warnings the fellow

hinted at, were anything more than crafty inventions, with which he

hoped to escape the gallows?"

"I know not that, sir king; but, in your place, I should not have so

greatly hurried the execution of their sentence. The mere fact that an

outlawed knight, of such high birth, was found among these robbers,

seemed to me, even without their own confession, certain proof that

they were here on a more important and daring undertaking than

plundering the pantries and wine-cellars of Harrestrup. They might have

given us valuable information."

The king, as he listened to Sir John, became more and more uneasy. "By

Satan!" he exclaimed, warmly, "I felt constrained to make quick work of

them, effectually to prevent any of their daring designs being

accomplished. But why did you not inform me of these wise conclusions

when they were alive? Your prudence comes too late now, Sir John."

"You would not hear a word from me, sir king; and when I have an

express royal command, I must be silent and obey; especially where, as

in the present case, it is undeniably just, and according to the letter

of the law."

"Now, by the rood! we shall think no more of it," exclaimed the king,

endeavouring to overcome his uneasiness; and at the same time he set

spurs to his horse, and ordered the huntsmen to strike up a lively

hunting-air.

Drost Peter was grave and silent. The king had not yet spoken a word to

him; and the sharp-sighted drost read in his manner, as well as in that

of the crafty chamberlain, that his fall was determined on, and that

the formal announcement was only delayed in order that it might not mar

the day's pleasure. But the depressing conviction that his power and

influence were at an end, was outweighed by doubts of far greater

importance respecting the welfare of the kingdom, which had been called

forth by Lady Ingé's admonition to watchfulness, and the circumstances

connected with the capture and execution of the robbers.

Sir John, on the contrary, appeared to have abandoned every gloomy and

disquieting thought. In his youth he had been a bold huntsmen, but for

many years had not partaken of this noble diversion. The sound of the

horns and the cries of the chase awoke within him lively recollections

of his early days, and, as the king's companion in the sport, he

considered it his duty to be as cheerful and entertaining as possible.

When the first game was started, the king engaged eagerly and

passionately in pursuit. For dexterity in the chase he was without a

rival; and he now rushed with wild impetuosity among the huntsmen and

unleashed hounds, and, as usual, was highly admired by the strangers,

as well for his rapidity, as for the certainty with which he brought

down his game. Not without difficulty could old Sir John follow him;

although he took care to make it appear that it did not cost him any

exertion. Recalling the memory of his young days, he gave his

mettlesome hunter the reins, and took the most daring leaps over

ditches and fences.

Drost Peter was accustomed to such violent sport, but on this occasion

he often felt himself painfully reminded of his recent wounds. This

gloomy mood was speedily augmented by the concern he felt for Sir John,

who, he plainly saw, was exerting himself beyond his strength; and he

knew that it was useless to caution the old knight concerning it.

However merry the latter appeared, he had, nevertheless, intimated to

the drost, by a look, that he shared his grave doubts, and considered

it highly essential that the hunt should keep together. If, now and

then, they paused by a fallen deer, the chamberlain had instantly

another in sight, and the king again dashed off with renewed ardour.

At length they reached a beautiful forest-glade, in which they halted

to rest their horses, and to partake of a midday meal; during the

preparation of which the chamberlain was inexhaustible in entertaining

the king with pleasant hunting-stories. They seated themselves on the

trunk of a fallen oak-tree. The cloth was spread on the fresh moss; at

a little distance the huntsmen had encamped themselves, and the spoils

of the chase were piled up close by. The pages waited on the king, who

appeared in a good humour, and well contented.

"It is a chivalrous and right royal diversion," said Sir John, in

answer to the king's question whether he had enjoyed himself. "In my

young days, I was passionately fond of it; but now I am too old and

stiff for the sport. Another time, sir king, I shall do better to

remain at home, like the old hunting-steed."

"You would come with me, however," said the king. "Your fancy for it

certainly surprised me."

"It was not entirely for the sake of the chase, sir king," said the old

man, gravely, and with an observant look at Rané. "I am but little

acquainted with this part of Jutland," he added, hastily: "I am glad,

also, to see our good Drost Hessel in the capacity of host."

"You have seen, then, that he is master of his own house, and keeps

strict watch over the security of his guests," replied the king, with a

bitter smile: "even highwaymen and murderers are safe beneath his

roof."

"If in that he went a little too far, your grace," said Sir John, "I

pray you, for my sake, not to be offended with it. I did not regard the

prisoners as so dangerous."

"I must confess, sir king," observed Drost Peter, "that this business

of the robbers was of more importance than I believed; but they have

now ended their lives and crimes together. If on that occasion I erred,

and for a moment forgot the respect I owed my royal guest, let not this

day's sun go down upon your wrath, my king. If I have lost your royal

grace in consequence, suffer me at least--"

"Enough of this!" interrupted the king, coldly. "I have come here to

amuse myself, and not to sit in judgment every day. I am master of my

own thoughts, and you shall know my determination at the proper time.

Let the huntsmen strike up."

Rané hastily gave a signal to the royal horn-blowers, who stood on a

rising ground, at a little distance, and who immediately commenced a

bold hunting-air, called King Waldemar Seier's Hunt, and to which the

king was extremely partial.

A painful silence followed the king's ungracious remarks to Drost

Peter. Rané smiled maliciously as he filled his master's goblet, and

endeavoured, by some buffooneries, to restore mirthfulness; but the

king left the wine untouched, and fell into deep thought. The rapid

exercise and the consciousness of his skill in the chase, as well as

his anger against Drost Peter, appeared to have banished from his

countenance the undecided and contradictory shades of passion which so

often disfigured it; and for an instant there beamed from it an

expression of true kingly dignity and greatness, while, with his hand

on his ponderous sword, he regarded his three chief counsellors with

the air of one who could free himself from them at any moment he chose.

The only one in which he reposed any kind of confidence was Rané; but

him, in his better moments, he despised, as the wretched instrument of

his vilest pleasures. The power which old Sir John exercised over him,

with so much prudence and consideration, seemed to him just now a

crafty invasion of the royal prerogative; and Drost Peter's bold

superiority he regarded as an intolerable assumption. It appeared as if

the quick, heart-stirring tones of Waldemar Seier's Hunt, which he had

known from his childhood, recalled the daring dreams of his youth, with

the memory of the time when, by his noble mother's side, he was saluted

with the name of king, and felt the blood of the Waldemars in a bold

and unsullied heart. But this proud expression quickly vanished as his

whole misspent life of royalty passed before him, and the painful

conviction seized him that he now sat, alone and hated, in the midst of

his kingdom, without a single friend. His melancholy and despondency

seemed on the point of overwhelming him; but he struggled against the

humiliating feeling, and a wild defiance and sternness flashed from his

eyes.

Drost Peter sat silent and thoughtful: in his dejected but candid

countenance it could be plainly seen how much the king's displeasure

went to his heart. His entire future efficiency seemed destroyed by a

single hasty and incautious word. He could not acquit himself of

arrogance whilst vindicating his sense of justice, on that occasion,

when, by a too daring expression, he had drawn his master's wrath upon

his head; and it was to him a bitter feeling to have offended his king

at the moment when, as a guest, he had entered his house. At this

instant it was almost more bitter than the thought of having lost the

king's favour. But the monarch's stern look now fell upon him, and its

excessive harshness seemed to recall him to himself. The undauntedness

with which he encountered it was, however, little calculated to appease

the offended king; who, instead of penitence and humility, was met by

strong self-confidence and calm courage, which no displeasure of his

could humble.

Rané and old Sir John were attentive observers of this significant play

of looks, which filled up the pause in the conversation caused by the

music. The sagacious old statesman appeared calm and indifferent;

though a tear, which he speedily dashed away, glistened in his eye, as

he observed the remains of loftiness and dignity which had lit up the

passion-worn countenance of the king. He saw with concern that the fall

of the trusty Drost Peter was determined on, and that his own influence

was also endangered; but what most annoyed him was the ill-concealed

triumph of the cunning chamberlain, and the busy zeal with which he

prepared for the continuance of the chase. The old knight observed that

Rané now made an unusual gesture; on which the king nodded to him, as

if in accordance with some private understanding. His majesty seemed

about to rise, but again relapsed into deep thought. The music still

continued.

"Herregud!" exclaimed old Sir John, breaking the long silence, "they

are playing Waldemar Seier's Hunt. It is a strange thought, sir king.

If your great ancestor, of blessed memory, had had Count Albert and the

trusty Charles of Risé by his side, when this air was played at the

unfortunate hunting on Ly Island, the black Count Henry had perhaps

never got him into his clutches."[31]

"A stag! a stag!" shouted Chamberlain Rané, springing up.

The king hastily arose, as a herd of deer, with a stag at their head,

rushed past. In an instant the huntsmen were on horseback, the horns

sounded lustily, and the dogs broke away.

"Away!" ordered the king, swinging himself into his saddle; and Drost

Peter and Sir John started off by his side. The chamberlain rode in

advance; and the chase now recommenced with redoubled ardour. They

frequently lost and again found the track of the herd; and thus

continued for several hours, without any pause.

"Sir king," said Drost Peter, at length, riding close up to him as he

stopped an instant to observe the hounds and the track, "permit us a

slight pause. Sir John's years make this violent exercise painful to

him; and my wounds are bleeding through the bandages."

"Those who cannot follow, may stay behind," replied the king: "I have

huntsmen enough with me, and require you not. Away, Rané!"

The hunt was pursued with enthusiasm, but neither Sir John nor Drost

Peter remained behind. The day at length began to close, and Drost

Peter again rode in between Rané and the king.

"If you would get back to Harrestrup before night, sir king," he said,

with visible uneasiness, "we must now turn, and give the deer a respite

for to-day."

"I shall do as it pleases me!" cried the king, irritated. He had just

wounded the stag they were in pursuit of. "That stag shall be mine," he

shouted, "should I pursue him till to-morrow."

They continued at a flying gallop over stump and stone, through brake

and briar, with hounds yelling and horns winding. Drost Peter and Sir

John still followed, and did not lose sight of the king for an instant;

until, in taking a dangerous leap, Sir John's horse fell with him, and

he received a violent blow on the side, which for an instant deprived

him of consciousness.

Drost Peter sprang from his horse to his aid, and found, with

consternation, that the old knight had broken a rib. "Hold! for God's

sake, hold!" he shouted, with all his might.

The huntsmen stopped when they heard the drost's powerful voice, which

they were accustomed to obey. They quickly came to assist, and a litter

of boughs was soon made, on which to carry the old man, every one

showing for him the greatest sympathy. But, in the meanwhile, the king

and Chamberlain Rané, with two of the fleetest falconers, had gone out

of sight.

As soon as Sir John regained his senses, and found himself on the

litter, surrounded by Drost Peter and the anxious huntsmen, he inquired

with concern and alarm respecting the king.

"He would not stop," answered Drost Peter; "but he must be back

immediately. It is impossible to continue the hunt longer, for it is

almost night."

"After him, Drost Peter!" cried the old man; "for Heaven's sake, after

him! What think you of?" he whispered: "he is alone with Rané! Your

people can care for me. Away!"

"Care well for him, Tygé--he is the king's most important counsellor,"

said Drost Peter to his castle-warden, as he sprang on his horse. "Bear

him, with your huntsmen, carefully to Harrestrup. You others follow me.

God be with you, noble sir!"

In another instant Drost Peter, with the royal huntsmen, had

disappeared in the forest; whilst warden Tygé and his men leisurely and

gently bore Sir John back to Harrestrup.

* * *

In a little lonely forest-house, in the neighbourhood of Finnerup,

stood, at about the same hour of the evening, Claus Skirmen, with his

squire's cap in his hand. Before him were old Henner Friser and Aasé.

The powerful, gigantic old man seemed to have prepared himself for the

worst. He stood, leaning on a long javelin, in his Frisian war-suit of

leathern mail, with his seal-skin cap drawn over his straggling gray

hairs. The pretty little Aasé appeared occupied with far more peaceful

thoughts. She wore the same dark blue jacket, plaited kirtle, and light

blue apron, in which Skirmen had first seen her, when he assisted in

liberating her from Hegness. She held him familiarly by the hand, and

bent on him tenderly her dark playful eyes, whilst he, half ashamed,

seemed to expect some important reply from old Henner.

"Thanks for thy warning, brave youth," said the latter, shaking Skirmen

heartily by the hand. "It is well thou camest so early, to assist us

with our slender preparations for defence. Our persecutors may now come

when they will: none shall see us longer than we ourselves list. If thy

account be true--and I do not take thee for a braggart--thou art a

smart youth--the affair of the robbers was no jesting matter. If thou

goest on thus, and thy master, with a good conscience, can hereafter

give thee the stroke of knighthood, I have no objection that my little

Aasé should love thee, and thou her. But when we meet again, we shall

talk more of it."

Skirmen and Aasé embraced each other with transport, and hugged the old

man with the utmost joy.

"Good, good, my children. God and St. Christian bless ye!" continued

old Henner, with emotion. "But this is not the time to prattle and

think of love. Thou must off, Skirmen, and inform thy master of what we

know."

"I have done so already," replied Skirmen: "what the Rypen burghers

said in the tavern, he knows; but he does not think it has any great

meaning."

"Tell him, then, from me," said the old man, "that it certainly means

no less than folks say the three suns portend which we saw in the

heavens on St. Remy's day. It was the day before the feast of All

Saints, and the learned clerks speak much of a heathen goddess of

revenge that used to be worshipped on that day. Our Lord knows the

witch, and I am not skilled in the signs of the sun and moon; but this

I know, that when disaffected knights creep about in monks' cowls, it

is for no good or holy purpose. So beg thy master, first and foremost,

to take care of himself and the king, as he passes the barn of

Finnerup. And now away! Give him a kiss, Aasé, and let him run. Thy

norback, Skirmen, is more zealous than thyself in the king's service.

Hearest thou not how impatiently he neighs?"

"Farewell, father Henner--farewell, dear Aasé!" exclaimed Skirmen,

hastily. "But be cautious, Aasé! If thou passest for an elf, be as

cunning as one; and, for God's sake, disappear as soon as you observe

any mischief."

"Take care, my young knight, that I am not an elf in reality!" cried

Aasé, playfully, as she embraced him. "Seest thou not my blue kirtle,

and brown two-peaked hood? Ay, right! look in my eyes and not to my

back, for I am as hollow there as a dough-trough.[32] Away, now--out

with thee! save thy king and master, or thou deservest never to be a

knight, and I will have nothing more to say to thee."

Skirmen embraced her hastily, and hurried out, accompanied by his

sweetheart and the old man. Shortly afterwards he was riding through

the wood at a gallop, and Henner Friser re-entered the cottage with his

granddaughter. Neither of them spoke. He barred the door, cast his

spear into a corner, and sat down musingly on his rush-cushioned seat.

Aasé took her distaff, and sat down to work by the window, for the

interior of the room was now quite dark.

"Light the lamp, Aasé," said the old man, at length, breaking the

silence, and rising with uneasiness. "It is still too early to go to

rest in the hole inside, and thou knowest I cannot bear to sit in the

dark."

"But were it not better to-night, dear grandfather?" replied Aasé.

"If even I were to hang my apron before the window, the light would

still shine through; and, if we would keep concealed, were it not

advisable--"

"I am not a carlin," exclaimed Henner. "I am not so much afraid of man,

that I must sit in the dark, and be tormented by the devil. The living

I fear not: would only that the restless dead would grant me peace!"

"Dost thou again think of the dead, dear grandfather?" said Aasé, with

a sigh, as she lighted the lamp and hung it on an iron hook attached to

the low rafters; having first, however, taken care to hang her thin

light blue apron before the horn-window that looked out on the wood.

"It is not the dead, but the living, that persecute us, dear

grandfather," she continued, sitting down to her work opposite his

chair. "It is only the storm tearing the dry boughs from the trees, and

the wild birds hooting dismally in the woods, that sometimes make thee

uncomfortable at night."

"It seems always to come from Gottorp," muttered the old man, who had

resumed his seat: "'tis there he lies, with the stake through his

heart--the accursed king, who caused his brother to be cast into the

river Sley!--and he it is who hunts through the forest at midnight. I

long regarded it as a delusion and a superstition, but now I must

believe it, since I have myself seen it."

"The rood save us!" exclaimed Aasé; "when didst thou see it?"

"On the night after St. Remy's day, when we saw the wonderful sight in

the air--yesterday three weeks: it was Sunday, and we had been in

church. You remember how it howled in the storm. You fell asleep in the

corner there; but I could not close an eye because of the horrid din. I

stood up at last, and looked through the window into the forest, and

then I knew it was no delusion. I saw, in the moonshine, a coal-black

figure riding at full speed through the woods, on a steed of raven

blackness. The animal snorted and neighed as if possessed by the Evil

One, and sparks flew from his hoofs. Behind him came one of an iron

mould, who must have been the foul fiend himself. Three big hounds

followed, glistening in the moonlight; but whether or not they were

fiery, as people say, I cannot, however, be certain. I had enough of

what I had seen; and no one shall now convince me that King Abel's wild

hunt is mere nonsense and superstition."

"I certainly saw the same two riders last Monday evening," replied

Aasé; "but thou mayst believe me, grandfather, they were living men.

The forester's Mary also saw them, and she thought they must have been

the dreadful Stig Andersen from Möllerup, and the sturdy Mat Jute, who

always attends him. It was shortly before we heard of the grayfriar

monks of Rypen, and the apparitions in Finnerup barn, which thou

thyself believest to be conspirators lying in wait for the king."

"Thou mayst be right, child!" ejaculated Henner, more composed, yet

shaking his gray head dubiously: "I am an old fool to take such fancies

in my head. But were it even the accursed King Abel himself," he

continued, rising, "let him come when he will! I have not been afraid

to look him in the face before now. I have yet my old steel-bow; and my

good Frisian spear shall still keep every nidding at bay, be he dead or

alive." He remained standing in the middle of the floor, his arms

crossed, and in deep thought. "If it should really have been Stig

Andersen?" he exclaimed, suddenly--"if he should be here, and be

himself one of the apparitions at the barn, there is far more danger

than I had supposed; and this is not the time to be creeping under

cover from one's own shadow. It were better I rode over to the drost.

Skirmen is a nimble youth; but, now that thou hast put love-whimsies

into his head, he cannot be so much depended on. He has been as awkward

about everything to-day as if he had never before taken spade or axe in

his hand."

"He is the son of a knight, grandfather, and has not been accustomed to

such kind of work. But you shall see that he is smart enough when the

safety of his king's life is concerned."

"Thou mayst talk of thy squire as thou wilt. If he be not a better

squire than woodman, he will never in his life be a knight. Tell me,

Aasé, art thou afraid to be left alone to-night?"

"Afraid, grandfather?" she replied, quickly, colouring: "nay, not

exactly that--if thou hadst not spoken of the vile dead king. But it

does not matter," she continued, gaily, as she observed a shade of

displeasure and uneasiness in the countenance of the old man: "I am not

easily frightened, grandfather. I am an elf, thou knowest; and, when I

do not wish to be seen, I have only to make myself invisible."

"That thou canst well, child," said the grandfather, regarding her with

tender interest: "brave Frisian blood runs in thy veins, and thou hast

now been long free from thy dreaming-sickness. That is some assurance

for thy safety; but if thou art at all anxious, I will not leave thee.

Thou art the apple of mine eye, Aasé, and I have nothing else in the

world much to care for; but when danger threatens the land, every true

Frisian will be watchful, if our Lord and St. Christian permit him.

This is an important business, thou knowest well. For the king,

himself, I would not give a rotten rope's end; but still, as regards

the crown and country, his life is of importance, until Drost Hessel

has reared a better king for us. The drost saved thy honour, and,

perhaps, my life: he is true to his king, like a brave fellow; and I am

bound to serve, as best I can, both him and his master. If thou canst

suffer to be left alone, I shall ride immediately, and find Drost

Hessel and the king, wherever they may be. On such an errand, I should

think I am safe."

"Ride, in God and the Holy Virgin's name, grandfather, if thou oughtest

and must. I am not afraid, and can guard myself," replied Aasé, boldly.

The old man hesitated no longer. "Come, then, a morsel of bread in my

wallet, whilst I saddle my horse," he said, as he passed through the

kitchen, and across the yard to the stable.

Aasé accompanied him into the kitchen, and immediately afterwards

returned alone, with some victuals, which she placed in a badger-skin

wallet that hung suspended from a deer's antler near the fireplace.

Whilst thus occupied, the apron fell from the little horn-window; but

unobserved by her, as she stood at the table opposite the light, with

her back turned towards the casement. The point of a slender sword had

pierced the horn, undone the fastening of the apron, and was then

hastily withdrawn. A wily face, with a reddish beard, now peeped in. It

disappeared, and immediately gave place to another, which likewise

disappeared as Aasé turned round. She now first observed that the apron

had fallen from the window, and proceeded quietly to hang it up again,

without observing the small puncture in the horn.

Her grandfather re-entered by the kitchen, equipped for his journey.

"I shall ride out by the back gate," he said, as he threw his

hunting-wallet over his broad shoulders. "And thou art, then, really

not afraid, child? If thou noticest anything suspicious, thou knowest

what to do. If thou darest not have a light, put out the lamp."

"Be tranquil on my account, grandfather," replied Aasé, without the

least symptom of fear; "but, since thou hast talked so much about the

dead, I shall not extinguish the lamp. The living I can guard against.

When may I expect thy return?"

"Before daybreak," replied the old man. "Bar the kitchen-door after me,

and open it to no one until thou hearest nine strokes on it. God bless

thee!"

He fondly embraced her, and departed through the door by which he had

entered. Aasé fastened it after him, and returned to the lonely room.

Shortly afterwards she heard the hoofs of a horse in the forest, and

recognised the firm gallop of her grandfather.

About a bow-shot from the little forest-house, behind a close thicket

of white thorns, stood two saddled horses, held by two stately pages,

who themselves were seated on a pair of small hunters, and carried each

a falcon on his arm; and at a few paces from it stood the king and

Chamberlain Rané, whispering together, behind some elder-bushes that

entirely concealed them.

"That was the old man who rode out," whispered Rané: "it could not have

happened better. And heard you, sir?--nine strokes on the door opens

it."

"Humph! I had rather have given up the whole sport," muttered the king,

with much uneasiness. "You should have sought out the road."

"Sooth to say, sir king, I was better acquainted with the forest than I

pretended; but I wished to give you a surprise, and keep my promise.

Now you have yourself seen that she is here, and concealed from you by

Drost Hessel. This is his forest-house, and here has he maintained both

the girl and the regicide since last year."

"Silence!" whispered the king, with growing fear; "name not the damned

word! He has not yet gone far, and who knows that traitors are not at

hand? It was imprudent in you, Rané, to lead me, on such foolery, so

far into the forest, at this hour. How easily you might have carried me

into the claws of the old Satan! The little minx I should like to get

hold of, but I shall not risk too much for her: I have not quite

forgotten what the daring Niels Breakpeace and the fearful Lavé

Rimaardson said to me yesterday. They are now on the wheel, and will

grin horribly in the moonshine as we ride by.----Rané," he continued,

after a thoughtful pause, "I have not been in a church for many a year,

and am not versed in saints' days. When is St. Cecilia's?"

"Faith, I know not, sire," replied the chamberlain: "I am not a whit

more saintly than yourself. But it cannot be far off."

"The bold ruffian said that that day must be past before I could know

his secret. This is not a time for fooleries and wench-hunting. It is

night, and I have not a man with me except yourself. Thou wilt not

betray thy king, Master Rané? Thou art not yet so godless as to lead me

into a snare?"

"The cross defend me, your grace! How can you think so?" stammered

Rané.

They had approached the house, and a faint glimmer from the chink in

the curtained window fell on Rané's face. The king looked at his crafty

chamberlain with an anxious, scrutinising glance, and kept his hand

constantly on the hilt of his sword.

"I have many a time confided in thee," he continued, "and we have had

many pleasant adventures together; but whom in the world am I now to

trust, when Drost Hessel can be traitor enough to conceal a regicide,

and even old Sir John is not to be depended upon?"

"I only half distrust them, sir king," said Rané, quickly; "and it is

still possible I may be mistaken. But so long as I am with you, you are

safe. When the least danger threatens, I shall warn you. If I had

intended to betray you, sire, I should have taken care not to inform

you of what I had heard and seen at Möllerup."

"But thou, too, didst lay thy hand upon the book, Rané--thou, too,

didst swear thy king's downfall; what thou didst add to thine oath, no

one heard."

"I were but a poor spy for you, sir king, did your enemies not believe

me worthy of credit. But think no more of these things. Here you are

safe. I hoped to have earned thanks from you to-night for a pleasant

surprise, instead of which I am paid with doubts and scruples, whilst

you squander here the precious moments. The pretty Aasé sits within,

and wearies. Perhaps she is already asleep, and sweetly dreams of you."

"Talk not of her dreams, Rané, for they are frightful: she nearly drove

me mad with them at Hegness. Beautiful she is, it is true, but as

cunning as a she-devil. It is said that she has really power to

foretell the future, and I almost believe it. If it be so, there are

one or two things worth knowing from her. Heard you what the peasant

said about the three suns?"

"Mere superstition and nonsense, sir king. In truth, I did not half

comprehend him. But what he said about elfin-moss I could understand.

From his description, it was neither more nor less than our little

Aasé. She is cunning enough, perhaps, to avail herself of the credulity

of the peasants, to render herself of importance, and drive a sly trade

in the hidden arts. So, sir king, if you too are superstitious, and

wish to have your fate unriddled, you have here an opportunity of

gratifying your curiosity: you are but a few paces from the elf-woman;

and, from such a pretty little mouth, you can hear no unpleasant

prediction. In any case this will be a sufficient excuse for your

unexpected visit, and give more zest to the adventure."

"So be it, then. I will visit her, Rané; but take care that no one

surprises us, and be at hand when I call."

"You are perfectly safe, sir king."

The tall huntsman then approached the door of the little forest-house,

cautiously and irresolutely. He first looked through the horn-pane, but

could only distinguish the light of the lamp and an ill-defined female

form, reclining, apparently, on a bench. He stood by the door and

raised his hand, but let it fall again. At length he summoned

resolution to strike the door nine times, gently, with the hilt of his

sword. He heard a light, slow footstep in the room. The bar inside was

withdrawn, and all was again still. He lingered a moment, as if

undecided; and then half opened the door gently, and peeped in. The

lamp burned dimly beneath the rafters, and on the bench by the table

lay the beautiful little Aasé, apparently asleep. He now wholly opened

the door, and softly entered. Having closed and bolted it after him, he

approached the sleeping girl and gazed at her with admiration in his

blinking eyes. Never, he thought, had he seen a more beautiful woman.

Her little cap lay on the table, by the side of a breviary written in

Gothic characters and in the Frisian dialect. The jet black locks of

the maiden were released from their bands, and fell freely down and

over her virgin neck and shoulders. The king, not to frighten her with

his long sword, hung it on a small wooden hook on the wall.

"Aasé--little Aasé--wake up!" he whispered. "Thou must grant me a

kindly welcome to-night."

The sleeping girl leisurely arose; but her eyes were closed.

"Do not fall asleep again, little Aasé," he continued: "I had enough of

this jest before. Open thy pretty eyes, and look on me. Dost thou not

know me?"

She opened her eyes, but they did not look on him: they were widely

extended, and her gaze fixed, without play or animation; and her little

handsome countenance, which was deadly pale, wore the solemn and

fearful expression of somnambulism.

"Now, by my soul!" exclaimed the king, falling back, perplexed, "if

thou art a witch or sorceress, I shall hold no farther parley with

thee. Thou shalt be burnt one day, when thou fallest into the hands of

the clerks. Yet, nay: thou art too beautiful for that," he added,

recovering his calmness, and looking at her keenly. "Ha, woman! is this

real, and no crafty jugglery? If thou canst gaze down upon the damned,

say what the dead robber on the Daugberg wheel is about? What would he

tell King Erik Christopherson within eight days?"

"The robber on the wheel?" repeated Aasé in a soft, toneless voice, and

without changing her mien or posture--"he is now in the black pit, and

calls on King Erik Christopherson."

The king started: he gazed on her again, and blinked with much

uneasiness and suspicion, as he looked around. "Deceive me, cheat, and

it shall cost thee thy life!" he muttered, with his hand on the hilt of

his dagger, and retreating a step farther towards the door. "Whom seest

thou in the pit?" he again inquired, in a low tone, appearing no longer

to doubt that she was in some wonderful state that enabled her to see

into the Hidden, and perhaps to reveal the Future which he dreaded.

She hesitated to reply, as it seemed to cost her a painful effort to

look on that which presented itself to her interior sense--a sense so

different from that denoted by her rigid, motionless, extended eyes.

"In the pit I see robbers--murderers--ravishers!" she said, at length,

in the same whispering, toneless voice: "there are kings, princes, and

bishops among them. And, lo! there he sits--the murderer of his

brother--on a throne of dead men's bones, with cushions of fiery

serpents! He prepares a place for his brother's son! Hearest thou?--"

"Woman! demon! What devilry dreamest thou of?" exclaimed the king,

overcome with fearful anguish. "Answer me! Speak! Can I yet be saved?

How long a respite have I?"

"Ask the sword that rattles on the wall!" replied the somnambulist in a

louder voice, pointing to the king's sword, but without turning her

eyes towards it: "when that falls, thy time is near at hand."

With a convulsive motion, the king snatched at his sword; but the

slender hook that supported it gave way, and it fell, rattling, on the

stone floor.

"This is the sword of a king, and not that of a headsman!" exclaimed

the king, proudly and vehemently, as he hastily took up the weapon,

appearing, as he grasped it, to recover strength to overcome his

terror. "When the heading-sword rattles on the wall, well I know it

waits for blood," he muttered; "but this shall drink that of my foes.

Ha! tell me, thou fearful woman!" he continued, looking anxiously

around him, "who are the accursed traitors that lay wait for me? Where

are they, and how many?"

"If thou wilt know their number, reckon it on thy belt," replied Aasé.

"Beware of the grayfriar cloaks: they conceal bold warriors. They ride,

with drawn swords, through the forest. See! look!--the blind, bald

monk!--he laughs, and whets his sword on his nails!"

"Ha! Pallé, Pallé!--is it thee?" muttered the king, staring wildly

in the direction on which the fearful dreamer's gaze seemed to be

fixed.----"Seest thou more?"

"I see a man, with glowing eyes, clad in iron," replied Aasé, in a

fainter voice, apparently exhausted, and almost sinking to the ground:

"he spurs his black steed, and his great sword is drawn! Now will he

revenge the dishonour of his wife!"

The king still stared wildly before him. "Sorceress! she-devil!" he at

length shouted madly, "if thou art leagued with my deadly foes, thou

shalt be the first to fall by this sword." And he sprang, with

phrensied violence, to seize her by the throat; but his hand grasped

only her loose kerchief, whilst his uplifted sword rattled against the

lamp, which fell, extinguished, on the floor; and at the same moment

he heard a shriek, and a hollow sound like the closing of a large

chest-lid.

The girl had suddenly disappeared. The king raved wildly, and laid his

sword about him in the darkness. A dreadful anguish overwhelmed him;

and he would have called out, but was unable. He groped for the door,

but could not find it; and then rushed madly against a wooden

partition, which gave way, when the house seemed to fall about him.

A cold breeze now met him. He stumbled, and fancied he had fallen into

some frightful murder-den. His senses became bewildered, and he saw

before him all the hideous forms he most dreaded. The pale Fru

Ingeborg, with raised dagger, nodded at him with her lean, skeleton

head; her blind, crazy father danced around him with wild laughter,

groping at random for his prey; and the terrible Stig Andersen stood

threatening him, whichever way he turned, with the same fearful look of

revenge as when he denounced him at the Thing of Viborg. A cold

perspiration stood on his forehead. The ground seemed to shake under

him; and he reeled forward, without knowing where, till he stumbled

over a stone, and tore his face among thorns. This recalled his senses,

and he now found himself in the midst of a wild thicket in the forest.

The faint starlight shone dubiously, and he looked despairingly around

him. There was no house to be seen, and the apparition of the girl

occurred to him like a frightful dream.

He now recovered his voice. "Am I mad or bewitched?" he exclaimed.

"Rané, Rané! where art thou?"

He heard a rustling among the bushes, and Rané stood, terrified, before

him.

"The rood protect us, sire!" stammered the astonished chamberlain: "how

have you come hither? and whither has the house vanished? I fancied I

heard you calling from the thicket, and sprang towards the sound: I

then rushed wildly into the cursed elfin-moss, but could find no traces

of the house."

"It is devilry and sorcery," said the king: "if thou, too, hadst not

seen both the girl and the house, I could have sworn I had been

dreaming, or was mad. Where are the horses?"

"Close by, sire. I hear them snorting and pawing."

"Away!" cried the king: "lead me from this infernal spot. I am mad or

bewitched, and while I remain here I am less than a man."

"Shall I bring the horses, sire?"

"Nay, do not leave me! Lead me to them. Give me thy hand, Rané!" And he

grasped the chamberlain's hand convulsively. "Thou art still true to

me? thou art not in league with my murderers, and wilt not basely

betray thy king and master's life?"

"How can you doubt me, sir king? I have been in the most deadly fear

for you. You may be right, however, in your suspicions of sorcery: for

this cannot be so in the usual nature of things--a house cannot thus,

by human means, sink suddenly into the earth. But how did you fall

among the thorns?"

"I know not, Rané. Where are the horses?"

"We shall reach them instantly, sire. Follow me, and fear not. We shall

find a way out of this bewitched forest. Ho, pages! Hither with the

horses."

Little Aagé Jonsen and his comrade now approached with the animals.

"Has there happened any misfortune?" inquired Aagé. "I fancied I heard

the king shouting?"

"He had only got bewildered in the thicket," replied Rané. "Here is

your horse, sir king. Allow me to assist you, and to lead you through

the thorns, until we reach a road or pathway."

The king mounted his horse in silence, and allowed Rané to lead him

through the bushes. They proceeded thus for some time, but could find

neither road nor path. The pages were leading their horses in the rear,

and one of them began to cry. "We shall never get out of the forest,"

he whimpered.

"Be quiet, Bent," replied Aagé, "and do not let the king perceive that

you are so silly."

"Is there no end to this?" exclaimed the king, impatiently. "Whither

dost thou lead me, Rané? The farther we go the worse it seems. Where

are we?"

"We must soon find an outlet, sire!" replied Rané: "I can already see

an open space; but where we are I am unable to say, were it to save my

life. Yet, stay; now I can see a light. Here lies a whole village: it

must be Finnerup. We cannot reach Harrestrup tonight, and you must be

wearied, sir king: let us therefore rest at Finnerup, at least until

the moon rises. There you may be tranquil, sire. They are brave people

in Finnerup; and no evil shall befall you."

"In the name of God and all the saints!" exclaimed the king, anxiously,

"let us only get under cover, and out of this infernal forest."

In a short time they reached an open field, and a pathway that led to

the little country village. They all mounted. The king felt himself

relieved when he again saw lights, and the sign of human beings. They

were not far from the village, but it was getting late, and, one after

another, the lights were extinguished.

"It must be bedtime with them," observed Rané, "and we may find some

difficulty in obtaining shelter, unless we make ourselves known. But if

you can bear with the scanty accommodation, we can at least find

admission to the large barn of Finnerup. They are bound to give

travellers shelter there; and that they are honest people, I need not

tell you."

"This would be safest," said the king. "But should there be any

dangerous travellers there, who might recognise us?"

"I will first enter, and look after the accommodation, sire. See,

yonder stands the barn: it is open, and the lights are still burning.

Let us hasten, sire, before they also are extinguished."

They now set spurs to their horses, and rode at a brisk trot towards

the straw-thatched building, which lay in a remote corner of the

village, near a little mean hut, occupied by an alehouse keeper, and

frequented only by peasants and the poorer sort of people. This

ale-house was closed and dark; and at the open door of the barn they

saw only a couple of stablemen, about to lead out some horses.

"Remain here, sire--I shall return again instantly," said Rané.

He rode up to the barn, looked carefully around him, spoke a few words

with the stablemen, and returned immediately.

"There is not a soul in the barn," he said, hastily; "there is

excellent clean straw to rest upon, and the people do not know us.

Follow me, your grace."

He rode forward, and the king followed him to the long, gloomy barn,

which was dimly lighted up by a solitary horn-lantern, suspended by a

rope from a centre beam. As the king passed the stablemen, he threw on

them a sharp scrutinising look; but they doffed their goat-skin caps

carelessly, and did not appear to know him.

"Shut the barn-door, Rané, and fasten it well," he said, dismounting

from his horse, which the pages took, together with Rané's and their

own, and led to the long mangers.

The king, who was much fatigued, then threw himself on a bundle of

straw, but kept his look upon Rané, who, with much noise, was

apparently fastening one of the lower bars of the door. There still

remained a bolt to be shot in at the top; but this seemed too high for

the chamberlain to reach. He therefore, laid down, close to the door, a

bundle of straw, on which he stood, and secured the upper bolt firmly.

"There, now," he said, returning towards the king, and panting for

breath, "I have fastened both bolt and bar. It was as much as I could

do to manage the large bar. It is as thick as a beam, and the man who

can break it is not born of woman."

"'Tis well, my trusty Rané" said the king, kindly: "repose thyself now

beside me. Thou hast suffered enough to-night on my account. When we

remember what Marsk Stig said at Viborg, we should avoid such

adventures," he continued, familiarly, though with inquietude. "We

shall never again ride out in Jutland during the night. Humph! had I

outlawed him at that time, perhaps I had done well; but old John

considered it more prudent to deal mildly with him. This Marsk Stig is

a violent man, and singularly true to his word. More than once, lately,

have I imagined I saw him."

"He is now certainly at his table, drinking wine with his good friends,

at Möllerup," replied Rané, who remained standing, respectfully; "and

little dreams that the King of Denmark reposes to-night on straw, in a

wretched barn. Marsk Braggart would be glad to be on terms with you,"

continued Rané, "although he fancies that it is he who defends the

whole nation, since he got you to acknowledge the laws and edicts of

the kingdom. But if you would have him alive, Möllerup is not

impregnable. The foolhardy marsk should bear in mind what the ballad

says."

"What says the ballad?" inquired the king, abstractedly and pensively.

"I have not, in sooth, much dependence on ballad wisdom, sir king,"

replied Rané; "but it is a true saying, nevertheless, if rightly

understood:--

"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere,

And about the field doth fly;

But she guardeth not the little hill

Whereon she might rely."

"Alas, yes, my trusty Rané," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the

saying is as applicable to me. But did you fasten the door carefully? I

thought I heard it shake in the wind."

"It does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the

greatest force. I fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily:

"there must be a thief in the candle. Shall I lower it and see?"

"You may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and

take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. Come, I shall

trim it myself."

Whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses

was heard outside the barn.

"There are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed Rané, taking

the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?"

"Nay, for God's sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "If they

want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room."

They were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now

quiet again.