PART III.

Half an hour after Lady Ingé had left Drost Peter in Viborg Cathedral,

by the grave of the murdered king, she departed, in the plain dress of

a citizen's daughter, through St. Mogen's Gate, in company with her

father. Many travellers were proceeding the same way; but before

midnight, by order of the young king, every gate was barred.

Duke Waldemar and Sir Abildgaard had accompanied the procession from

the cathedral. The old Borrewold Castle had been prepared for the

reception of the royal family and their followers; and there, late in

the evening, the queen and the young king held a council, with locked

doors, at which were present the Margraves of Brandenburg, Chancellor

Martinus, and Drost Peter, who had hurried from the church with the

important intelligence that Marsk Stig himself was in Viborg, and had

had the audacity to be present at the funeral. Every precautionary

measure was instantly adopted. The approaches to the royal apartments

in the Borrewold were guarded by Sir Thorstenson and Benedict

Rimaardson, with the royal trabants. Mailed horsemen and landsknechts

blocked up every avenue to the castle. The trusty civic guard of Viborg

was armed, and, at the chancellor's suggestion, the orders of the king

were immediately issued to shut the gates of the city, and to institute

a strict search throughout it, during which every suspicious person was

seized and imprisoned.

It was past midnight. The duke, with great inquietude, paced up and

down his sleeping chamber, situated in the eastern wing of the castle,

facing the Viborg lake. The events of the journey and the interment had

strongly excited his fears. The expressions of the chancellor on their

way to the city, and his searching looks in the cathedral, had created

in him a feeling of uneasiness, which he in vain endeavoured to

overcome. His anxiety was farther increased by the stern preparations

going forward in the castle, which had not escaped his notice. On every

side he heard the tread of armed men--in the court-yard, as well as in

the passage outside his chamber.

Although both himself and his drost were waited upon with the greatest

attention, and even with regal pomp, it still appeared to him that all

his movements were watched; and the strong guard outside his door was

far from pleasing to him. He had despatched Tuko Abildgaard into the

city, an hour before, to ascertain the cause of the excessive noise and

clang of arms he heard there, and he had not yet returned. The door was

at length opened, and the young knight entered, breathless.

"What is the meaning of the din?" inquired the duke: "is the town in an

uproar?"

"Not precisely so; but matters look suspicious," replied Sir

Abildgaard, with some agitation. "They are searching everywhere for the

marsk. I have been three times laid hold of, and your name was barely

powerful enough to liberate me."

"Have they seized the marsk?" asked the duke, hastily.

"Nay, sir duke: it is rumoured that he left the town before the gates

were secured. The Stig knew well what he was about; but what he wanted

here to-day, I am at a loss to conceive."

"That is easily understood," replied the duke. "To know in what temper

the people are, must be to him of much importance. Great grief or

lamentation I did not observe; neither saw I peasant or burgher in the

procession."

"But now the wind has shifted, sir. The sight of the queen and of the

young king has worked a wonderful change in the mob. You should hear

how they growl against the daring marsk and his friends, and how they

lament and extol the deceased king, the soft-hearted fools! We shall

now have Reinmar von Zweter and all the German poets in vogue, and Erik

Glipping will become a great man in his grave. But it is always thus.

When the wild beast, that every one pursued, has fallen, even his

greatest foes lament over him, as if he had suffered shameful

injustice; and they admire the monster for his powerful claws, when

they have no longer anything to fear from them. That wavering turncoat,

Sir Lavé, from Flynderborg, has been here, with the marsk: he was

seized with qualms in the church, it is said, and behaved like a madman

during the funeral. Fortunately, he has disappeared. Had they caught

him, he was in a condition to betray us all."

"Us?" repeated the duke, suddenly changing his tone of familiarity to

one of pride and coldness: "remember to whom you are addressing

yourself, Tuko! What connection had I with these conspirators? Look to

your own safety. After what you have stated, I would advise you to be

careful. Rely not on my name: unless you can, like me, wash your hands

of what has happened, and swear you had no part in it, I cannot aid

you. I am here, with the young king, as his nearest kinsman and

protector. With Marsk Stig and his transactions, I can have nothing

to do. The late conspiracy at Möllerup is already talked of as a

well-known affair, and you are named as having been concerned in it.

But for me, I knew nothing of it, and nothing will I know."

"But, most gracious sir," exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, in astonishment,

"you stated no objections when you accorded me permission to travel;

and, though you did not expressly send any message by me, we perfectly

understood each other. What I promised in your name, I have never

doubted but that you would fulfil."

"What you have promised, you must yourself perform. I have promised

nothing that I dare not proclaim to the world. That which I promised

and swore to the deceased king, in our covenant at Sjöborg, I have kept

to the letter. From that hour I have undertaken no step against the

crown and kingdom, and yet here they have no confidence in me. I must

remain contented with respectful servants, and an ample guard of

honour, while the margraves and Drost Hessel are present in the

council. But I shall speedily teach these gentlemen who is the guardian

of the king, the legal protector of the kingdom; and the daring rebels,

too, shall know that I am not the man who, contrary to his oath and

duty, will be found protecting traitors and regicides."

Sir Abildgaard stood as if thunderstruck. "My noble duke," he said, at

length, "you must be jesting? You will not strike down, in his moment

of need, the faithful friend who has placed his life in jeopardy for

your sake? I, who so cheerfully shared imprisonment and adversity with

you--you cannot seriously propose to use me as a mere tool, which you

can suffer to be broken and cast aside with unconcern, when you have no

farther need of me? If this, however, be the friendship of princes, I

must indeed have been the most obtuse animal in the world, when I

thought I had discovered generosity and magnanimity under purple."

"Tuko," said the duke, with a transient expression of emotion, and a

proud commanding look, "link not your common notions of friendship and

generosity with that great chain of thought that binds my princely life

to the throne of Denmark. Have you been familiar with me from my

childhood, and not yet learnt to separate the thought from the word?

Think you this hand can ever be so mean and base, as to crush the true

and active friend of my youth, who spoke and acted, while I was forced

to sleep and hold my peace? Learn truly to estimate your princely

master, who ceases not to be your friend, although he must now, for

loftier reasons, assume the appearance of a stern enemy. If, with me,

you have discovered the true meaning of living for a great and noble

object, know also that the paltry vulgar virtues, which people call

friendship, fidelity, gratitude, and I know not what, are at bottom but

pompous nothings, which only command the respect of children in spirit

and statecraft, and which the matured ruler-mind hesitates not to cast

aside when, from the puppet masses, he can embody for himself the great

idea for which he lives and labours. If you now comprehend me, Tuko,

you will at once acknowledge and respect that mighty spirit you

nurtured in its developement, and by whose side you shall again stand

when I have reached my goal, and you have acquired strength to follow

me. Meantime, you must depart: this night must you fly; and by your

flight accuse yourself, and betray what you can no longer conceal. You,

and all the other delinquents, I adjudge outlaws. As the king's

guardian, and protector of the realm, I shall pursue you with rigour

when the proper moment has arrived. But if there be a great spirit in

you, as I have believed, you will not therefore hate or mistake me; and

when the season of persecution is over, you shall find that Duke

Waldemar was not a selfish or faithless friend, and that you were no

credulous fool when you trusted to generosity and magnanimity under

purple."

"Now, I understand and admire you, noble sir," replied the artful

knight, bowing profoundly, "though I must flee you as from a stern

pursuer. What I have done for you in secret shall cast no shadow on

your glory. You can stand high and pure by the infant throne, and

condemn your friends without blushing. Good--I shall fly--whither I

dare not say; but wherever, in the north, there sits enthroned a

powerful protector of Marsk Stig, there is the place of shelter for his

persecuted friends. Farewell, noble duke: your drost shall soon be

gone. Spare not the hardened sinner when he gains a respectable

distance; but remember also, that none of us are immaculate, and let

mercy take the place of justice when the hour of condemnation has

arrived."

So saying, he retired into a side apartment, and speedily returned

disguised as a right handsome pantry-maid. He curtsied to the duke,

mimicking with much drollery the bashful manners of a servant-wench.

"Dearest gentleman," he said, with the accent of a Jutland

peasant-girl, "I am a modest, innocent lass, and hardly know how I

could have found my way into the presence of such a grand young lord.

Pardon my intrusion, and allow me to quit this place pure and

uninjured, that the slanderous world may think no ill of me. That you

are a dangerous gentleman for such as me, is well known; and your guard

of honour will certainly not be surprised if I conceal my modest face

from them. Thanks, worthy gentleman, for your gracious kindness. For

your sake I must now hide from the world for a long time, and you must

pretend not to know me, though I shall probably grieve for what is

yours, and you will not certainly repel the hand of your humble

servant."

"Art thou a fool? Is this a time for jesting?" exclaimed the duke, in a

low tone; and, opening the door into the passage, "Good night, my

child," he said, aloud, patting the cheeks of the pretended girl in the

open doorway. "Run on, now: these brave soldiers will not harm thee.

But take care, in future, that thou dost not thus go astray after

wedlock fancies, and mistake a knight's closet for the pantry."

The rough landsknecht outside the door smiled in his beard, and,

without suspicion, allowed the tall pantry-maid to slip past.

The duke closed the door, and cast himself, in gloomy thoughtfulness,

on a chair.

"Flee, miserable coxcomb!" he muttered, "and find a shelter now where

thou canst! Thou wilt hardly escape without getting thy wings

scorched."

In a minute afterwards he fancied he heard a scream. He approached the

window with some uneasiness, and distinguished a cry of "Seize her! it

is a disguised traitor!" shouted by a gruff voice in the street. There

followed some shrieking and tumult, which, however, soon died away in

the distance.

The departure of the intimate friend of his youth, and concern for his

fate, seemed to have disposed the duke to melancholy; but the feeling

was not of long duration.

"Bah!" he said to himself, as he proudly paced the floor, "when the

ancient heroes tied fire beneath the wings of swallows, and sent them

forth as instruments of conquest, what cared they for the piping of the

little creatures?"

He again threw himself on a chair, and fell into deep thought. Since

his imprisonment at Sjöborg, where he had often held converse the whole

night with his owl and his dead kinsman, as if the latter answered him

from the inscribed prison-wall, he would frequently, in his closet,

talk half aloud to himself; and it was rumoured and believed by many,

that he was leagued with powerful spirits.

"As far as I know," continued he, wrapt in his gloomy fancies, "the

first great stage is mounted: it requires courage to stand upon it, for

it is bloody and slippery; but I did not stir a hand--not a word

escaped my lips. I stand pure and free; and where is he who can accuse

me? The next stage is a minor. It, too, must be ascended--but without

crime. The fair hand that shall help me up is cold, but it may be

warmed. It will lose me a pious soul, but a love-dream shall not stand

in my way. On! on!--and then--then shall no one say, 'Behold! there

goes King Abel in his grandson!'"

Next forenoon, when Duke Waldemar left his apartment to appear in the

royal presence, the guard of honour lowered their lances respectfully

before him. The queen and the young king received him with an attention

that surprised him; whilst Drost Peter's salutation, though somewhat

cold, was courteous. The duke surmised that the council had resolved to

invest him with that full power and authority which they could not

refuse him without overstepping the law of the land, and rousing a

dangerous and powerful enemy, who, in open league with the

conspirators, could easily overthrow the yet unstable throne.

The consciousness of this power, and the feeling that he was already

secretly dreaded, although his authority was not publicly acknowledged,

imparted to him an air of confidence and almost kingly dignity that did

not ill become him. He approached the queen with as much ease and

freedom as if he had already been for a long time her adviser, and the

guardian of the young king. He spoke of the critical state of the

kingdom, and of the measures to be adopted, with sagacity and zeal, but

at the same time with the decisive air of a co-regent. This demeanour

was, however, attended with so much politeness, and respectful

acknowledgment of the queen's important influence as royal mother, that

the fair and proud Queen Agnes could not possibly be offended. She

appeared to have already been more favourably disposed towards the duke

by her brothers; and, now, she could not but admire the delicacy with

which he advanced his claims, without seeming at all assuming or

importunate.

The constraint which was apparent in the queen's demeanour at the

beginning of the conversation soon disappeared, and Drost Peter

observed with concern the manner in which the duke, by his subtle

flatteries and vehement denunciation of the conspirators, contrived to

disarm the queen of every suspicion that had previously attached to

him.

"It is a horrible conspiracy!" exclaimed the duke, warmly. "Many of the

most important men of the country appear to be engaged in it. A rigid

investigation has become necessary, that the guilty may be discovered,

and the innocent remain unsuspected. My former misunderstanding with

the king, and that youthful folly for which I had justly to atone at

Sjöborg, and which there I also learnt to forswear and repent, may have

exposed me to a distrust, which I hope soon to remove by faithful deed

and counsel. In a magnanimous soul an unfounded suspicion can never

take deep root, though there be spirits mean and distrustful enough to

nourish it. I blame no one, however, for being vigilant and cautious,"

he continued. "In these unhappy times, distrust insinuates itself into

the closest relations of friendship and kindred. Would you believe it,

noble queen, even the friend of my youth, Drost Tuko Abildgaard, had

given me cause for strong suspicions, which, I regret to say, are now

confirmed; for last night he disappeared."

"How?" exclaimed the queen, with surprise: "your drost--the young Sir

Abildgaard?"

"Even he, noble queen! Is it not melancholy? A man, whom I regarded for

so many years as my friend--he who shared my youthful follies, and was,

indeed, partly the cause of them--though for that he shared my

imprisonment in Sjöborg, which he left, as I believed, with the same

abjuration of his errors that I made--I have now reason to believe that

he was present with the conspirators at Möllerup, in the foolish

expectation that I should approve that horrible project, if it could be

executed before I dreamt of it. Yesterday, having heard with what

horror I condemned the conspirators, he fled, and I have not since

heard of him."

"Respecting this affair, illustrious sir," observed Drost Peter, "I

have to inform you, that Sir Tuko Abildgaard was last night apprehended

in a suspicious disguise, but afterwards escaped by a daring artifice,

and is not yet discovered."

The duke remained silent, and merely raised his hand to his eyes, as if

unable to restrain an emotion that seemed to do honour to his heart.

"Noble duke!" exclaimed the queen, with warm interest, "what you have

lost in that false friend you have gained in my esteem and confidence.

That your drost was among the conspirators was well known to me; and

there was a moment when even those who defended you most zealously were

forced to admit that your intimate connection with this knight was

unaccountable. My brothers are your friends. From them I have learnt

your disinterested sympathy, as well for me, as for the crown and

kingdom. They were witnesses of your horror upon first hearing of this

audacious crime; and it will greatly rejoice them to learn, that the

incomprehensible enigma of your relation with Sir Abildgaard has thus

been solved."

The duke blushed slightly; but hastily availed himself of the

advantageous impression he had made upon the queen. He advised that a

Dane-court should be held at Nyborg in the spring, where he would

himself be present, and, in conjunction with the queen, assume the

guardianship of the young king. In the meantime he hoped to show

himself worthy of that important office, by securing the country

against the daring marsk and the rebels. He suggested that the queen

should, for the present, remain with the young king at Viborg, where

the strong garrison and the fidelity of the burghers rendered any

hostile attack impossible. This had been the advice of Drost Peter and

the chancellor, in which the Margraves of Brandenburg had also

concurred.

The same day the duke left Viborg, apparently on the best terms with

the royal house. A short time afterwards it was announced that he had

raised an army in South Jutland, to oppose the marsk and his adherents.

But Drost Peter trusted him not; and old Sir John, who, quite

recovered, soon arrived at Viborg, shook his head doubtfully at these

tidings. They suspected that the duke merely pretended to arm himself

against the marsk, in order to muster a respectable force, with which

he could assert his claims at the Dane-court, and secure his election

to the regency.

* * *

Whilst nearly all the conspirators, stricken with horror at their own

deed, had sought refuge in Norway, Marsk Stig had buried his wife, and,

with his two daughters, had left Möllerup, where he no longer

considered himself secure. At great personal risk he had been present

at the king's interment, and had marked how little favourable to him

and his cause was the temper of the people.

Nevertheless, it was quickly rumoured that Rypen House and Flynderborg

were in the hands of the rebels, and that the valiant marsk, with seven

hundred men in iron, and his warlike engines from Möllerup, had taken a

strong position on Helgeness and Hielm, from which points he appeared

resolved to carry devastation through the country.

Helgeness is a peninsula, girded by immense heights. It stretches, like

a promontory, from Molsherred towards Samsoe, between the bay of

Vegtrup and that of Ebeltoft. The neck of land by which this peninsula

is connected with North Jutland, is only two hundred paces in breadth.

With the utmost haste, the marsk had caused this approach to be cut off

by a deep trench, and a wall of large hewn stones, at which they

laboured day and night; the old castle on Hielm Island being fortified

at the same time.

This singular little island is only about an English mile in

circumference. It lies in the Cattegat, about two miles east of

Helgeness, and about a mile from the point that runs out from Ebeltoft

parish. The old castle on the island is said to have been built in

pagan times, by the famous King Jarmerik, who was there slain. The

island and castle belonged, at the period of which we treat, to

Chamberlain Rané Jonsen, as did also a tenement or farm-house on the

point, which, for many ages after, was called Rané's barn-yard. The

island possessed a good haven, where lay Jarl Mindre-Alf with his

pirate-vessels. There was no want of fresh water; and Fru Ingeborg had,

with much prudence, advised her husband to make this his place of

refuge. Here he was in greater security than at Möllerup, had firm

footing on the Danish coasts, and could receive supplies from Norway

without impediment. The island was already, from its situation and

heights, so well fortified by nature, and the old castle was so

favourably situated, that it did not seem difficult to make the place

impregnable. There were now added two lofty towers, with loopholes and

strong battlements, and the castle was provided with deep double

trenches.

The marsk had not awaited the permission of his kinsman, the crafty

Chamberlain Rané, to occupy this important position, and probably he

did not expect much complacency from him. The latter, indeed, appeared

to have intended this secure asylum for himself, should all miscarry.

Hence, on the marsk's arrival, he found a brave little garrison in the

castle, who had strict orders from the chamberlain to defend it against

every one to the last extremity. The marsk had therefore to take the

place with the strong hand, and was so exasperated by the unexpected

resistance he encountered, that he allowed the whole garrison to be

slain. For this reason, it was afterwards sung, in the old ballad:--.

"Marsk Stig he captured Hielm so steep--

The truthful tale I tell:

Full many a cheek was blanched that day,

And many a hero fell."

Here the marsk erected his lithers and other formidable machines on the

old rock-fast walk and visited Helgeness almost daily, to superintend

the fortifications there. His seven hundred ironclad men were

garrisoned in Hielm, and on the peninsula. Some of the peasants in the

neighbourhood had voluntarily declared for him; but many he caused to

be seized, and compelled them to bear stones and labour on the works.

The towers on Hielm speedily arose, as if by miracle, terrifying the

oppressed peasants all around, who were constrained not only to work on

the walls of Helgeness, but also to supply provisions for the garrisons

of both places.

These misfortunes were attributed by the depressed people to the bad

government of the murdered king; and the feelings they then indulged

are plainly indicated in the ballad which, a few months after the

king's death, blended mournfully with the blithe spring song of the

birds, and in which the new fortress was described as a monster who had

risen from the sea, with horns like towers. Therein it was sadly

sung:--

"The peasant he goes out o'er the field,

And there he sows his corn:

Help us, our Father in heaven high,

Now Hielm has got the horn!

"God pity us poor peasants gray,

That Glipping e'er did reign:

Alas, that he was ever born

To be the peasants' bane!"

This ballad the stern marsk himself heard a young peasant-girl singing,

one fair morning in the beginning of May, while, mounted on his

war-steed, he was surveying with pride the strong defences, to which a

few peasants and prisoners of war were still engaged in dragging the

last stones.

One of the strongest workmen on the walls was a stalwart old man, in a

worn-out leathern harness, who, notwithstanding the presence of the

marsk, had sat quietly down on an angle of the wall, his arms crossed,

and regarded the proud general with a wild, disdainful look.

The peasant-girl, carrying bandages in her hand, advanced leisurely

along a footpath, beyond the wall. Her song seemed to surprise the

marsk. The old prisoner on the wall also listened attentively. The girl

first sang aloud, at some distance:--

"They were full seven score men and seven

Upon the muir who met:

The king is slain--how rede we now?

And where now shall we get?

"The king is slain, and lies a corse--

The peace we've broken down;

Here we can neither bide nor bigg

In field or burrow-town.

"But we will on to Scanderborg,

And bid the queen good-day,

And ask the lady how she doth

Before we farther gae.

"She may forget how she would mock,

And all our words deride:

The fire is now in the mocker's house,

And she the stour maun bide."

Marsk Stig started. He heard his own words to the conspirators, at the

council on the heath immediately after the king's murder, and something

of what had passed between the queen and him at Scanderborg.

The peasant-girl drew nearer, and sang, with a loud voice, what had

been preserved in the ballad of the words of the queen and the young

king:--

"Welcome, Marsk Stig, thou self-made king!

Now shalt thou have thy due;

This night of blood, should King Erik live,

Full dearly shalt thou rue.

"Then up spake Erik Erikson,

Little though he mot be:

From Denmark thou'rt outlawed, as sure

As the crown belongs to me."

The marsk became irritated, and reined in his steed; whilst the

prisoner on the wall laughed aloud.

"Pray be not angry, stern sir marsk," he muttered: "only hear the

ballad out. There is not a word of falsehood in it."

The peasant-girl seemed to concern herself only with her bandages and

her song, which went on to relate how the marsk went home to Lady

Ingeborg, at Möllerup, and how she advised him to fortify Hielm. With

deep grief, Stig Andersen heard some of the last words of his unhappy

wife, as the girl continued her song:--

"For nine long winters have I pined--

In secret borne the blight;

My heart is now laid in the grave--

Good night, my lord, good night!"

The anger of the marsk changed to a deep melancholy. He sat on his

horse motionless as a statue, listening to the two last verses of the

ballad, which the girl sang with such an expression of sadness, that it

pierced his heart, and he felt as if, in these tones of sorrow, the

whole grief of the country had united to penetrate his bosom with

reproaches, as with a sharp two-edged sword. The words were simple and

touching:--

"The sturdy oaks in the greenwood stand,

When the storm comes down amain,

But the hazel and the birchen tree

Are rooted from the plain.

"What kings and courtiers do amiss

Upon the poor doth fall;

Then pity us wretched peasants, God!

Have mercy on us all!"

"My Aasé, my Aasé!" suddenly exclaimed the old prisoner on the wall,

springing up and extending his arms towards the dark-eyed country-girl,

who, with the delighted cry of "Grandfather, dear grandfather, have I

at last found you?" dropped her bandages, and with outstretched hands

ran towards him as eagerly as if she would have crossed the deep ditch

and sealed the wall that separated them.

"What now, child?" exclaimed the marsk, riding up to her. "Wilt thou be

the first to carry Marsk Stig's fortress by storm? Is this thy

daughter, old graybeard?"

"My grandchild--my blessed little Aasé she is, stern sir marsk!" cried

old Henner Friser, so deeply affected that, for a moment, he forgot his

feeling of defiance. "She has sought for me the whole country round.

Ah, if you have a human heart, sir marsk, deny me not the pleasure of

clasping her again to my old bosom, and blessing her once more, before

I drag myself to death on your accursed wall."

"Thou art an intractable and audacious carl," replied the marsk: "even

when thou beggest a favour, thou defiest me, and cursest my work."

"I dare not curse your work, sir," replied Henner: "my hand is not

purer than your's; but my help will bring you no blessing. Every stone

I have rolled hither will most assuredly be scattered: therefore have I

toiled like a beast of burthen, and have not every day laid my hands in

my lap. And well may I call this wall accursed; it bears the ban in its

own foundations. It will fall, as surely as it now stands, proud and

bold, a devilish barrier between Danish hearts. It parts even fathers

and children; for here I stand, a miserable, thrall-bound man,

forbidden to embrace my own child."

"Strange old man!" exclaimed the marsk, with a vague feeling of

dread--"thou art free. Descend! Bid the landsknechts unbind thee, and

depart in peace with thy child!"

"Thanks, stern sir," cried little Aasé, seizing the marsk's mailed

hand, and pressing it to her lips: "for this deed will the merciful God

forgive you all the sorrow you have caused me. Come, come, grandfather!

Thou art free--hearest thou not, thou art free!"

"Free I have always been," replied the old man, proudly, and without

moving. "I have not raised a single stone more than I chose, and from

this day forth I should never have raised another. It might have cost

me my head; but that I have worn long enough, and I would never wish it

to fall by an abler hand than Marsk Stig's."

"Thou singular old man!" exclaimed the marsk, thoughtfully, "thou

shouldst never have fallen by my hand, however much thy insolence might

have deserved it. Neither of us, I perceive, should condemn the other.

Thou art a man who, hadst thou so willed it, might have stood by the

side of Marsk Stig."

"I do stand by your side, Stig Andersen!" interrupted Henner, raising

himself proudly erect on the lofty wall above him: "at this instant I

stand as high, not merely on this wall, which separates you from your

country, but on the mighty boundary between the land of the living and

the dead. Many days of penance I have not remaining, unless, like the

shoemaker of Jerusalem, I have to roam the earth like a spectre till

the day of doom. What I have to say to you at parting, I shall say

aloud, before the whole world. Would that my voice could reach every

ear in Denmark!" And he cried, loudly: "Cursed--cursed is the hand that

is lifted against kings and crowns, were it strong as St.

Christopher's, and pure as that of the Holy Virgin. The murderer of a

king shall never know peace: his race shall perish from the earth--his

best deeds shall be as the flax, that is consumed in smoke and flame--"

"Silence!--thou art mad, old man!" cried the marsk, in anger, and with

a threatening gesture.

But the old warrior remained immoveable, and gazed full in his flashing

eyes. "We two are able to look angry men in the face," he continued,

calmly: "but you are right--neither of us should condemn the other. I

have not much to tell you, Stig Andersen. You slew the false ravisher,

King Glipping. I, Henner Hjulmand Friser, slew the accursed fratricide,

King Abel. We are thus equals. I can hold out my hand to you as a

comrade--the one bloody hand cannot smear the other."

"Ha, old Henner! wert thou that bold Frisian?" cried the marsk, in

astonishment. "Come hither! I shall dub thee a knight, even in thine

old days."

"That shall you not, Stig Andersen," replied the old man. "In deeds I

am your equal; and you shall now see that, without the stroke of

knighthood, I stand as high as you. I have not repented my act, nor

have you repented your's. But I did not persecute the dead in his

innocent race--I did not undertake, with blood-besmeared hands, to

distribute crowns, nor desire to become an idol among men. I would

free, not lay waste, my country. I built no wall between hearts and

hearts. Yet I perceive that there can be no blessing with us, and such

as we. For this was I unable to seize you and your accomplices; but was

led into this stronghold by the crafty demon that I myself had bound.

And here have I atoned my temerity, by slaving for a greater regicide

than myself. It is the reward I merited. I perceive this now, proud

marsk, and am therefore a higher man than you. The time will come, Stig

Andersen, when you shall see it in the same way. We then may meet

again, and toil like trusty comrades on a greater rebel-defence than

this."

He paused for a moment, and the wildness of his countenance gave place

to melancholy. "Yet, nay," he continued, in a subdued tone, "there is

still pardon for us both; but not thus--not thus--mighty marsk. I am on

my way thereto: if you will with me, tear down your accursed defences,

and follow me yonder, to where the sun rises!"

So saying, he descended from the wall on the inner side. His words had

made a singular impression on the marsk.

"Humph! he is still half crazy, however," muttered the gloomy warrior,

as he rode in silence to the gate by which the liberated prisoner was

to issue.

Alarmed by her grandfather's words, Aasé, pale and trembling, followed

the knight. As they reached the gate, Henner Friser, with a long staff

in his hand, advanced towards it. He still wore a link of his heavy

iron chain, which did not, however, obstruct his movements. The marsk's

trusty attendant, Mat Jute, who superintended the fortifications,

followed the haughty old man, to hear his liberation confirmed by the

marsk himself, before he removed the link.

"Loose him--he is free!" ordered the marsk, and Mat Jute obeyed.

"One word farther only, Henner," said the warrior. "Whither wouldst

thou I should follow thee?"

"Thither, where yonder tree once grew, and bore the eternal fruit of

mercy," answered Henner, pointing to a large cross, which stood by the

roadside.

The marsk laughed wildly. "Yes, truly, when I have reached my second

childhood," he replied. "Depart in peace, old man. Thy deed was greater

than thyself; and so it overcomes thee. Go get thyself a letter of

pardon: turn saint if thou canst; and let us see who shall first reach

the goal. When thou returnest, thou shalt be welcome to me, wherever I

am. We can then discuss, to better purpose, which of us stood the

highest, or performed the most."

The marsk spurred his horse and disappeared within the fortification.

Henner Friser silently extended his hand to little Aasé, and they

departed leisurely, without once looking behind.

They thus continued their way for some time, in painful silence. Aasé

at length broke it.

"Dear, good grandfather," she said, tenderly, "why dost thou not speak

to me? I have not seen thee for many a day--not since that dreadful St.

Cecilia's night."

"What sayest thou, my child?" inquired the old man, as if awaking from

a dream--"ay, let us hear: what became of thee on that fearful night?"

"Yes, fearful it was, truly! When thou and Skirmen had both left me, I

fell asleep on the bench, and my dreams were frightful. When I awoke, I

was in the cellar, beneath the floor, and I thought that I had seen the

king, and warned him of the grayfriars. It was daybreak, and I ran to

the forester's. There I heard of the king's murder, and that thou hadst

followed the murderers. I waited for thee three days, in the greatest

anxiety, which I could endure no longer. I then exchanged clothes with

the forester's maid, took our little hoard, and resolved to travel the

country over until I had found thee."

"My true, my dearest Aasé!" exclaimed the old man, patting her cheek:

"thou hast had better fortune than I. And no wonder: the pure angels of

God attend thee; but I--I had an imp of the Evil One for my guide. I,

too, at length found those I sought; but my guide was craftier than I

and my companions. That artful fox, Rané, befooled us long enough, and

took us all round Jutland with him. But at last I became impatient, and

threatened that my good sword should despatch him. He then swore with

an oath that if the regicides were in the country, I should discover

them at Helgeness. There, sure enough, I found their ringleader, was

overpowered, and, as you witnessed, made a beast of burden. Ha! I

merited the reward! How can Henner Hjulmand enter into judgment with

regicides!"

"Dear, dear grandfather, now do I know what has so troubled thee when

it stormed of a night. But, trow me, it was not the dead King Abel who

rode through Finnerup Forest in the dark: it was the marsk and his man;

for I knew them both again. And now be comforted, dear grandfather. Our

Lord will no longer be angry with thee for that deed. The ungodly King

Abel, like another Cain, had surely slain his brother, and did not

deserve to live. But if thou hast not rest therefore, dear, good

grandfather, let us make a pilgrimage to Rome, or to the holy

sepulchre, as you intended, and there obtain pardon of all our sins."

"Yea, that will we, my child. Had I no greater burden to bear than thou

hast, this path would be easy to me. Now, however, that thou knowest

what oppresses me, I am already lighter of heart. I have never wished

this deed undone, but still it has robbed me of my peace. If, however,

it please God and St. Christian, my soul shall yet regain tranquillity

ere I die. Whatever penance the holy father lays on me I shall perform,

unless he require that I should repent. We shall succeed; and, if thou

hast brought the gold-box with thee, we shall not suffer want on our

journey. 'Tis time enough yet to fast."

"See, grandfather, here it is: I have not touched it. I bound up wounds

by the way, and thus earned more dalers than I have spent." So saying,

she handed the old man a little wooden box, and another containing

copper money. "But, alas, dear grandfather," she continued, "is it true

that the dreadful marsk is stirring up the whole land to rebellion

against the young king?"

"Aye, child, and more's the pity: he is the ablest carl I have known;

but Denmark has given birth to him to her own ruin. He has powerful

friends, both at home and abroad. The country is full of traitors.

There is something to be done here worth having a hand in, were I still

young, and dared defer this penance. Flynderborg has been betrayed by

Sir Lavé, and at Rypen House the marsk's banner of rebellion waves over

the castle-gate."

"Ah, grandfather, there will be terrible times. The duke, with a large

army, is before Rypen, but nobody believes that he intends honestly by

our young king and country. Drost Peter is also expected there--and

Skirmen will certainly be with him--when, it is said, the castle will

be taken by storm."

Whilst they were thus conversing, they heard behind them the gallop of

horses. They turned, and beheld two tall peasants, mounted on noble

steeds, attended by a peasant-lad on a norback, and leading two saddled

horses behind him.

"Drost Peter!--Skirmen!" cried old Henner and Aasé, in the same breath.

In an instant the peasant-lad had dismounted, and was in Aasé's arms.

Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson, for the disguised peasants were no

other, then stopped. They soon learned from old Henner what he knew of

the marsk's strength at Helgeness and Hielm, which, in their disguise,

they had already closely approached, and were therefore almost as well

acquainted with the state of the defences as Henner himself.

"Follow us to Rypen, brave old man," said Drost Peter. "Until that

royal burgh is ours, I shall not appear in the presence of the queen

and our young king. Good counsel is precious here; and if you know more

than your paternoster, now is the time to show it. You and Aasé may

mount our spare horses."

Little Aasé was soon on horseback, and they proceeded at a brisk trot

on the road to Rypen.

On the way Drost Peter learned from Henner that the crafty Rané was

greatly embittered at seeing his ancestral castle on Hielm in the hands

of the marsk; but that, dissembling his feelings, he had been

despatched from Helgeness, no doubt with a message to Norway, or

probably to bring reinforcements. How he had accomplished his errand,

however, Henner knew not.

* * *

An important change had, in the meanwhile, taken place with Rané.

Neither the marsk nor the Norse freebooter had received him as he had

expected when he led Henner Friser and the royal huntsmen into their

stronghold at Helgeness. The marsk had offered him no compensation for

the island of Hielm and his ancestral fortress; and the jarl, instead

of redeeming his promise to receive him as his son-in-law, had merely

given him the stroke of knighthood, and told him to be contented with

that honour for the present. Rané was too prudent to betray his

indignation: he therefore appeared only zealous to serve the marsk, and

to show the jarl that he was not deficient in daring courage. He had

sailed from Helgeness in one of the freebooter's pirate-ships, giving

them the assurance that he should soon prove he had not received the

golden spurs unworthily. But instead of bearing to Kongshelle, as he

had promised, where the Norwegian king, Erik the Priest-hater, and Duke

Hakon, were residing, he steered direct for Tönsberg.

Rané, since he had received the stroke of knighthood, seemed to have

acquired a spirit of daring which was strikingly manifested in his

whole deportment and appearance. His squeaking voice had, in the course

of the last half year, become transformed into a somewhat rough bass,

not deficient in strength; his reddish downy beard had become darker

and stronger; and the feminine expression of his countenance gave place

to one of strong and wild passionateness. The feeling of the important

influence he had acquired in these great state affairs, and the

dangerous position he had placed himself in, from which he could

extricate himself only by his own sagacity and abilities, gave a stamp

of confidence to his air and manner which considerably mitigated the

unpleasantness of his crafty smile.

At Tönsberg Castle dwelt the daughter of Jarl Mindre-Alf, Kirstine

Alfsdatter,[34] or Jomfru Buckleshoe, as she was called, from the large

gold buckles she wore. She was about sixteen years of age, strong,

plump, with dark brown hair, very lively blue eyes, and a pert, little,

turned-up nose. She had been brought up in Tönsberg, like a future

princess. Her mother died during her infancy, and her father she had

seldom seen. She had been indulged in every humour; and, whilst the

algrev was absent on his viking expeditions, his daughter lived free

and happy in the castle, where she soon ruled not only the old warden,

but the whole garrison.

Yet with all her wildness and self-will, she did not lack a certain

polish of education. Snorro's nephew, the famous Icelandic skald and

saga-writer, Sturlé Thordarson, had visited Tönsberg three years

previously, and shortly before his death; and this old man of

three score and ten, with his lively and characteristic narratives of

King Hagen Hagensen's exploits, and his spirit-stirring poems

respecting old Norwegian heroes, awakened in the heart of the young

girl so strong a desire for a life of activity, that, ever since, she

had formed no higher wish than to set out on a cruise like her father,

or live to see some grand event take place. A few months before the

period our narrative has reached, she had made the acquaintance of

Jomfru Ingé, who had followed her fugitive father to Tönsberg, and at

his wish had remained there, whilst he continued his journey to

Kongshelle, where most of the conspirators had found protection with

King Erik the Priest-hater and Duke Hakon.

Sir Lavé suffered much from witnessing the grief of his daughter,

occasioned by his treachery to the royal house of Denmark. Her presence

awoke a constant warfare and inquietude in his wavering soul. He could,

indeed, read nothing but filial solicitude in his daughter's looks,

since she had witnessed his repentance and his agony during their

flight from Viborg, after the king's funeral; yet, notwithstanding

this, he had embraced the first opportunity of separating from her.

At Tönsberg Castle Jomfru Ingé again breathed freely, and conquered the

feelings of dejection which her father's presence had inspired. Still

it was to her a painful thought, that she was living in the castle

of a hostile pirate; for, while it belonged to a vassal like Jarl

Mindre-Alf, it did not seem to her like the ancient royal castle

erected by King Hagen Hagensen. The assurance that the rude

pirate-chief was not expected home for a considerable time, could alone

reconcile her; and her horror of the algrev did not extend to his

daughter.

The bold Norwegian girl and the high-souled daughter of the Danish

knight soon became intimate friends. Norwegian skald-songs and

Danish kæmpeviser seemed, from their lips, lays of the same stock.

Jomfru Buckleshoe rode out with her Danish friend to the fells, and

proudly exhibited to her the glories of her native land; whilst the

noble-hearted Ingé admired the land of rocks and Norwegian heroism with

as much sincerity, as she sang with pathos and animation the quiet

beauties of her own fatherland, and extolled her own faithful and

constant countrymen, who, in these unhappy times, were defending

against rebels the crown of Denmark and its youthful king.

Ingé's attachment to the royal house to which her father was opposed,

strongly influenced the courageous daughter of the jarl. This spirit of

independence recommended itself powerfully to the mind of the Norwegian

damsel. She was provoked that her own father and the King of Norway

should render assistance to the enemies of the youthful king, who, from

Lady Ingé's account of his dangerous situation, stood before her as the

personification of that peculiar form of adventure in which her

imagination was most prone to feel an interest.

One day, as the two maidens were riding by the strand, they perceived a

ship, under full sail, run into Tönsberg Fiord.

"See, see!" cried Kirstine, joyfully, "one of my father's galleys. And

seest thou that haughty knight by the prow? Who can it be? Take heed,

proud Ingé! 'tis one of thy countrymen, who can no longer bear thy

absence!"

"'Tis one of thy father's ships, Kirstine," replied Ingé, "and

therefore can bear no friend of mine or Denmark's. One only grieves my

absence, and he it cannot be: he would not forsake his king and country

in their need to visit me."

"Perhaps a wooer to me, then," cried Kirstine, laughing. "If he be a

Danish knight, and please me, I may yet perhaps be in Denmark,

defending your youthful king. Is it not tiresome," she continued,

pettishly, tossing her head, "that we girls must always sit with our

hands in our laps, and allow the men to act as they think proper,

without ever being asked our opinion, as if it were a matter of course

that we must have none at variance with their own? I should think,

however, that we are quite as numerous as they, and have souls as whole

and true in every respect. In what concerns myself, I have a will as

resolute and free as any damsel in Denmark; and, as my father supports

your rebels, I shall support thee and thy true countrymen. In the olden

times, our Norwegian damsels were not so submissive as they now are:

then, there were whole armies of _skioldmöer_,[35] which the valiant

Stærkodder himself had reason to acknowledge. Knowest thou the lay of

the brave Hervor, who compelled her father to hand her the sword of

Tirfing from his barrow?"

"She was a Danish skioldmö," replied Ingé, "but a wild and godless

pagan. Heaven preserve every Christian soul from such mad temerity!"

"She was a damsel, nevertheless, who not only knew what she could do,

but also dared to do it, in spite of any man," rejoined Kirstine. "Old

Sturlé taught me the lay concerning her. Listen: this is the verse I

like best." And, with a voice so clear that it re-echoed across the

fiord, she sang:--

"I dare to touch

And take in my hand

The sharp-edged sword--

Would only I had it!

Never, I trow,

Shall the fire consume me,

That playeth around

The dead hero's eyes."

"Sing not that pagan song, dear Kirstine," cried Ingé, interrupting the

enthusiastic songstress. "Hervor herself was terrified at her ungodly

deed, and as she left her father's grave saw the air in flames around

her. Such unnatural self-will never comes to good."

"Sturlé told me, however, that at last she got the hero she relied on,"

replied Kirstine. "Certainly, no luck attended the sword; but still she

must have led a right pleasant skioldmö's life. It is her I intented to

represent in the lady with the sword on the burning height, which you

may see, wrought, in my father's riddersal. I should like to be a

skioldmö: then should I away to Denmark, to defend your young king."

"Dear Kirstine," exclaimed Ingé, with much solicitude, seizing her

hand, "thanks for thy concern for me and my unhappy fatherland; but let

it not withdraw thee from fidelity and obedience to thy father. I

praise God and the Holy Virgin that I can still obey my father, even

when I appear most wayward. Let me entrust thee with an important

secret, Kirstine. Thou knowest I am in fact a prisoner here; but I mean

to escape, and thou must aid me."

"With all my heart," replied Kirstine, joyously; "but then I must

accompany thee, for I am tired of this uniform life. Cannot two such

damsels as we do something in the world? Wilt thou to Denmark, Ingé?"

"To Denmark or Sweden--I have kinsfolk in both."

"If I am to help thee, I must know everything. That letter brought thee

by the foreign clerk the other day, was certainly from Drost Hessel?"

Lady Ingé blushed. "Nay," she answered, with a suppressed sigh; "but,

since thou wilt know all, read it."

They halted. Kirstine seized the letter, and eagerly opened it.

"_Martinus de Dacia_," she began to read. "Thou art befooling me, Ingé!

This is certainly Latin."

"It is only a man's name," replied Ingé: "so our learned chancellor,

Master Martin Maagenson, calls himself. He is a trusty friend of the

royal house, and has written the letter for my dear old kinsman John.

They wish me to proceed to Stockholm, to the young Princess Ingeborg,

who is destined for our king's bride. She must have the daughter of a

Danish knight for a companion, that she may learn from a native to know

her future people. I am chosen for this, which they say is the only way

in which I may be able to benefit my father, and serve my unhappy

country. I have considered it closely, and no longer hesitate. My

father has left me here, and I must not follow him. He is now safe at

Kongshelle. I have his permission privately; but he dares not openly

avow it: his dangerous position compels him to be silent. It must

appear, therefore, that I escaped without his consent or knowledge.

Your old warden has to-day been requested to detain me. Now, dear

Kirstine, assist me to escape from hence: if I can only get safely from

Tönsberg, my way is open. As well in Denmark as in Sweden, every

castle-warden and governor is bound to accelerate my journey when I

produce this letter." So saying, she took from the pocket of her mantle

a roll of parchment, with three seals attached.

Kirstine opened her eyes in astonishment. "So, indeed--I understand

thee now," she said: "thou hast powerful friends, I see. But we must be

prudent. The warden will henceforth look after thee strictly, and will

scarcely give thee liberty to ride out with me. But let us see who this

strange knight is, who has arrived in my father's ship. If he returns

to Denmark, he may be persuaded to take thee with him; and if it can be

done, I shall accompany thee. It will be surprising if two fair

damsels, like us, cannot get a knight to carry us off, and make him

fancy it was against our wishes."

"Giddy girl! thy thoughts are engaged with adventures and daring

freaks; but, for God and the Holy Virgin's sake, be prudent, and reveal

not what I have confided to thee; for in its success lies my freedom

and all my hopes of the future. Yet one thing more thou must hear," she

added, with a deep sigh: "the powerful commandant at Kongshelle, Sir

Thord--dost thou know him?"

"The wealthy Thord, with the long red nose--what of him?"

"He has demanded me in marriage, and my father dare not say him nay. A

hasty flight alone can save me, for within eight days he will be here."

"And then his nose will be twice as long!" cried Kirstine. "Come along,

dear Ingé!--thou shalt quickly away from hence, and I myself will carry

thee off."

They now rode back towards the little town of Tönsberg, in the midst of

which lay the castle, called Tönsberg House. The fiord, and the painted

wooden houses of the town on both sides the hill, with the sun shining

on its nine convents and the fourteen Kings' Chapels, as they are

called, presented a scene at once beautiful and picturesque. It failed

just then, however, to attract the notice of the two maidens, who had

become thoughtful, as they dared no longer speak aloud among the crowds

of seamen and busy merchants whom they encountered.

When they reached the castle, they found that the vessel they had seen

entering the fiord had, in the meanwhile, arrived. The stately young

knight whom it conveyed had landed, and presented himself with much

pomp to the warden of Tönsberg House, with whom he had held a private

conversation. Arrangements were made to entertain the stranger as a

distinguished guest. The two young damsels entered the large day-room

of the castle, where they sat down in silence to their embroidery,

occasionally casting expectant glances towards a side-door, by which

they knew the warden would introduce the Danish knight, who, they had

already determined, should aid them in their important enterprise.

The door was at length opened, and the old warden entered, accompanied

by Chamberlain Rané, whom he presented to the daughter of the jarl as a

man whom her father had honoured with knighthood, and who had arrived

at Tönsberg on an affair of importance.

Rané saluted the fair ones with much politeness. When Lady Ingé saw

him, and heard his name, she became somewhat alarmed. His crafty smile

and well-bred, insinuating manners, were highly repulsive to her, and

she remembered to have heard him mentioned as the confidant of the

murdered king, in many an affair that was neither to his own honour nor

that of his former master. She had also heard of his suspicious conduct

in reference to the king's murder; and, when she now beheld him as a

messenger from Mindre-Alf, she might justly regard him as an open

traitor. She could not conceal the contempt and loathing he inspired,

which did not escape his observation while conversing with the lively

Kirstine.

The warden having left them, Rané appeared desirous to draw Lady Ingé

into the conversation, and endeavoured to conciliate her by some

expressions of concern for Denmark, and the dangerous position of the

young king. Who Lady Ingé was, and her attachment to the royal house,

he well knew; and he had already observed, with some surprise, that the

daughter of the Norwegian jarl shared her sympathies with much spirit.

He immediately availed himself of this discovery to place himself in an

advantageous light before both young ladies; while, to flatter them

with his confidence, he entrusted to them, as a dangerous secret, that

he was a faithful friend to the royal family of Denmark, and had

ventured hither on far other grounds than those which were alleged as

the object of his visit.

The young damsels were astonished. In order to strengthen his

statement, and allay every suspicion, Rané then painted in glowing

colours, yet with apparent modesty, his valorous defence of the

unfortunate king in Finnerup barn. He related to them how,

notwithstanding this, he had been suspected in the most shameful

manner; and assured them that, to justify himself in the eyes of every

loyal Dane, he would risk his life in the most dangerous undertaking on

behalf of the young king.

"My fidelity to my former king and master," he added, "has already cost

me my fair ancestral castle on Hielm. Marsk Stig has seized it by

storm, and slain my faithful garrison. I have been constrained to use

stratagem against force; but, with the aid I pretend to obtain here for

the marsk, I mean to convince him and your brave father, noble Jomfru

Kirstine, that I am not unworthy of the stroke of knighthood with which

the jarl has honoured me, while even I venture to expose myself to his

anger."

"You are as bold as you are frank, Sir Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, with

astonishment. "What assures you that Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, after

this confession, will permit you to slip free from Tönsberg Castle?

Suppose now, that I instantly order you to be cast into the tower--"

"Then I shall have greatly mistaken your lofty, noble mind, illustrious

damsel," replied Rané; "although I should not consider it a very

serious misfortune even were I compelled to be your prisoner. But this

I know, that the friend of Jomfru Ingé Little can never hate or

persecute any adherent of Denmark's royal house."

"That you should not altogether depend upon, sir knight," replied the

jarl's daughter. "The Danish kings have not left behind them the

fairest memorials at Tönsberg. Tales are still told here of Harald

Bluetooth's cruelty; and there are ruins lying around us from the times

of your valorous King Waldemar. If you imagine that the damsels of

Norway are less patriotis than those of Denmark, you mistake us much."

For an instant Rané seemed alarmed; but he soon recovered himself on

perceiving a roguish smile in the countenance of the bold jomfru, and

the glance she directed to her Danish friend. He bent his knee before

the jocular damsel. "My freedom, perhaps my life, is in your hands," he

said; "yet I repent not my avowal. In the presence of Jarl Mindre-Alf's

fair daughter, it were, indeed, impossible to make a more daring

admission; but I could not look on you, and for a moment forget what I

bear on my shield. With the fair ones of Norway the knights of Denmark

never made war, and the misdeeds of our kings and princes should not be

visited on their innocent subjects--"

"Enough, Sir Rané--rise! the warden is approaching," said Jomfru

Kirstine, hastily.

He kissed her hand respectfully while she raised him; and the warden

now entering, a conversation on indifferent topics was gaily resumed.

But Jomfru Ingé placed no confidence in the crafty Rané. In the

evening, when alone with Kirstine, she warned her of him; for she had

well observed that his respectful homage to her beauty, and his

flattery of her free spirit and independence, had not been without

effect. Lady Ingé at the same time was forced to acknowledge that Sir

Rané was not deficient in courage, and possessed much sagacity and

eloquence. She even admitted that her distrust of him might possibly be

unfounded; but, in the eyes of Kirstine, he was a true and doughty

knight.

Next day Rané eagerly sought an opportunity of conversing with Kirstine

alone. He found it, and soon confided to her that the fame of her

beauty had long made him her passionate admirer. He informed her that

her father had formerly accorded him permission to solicit her hand in

person, but that the jarl now sought to evade his promise; and,

finally, that his present journey, and the hazard to which he thereby

exposed his life, having been undertaken solely for the purpose of

seeing her, there was now no enterprise so dangerous that he would not

venture on it for her sake.

She listened to all his protestations without any apparent displeasure,

but gave him no decided answer.

Four days elapsed, during which Rané continued his efforts to win

Kirstine, and to inspire Jomfru Ingé with a more favourable opinion of

him. Many secret councils had been held between the two damsels, and it

was finally concluded that, before they confided in him, they should,

at all events, put his fidelity to a stern proof.

Rané had spoken highly of the swiftness of his vessel, and of his

powerful connections in Denmark. A hint, or an apparently accidental

occurrence, was therefore all that was required for flight or an

abduction. Kirstine planned the hazardous design, to which, from

necessity and her dangerous situation, Jomfru Ingé was forced to

accede.

On the fifth day after the arrival of Rané, Ingé was alarmed by the

intelligence that her father, with Sir Thord, was expected from

Kongshelle on the following day, and that festive preparations, as for

a wedding, were going forward in the castle.

Rané's vessel lay ready to sail in Tönsberg Fiord, a few bow-shots from

the strand. It was manned by a numerous crew, whom Rané had gained over

with gold and promises. The crafty young knight had proposed a walk by

the beach, where, a little before sunset, he proceeded, accompanied by

Kirstine and Lady Ingé. The old warden attended them, although he was

heartily tired of hearing of fells, and waterfalls, and all the other

beauties of nature which strangers extol so highly. Rané conversed with

the young ladies with much politeness: he greatly admired the beauty of

the landscape. "But," he observed, "the view from the sea must be far

more magnificent. When I arrived, the sky was not so clear as it now

is."

"It appears to me, however," observed the warden, with a yawn, "that it

was just as clear."

"It is possible," replied Rané; "but towards evening the coast assumes

a more beautiful appearance. Here is a boat close by, with part of my

crew: the ladies, perhaps, would like to row a little way on the

fiord."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Kirstine, pulling Ingé along with her into the

boat: "the weather is fine, and I can show thee that the sun does not

set over a nobler land than Norway. Will you go with us, warden?"

Rané had placed himself beside the ladies. The warden was displeased;

but, unwilling to oppose himself to the will of the proud young damsel,

he entered the boat grumbling, and it rapidly glided from the beach.

Whilst Rané dilated with animation on the beauties of the scenery, the

boatmen, who had been previously instructed, rowed straight to the

vessel, which lay with her sails half unfurled, and her crew ready to

heave the anchor as soon as their master was on board.

The invitation of Rané to inspect the ship was accepted. The objections

of the warden were silenced by the eloquent knight, who, the moment

they stood on deck, gave a signal, and the vessel stood out under full

sail. The terrified warden was conducted, as a prisoner, to the cabin;

while Rané, throwing himself upon his knee before Kirstine, poured out

a torrent of flattering apologies for carrying off her friend and her

to Denmark; where, he said, he as certainly hoped to obtain her

forgiveness, as he was now prepared by every deed of chivalry to

deserve the hand of the fairest maiden in Norway.

Lady Ingé, as well as Kirstine, was half terrified at this sudden

abduction, although it was their own plan which the crafty knight,

without knowing it, was carrying into effect. They both remained silent

and thoughtful; but Lady Ingé was too proud to carry dissimulation

farther.

"Well, Sir Rané," she said, gravely, "I follow you willingly to

Denmark, for I desire to leave Tönsberg." And with this avowal she

retired to the other side of the vessel, leaving it to her companion to

simulate anger at his daring conduct.

By this step Sir Rané had gained a great object. As long as the fate of

the conspirators was uncertain, it was important that he should be

able, in some satisfactory manner, to justify his connection with them.

By this daring action he also hoped to increase his reputation as a

bold knight in the estimation of Marsk Stig and the jarl; while in the

daughter of the powerful algrev he possessed a hostage that would

secure him from their enmity. Neither did it escape his observation,

that, in the eyes of the brave daughter of the viking, he had

established his character as an adventurous knight; and he now clearly

perceived that she secretly favoured him as her suitor, notwithstanding

the rage and scorn which she pretended to heap upon him. As long, too,

as Lady Ingé remained in his power, he supposed that her kinsman, old

Sir John, and Drost Hessel, would reflect before they took any steps

against him.

* * *

On a beautiful evening in the middle of May, there was a torch-dance

and great rejoicing in the streets of Rypen. Such festivities, where

the burghers mingled in the gay crowd of knights, were not uncommon;

but at a time so serious, and so soon after the murder of the king,

these public rejoicings gave great scandal to the friends of the royal

house among the burghers of the place; while the adherents of Marsk

Stig heartily entered into them, as a proof of the security with which

the rebel governor of the castle, Sir Tagé Muus, defied the royal

party. In this way, the revolted chief showed, too, how well he

understood, and how much he disregarded, the feigned threats with which

Duke Waldemar had summoned him to surrender.

The duke, with his army, was encamped about half a mile south of Rypen.

His forces consisted chiefly of South Jutlanders; although among them

there were also a few Brandenburg and Saxon horsemen. On the evening to

which we have alluded, the duke entertained, in his magnificent crimson

tent, the two Margraves of Brandenburg, old Duke Johan of Saxony, and

Count Gerhard of Holstein; the latter having reached the army the

previous day, at the head of a chosen troop of Holstein horse. The

brave count had scarcely awaited his recovery from the unfortunate blow

which had cost him an eye, before he had armed himself for the defence

of Queen Agnes and the young king. He had united his forces to those of

the duke without suspicion; but was received at the camp with a

coldness that surprised him. The queen's brothers had newly arrived

from Viborg, to hasten some decisive attempt against Marsk Stig and his

adherents. The aged Duke of Saxony, who had been the youthful friend of

Duke Waldemar's father, the unfortunate Duke Erik, had often manifested

a fatherly interest in the ambitious young Waldemar. He had arrived,

uninvited, at the head of his brave troops, not solely to strengthen

the duke, but for the purpose of preventing, by his presence, any

thoughtless step which might be prompted by his ambitious aspirations,

of which the old nobleman was not ignorant. He had been partly moved to

this by his daughter, the pious Princess Sophia, of whom Duke Waldemar

had, two years before, been an ardent suitor, without having received

any decisive answer. At that time she was not quite fifteen, and had

declared that in three years she would determine, should her wooer then

renew his suit. She was well aware that she had made a strong

impression on the young duke, whom she loved tenderly, but without

passion, and she also entertained well-grounded doubts of his

constancy. She therefore dreaded his ambitious plans, and felt more

solicitous about his honour and the welfare of his soul than the loss

of his heart, which she already looked upon as having escaped her, for

she had not seen him for two years. She awaited, however, the

expiration of the third year, when she intended to bid farewell to the

world, and assume the veil.

The upright old Duke Johan had approved his daughter's views and

determination. Without alluding to her, he had, like a true and

fatherly friend, spoken seriously to the young duke relative to his

present position and his duties to the Danish crown. His words were not

without effect; but the idea that wholly engrossed the young nobleman

was the proud consciousness that he possessed the power to decide the

fate of the royal house of Denmark by casting his sword into either

scale of the nicely balanced parties.

The presence of the margraves and the honest Count Gerhard, however,

and their unanimous demand that something decisive should be attempted,

caused him some embarrassment. A council of war was held in the duke's

tent, at which, after those noblemen had each expressed his opinion

boldly and frankly, the duke arose.

"Here, my lords, I am commander," he said, firmly; "and with every

respect for your advice and sincere intentions, I must still follow my

own convictions. Before the Dane-court has decided how Marsk Stig and

his friends are to be treated, and until I myself have been formally

recognised as protector, nothing decisive can be undertaken. Within

twelve days the Dane-court will be held, and, consequently, my presence

in Nyborg will be necessary. Until then no campaign can be commenced,

far less completed. From what I have heard of Marsk Stig's

preparations, a greater force than we possess will be necessary to

subdue him. Besides, by the law of the land, he and his friends have

still the right to defend themselves before the Dane-court, if they

choose to risk it; and, as I have already said, no decisive step can be

taken until it is legally determined in what quality I stand here, and

with whom we have to contend."

"With your leave, illustrious duke," began Count Gerhard, "I think we

know right well who we are, and what we have to do. That we two, at

least, stand here as vassals of the Danish crown, requires no

confirmation. That the commander of Rypen House, by placing the banner

of Marsk Stig where that of the king should wave, has openly declared

himself an enemy of the crown, is certain enough. Before we advance

against Helgeness and Hielm, Rypen House must be ours. With what forces

we have here the place can be stormed within twelve hours; and it seems

to me shameful and indefensible that we should lie here idly, and

tamely permit a royal castle to remain in the hands of rebels."

"If, with your own troopers, you choose to storm Rypen House, brave

Count Gerhard," replied the duke, carelessly, "you are welcome; but it

must be on your own responsibility; and you will further have to answer

before the Dane-court for kindling a civil war before the conduct of

these men has been legally condemned, and without knowing by what law

and authority you yourself are acting."

"So, then, illustrious duke," exclaimed Count Gerhard, with suppressed

indignation, "in God and St. George's name I shall act alone, and I

doubt not that I shall be able to defend my conduct well." He then

bowed, and retired.

Shortly afterwards he left the camp, at the head of fifty horsemen, and

took the road to Rypen. By his side, attired as a squire, rode Daddy

Longlegs, who, since the unfortunate foolery which had cost his master

an eye, had laid aside the dignity and dress of a jester, but still

followed his master, to whom he was indispensable.

As Count Gerhard approached the Nipsaa, which defended the town from

the south, his anger gradually abated; prudence returned, and he

perceived the absurdity of attempting, with his handful of men, to

storm a well-fortified castle like Rypen House. Shame, however,

deterred him from returning to the camp, and he rode leisurely forward.

His troopers followed silently; but he perceived, by their thoughtful

and serious looks, how certainly fatal they considered the enterprise

on which their master and prince was conducting them.

"Let us make good speed, gracious sir," observed Longlegs, in a tone of

grave raillery, "before they at Rypen House behold our terrible army

and surrender themselves. It would be a sad misfortune should we miss

this chance of immortality, and have no opportunity of using our

storming-ladders and lithers--"

"I rely upon thee being a wizard, Longlegs, who can as easily knock out

the eye of the enemy as thou didst mine, and so prevent him from seeing

our strength," replied the count, entering at once, as usual, into the

humour of his jester. "But who has informed thee that I mean to storm

Rypen House? There are banquetings and rejoicings in Rypen, thou

knowest; and what if I should intend to treat myself and all of you to

a romp with the fair maids of Rypen?"

"Ah! that is another matter, sir. A right merry dance it will be; and,

besides, we come not unbidden to the junkettings, for the letter

brought you in the gloaming by the old pilgrim was doubtless an

invitation to sport and joviality."

Count Gerhard nodded. "Didst thou know him, Longlegs?" he inquired.

"If I am not mistaken, it was our old host in Middelfert, Henner

Friser. He is a daring carl, and, it is said, knows something more than

his paternoster. He fled from Middelfert for a murder: so take care,

sir, that he does not lead you into a snare."

"If thou hadst heard what he said, Longlegs, thou wouldst not fear

that. Onwards."

Not far from the Southgate Bridge and Hostorg Port, on what is called

the Marshland, Count Gerhard ordered his troopers to halt and dismount.

Having set them the example, he remained for a moment in profound

thought.

"Now, my men," he at length said, good-humouredly, "I shall conduct you

to the feast to-night. You see the torches are flaring on the bridge.

Well, there is mirth in Rypen, and only merry guests are expected. The

grooms will remain with the horses, and you others, one by one, will

follow me on foot, with your swords beneath your cloaks, for the sake

of security. If you can get a torch in one hand, and a girl in the

other, dance away. But the jig must pass through Southgate-street to

Grayfriars-street, and then along Crutched-friars, to the large

bleaching-green by the castle. There you must gather around me when you

hear my hunting-horn. What further fun is to be had, must depend on

luck and opportunity. You understand me, carls?"

A general shout of applause announced the acquiescence of the troopers

in the adventurous project of their master. He immediately crossed the

bridge, followed, singly and at a distance, by the others, who mingled

with the crowds of merrymakers that filled the streets.

The mirth had reached its height. Torches blazed and songs were sung in

every street leading to the castle. Gaily-dressed knights, and ladies

in mantles of silk and scarlet, mingled in the dance. Count Gerhard

strode along in his heavy riding-boots, without taking any active part

in the festivities. When he had reached and was about to pass the

gateway into the court-yard of the Crutched-friars, he received a nod

of recognition from a brave, well-known face, concealed under a

peasant's hood, while, with a hearty shake of the hand, he was drawn

beneath the arch.

"Drost Hessel!--you here, and in this disguise!" he exclaimed, with

astonishment.

"Have you come to join our dance, noble count?" inquired Drost Peter,

hastily.

"The fiend take the dance! I am here to storm Rypen House, in spite of

the duke and his fine prudential considerations.

"'Tis well! You are in the dance, then, whether you will or not. But

whence comes it? Who is the leader?"

"He that comes first, I should think. But, by Beelzebub! you must well

know that, Drost Hessel. Ask not me, for I know nothing: I have had

only a private hint, which I am undecided whether I ought to act upon

or not. Do you know old Henner Friser, from Melfert?"

"Him we can rely upon," replied Drost Peter, gladly; "and if the hint

came from him, we may safely follow it. What force is with you?"

"Not a great one; but still, I can muster half a hundred with a blast

of my horn."

"Good!" exclaimed the drost: "there is, then, some meaning in it, and I

now begin to be in earnest; for, hitherto, the whole affair has

appeared to me somewhat like a joke. I know not with whom the daring

idea originated, and I came here with only two companions, merely to

discover the temper of the people. On my way I met Henner Friser, and

the mysterious old man predicted me success, and then disappeared. It

seems he has good friends here. The disposition of the burghers is

favourable; but the duke delays, and I have no faith in him. To storm

the place without an army would never have occurred to me; but there

must be amongst us a spirit more inventive and daring than we were

aware of. An hour since a stranger invited me to be the second knight

in the row of dancers, when the Danish maidens should begin the

song;--'For Erik the king so young.' But what avails it without a

storm?"

"I understand," exclaimed the count rubbing his hands with delight:

"for the young king, then. True, I would rather sing, 'For Queen Agnes

the fair;' but it is the same. Dance only, in God's name, across the

castle-bridge. I dance behind, and follow you with my men. 'For our

young king,' is the watchword; and he who hesitates to give it tongue,

shall be cut down."

This conversation was interrupted by a party of boisterous young

knights, with black plumes in their helmets, and torches in their

hands, who danced into the court-yard of the convent, summoning the

terrified monks to open the refectory for them, and bawling for wine

and Saxon ale.

"Saw you the black-plumes? That is a band of Marsk Stig's adherents,"

observed Drost Peter, as he retired with Count Gerhard to an obscure

corner of the gateway, unable to conceal his indignation at such

audacious proceedings, which were not unusual during this unsettled

period.

The clamour in the convent-yard subsided for an instant, while a

reverend friar came forth, and reminded the disturbers that they were

not in an enemy's country, and that it was the duty of the brave

gentlemen at Rypen House to protect the town, and not to plunder it.

The priest was answered with mockery and threats; and one of the

overbearing young knights, brandishing his torch, swore he would set

fire to the convent, if their demands were longer resisted. The door of

the refectory was then instantly opened, and the unwelcome guests were

admitted.

Drost Peter boiled with indignation. "Behold, Count Gerhard!" he

exclaimed, vehemently: "these are the men who would be masters in

Denmark. Let us after them!"

"Nay, let them drink till they cannot see a hole through a

storming-ladder," cried Count Gerhard, laughing--"the better will go

our dance. When does it begin, and where?"

"Two hours after the ave, and on the bleach-green, near the castle."

"'Tis well. The time is near: therefore let us hence. There is some

meaning in this dance, and an honest warrior can engage in it without

being laughed at. Plague take it! if the queen were only here, she

should see me dance better and more gaily than I did the last time."

They proceeded hastily to the bleach-green, where a great crowd was

assembled. In the middle of the open space stood a table, covered with

refreshments. Merry music filled the air, while many torches shed their

light upon the scene, and numerous gaily dressed ladies occupied the

benches around. Drost Peter and Count Gerhard observed with attention

and surprise the glittering knights and dames about them, most of whom

had their faces fantastically painted, and all sharing in the merriment

with spirit and joyousness.

As Count Gerhard was making his remarks on this, Skirmen hastily

approached, and whispered a few words to his master, who immediately,

with joyful surprise, directed his eyes to a bench, on which sat three

ladies veiled. In the nearest he thought he recognised the black-haired

little Aasé. She who sat in the middle, Skirmen, with a roguish smile,

had informed him was the lady who had invited him to the dance. Skirmen

had again disappeared, and Drost Peter fixed his eyes on the tall

stranger lady with a feeling of delight he could not express, although

a painful anxiety mingled with it.

"Can it be possible? Can she be here, and engaged in this dangerous

sport?" he exclaimed, half aloud, as he felt the ground spin round with

him. He began to think he was in some wonderful dream. He again looked

round for Skirmen, but without success, and was at last obliged to

support himself on a bench near where he stood.

At that moment the three maidens arose, and began to sing:--

"On Rypen streets the dance goes light,

With ladys gay and gentle knight.

On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod:

There dance the knights so gaily shod--

For Erik the king so young!"

When the burthen was heard, the flutes and horns chimed in, and a

number of knights sprang forward with their ladies, and formed a long

row of dancers.

Drost Peter distinguished Jomfru Ingé's clear and mellow voice, and in

the middle singer he now plainly recognised her tall and noble form. He

started up and clasped her in his arms. "Ingé, dearest Ingé!" he

whispered, "what daring is this? Are you come hither to dance to the

death with me? If so, then joyfully for Denmark and our young king! But

unriddle to me this mystery."

"My knight follows me to the royal castle and to victory," whispered

Ingé: "if our leader deceive us not, we shall succeed."

"Who, then, is our leader?" inquired the drost, eagerly. "If any one

leads here, I should do so."

"The gates of the rebels' castle are not opened to Drost Hessel," she

rejoined, hastily. "There stands our leader, but you must not know him.

If he were free, I should trust him as little as you do; but here he is

in our power, and must now dance himself to a bride--or die."

She pointed to a stately young knight, with long yellow hair, who stood

near them, with a torch in his hand, and apparently hesitating whether

he should place himself at the head of the dancers or not. He had

hitherto stood with his back towards them; but as he now turned to one

side, the light of his torch fell on his cheek, and Drost Peter

exclaimed, in the highest astonishment--"Rané!"

"Be silent," whispered Ingé: "with a fox we must catch a fox to-night;

but not like Hamlet. With May-garlands, and, as I hope, without the red

rose, will we bind our enemies."

Meanwhile, the music continued, many singing to it a well-known ballad

that suited the tune. Whilst Rané stood, as if yet undecided, the row

of dancers was constantly increasing; and Jomfru Ingé, in a few words,

acquainted Drost Peter with the whole daring plan. Jarl Mindre-Alf's

daughter and herself had persuaded Rané, who knew the governor, to

bring about the present festival. The bitter feeling of the knight

towards Marsk Stig, and his anxiety to show himself a friend to the

royal house, had favoured the project of the young damsels. Through

Skirmen and Aasé, old Henner Friser had been induced to engage in it.

The proximity of Drost Peter had redoubled the courage of his

betrothed, although she feared that his co-operation with Rané might

defeat the whole scheme.

"And now, my dear sir knight," she added, playfully, "the numerous

chivalrous gentlemen you perceive around you are our trusty Rypen

burghers and their sons, who, at the request of their wives and

sweethearts, will dance tonight to the songs of the maidens."

Having given this explanation, she then, with the other damsels, again

renewed the song, whilst the knights proceeded to arrange themselves in

conformity with the words of the ballad, wherein themselves and their

ladies were indicated by feigned names, taken for the most part from

old romances, but the application of which they all knew well. The only

one who was named aright was the governor of Rypen House, who was at

that moment sitting at a drinking-bout in the castle, but whose name,

being sung aloud as if he were engaged in the dance, assured any of his

adherents who might be present, and suspicious of the game.

Whilst those nearest the castle arranged themselves as directed by the

song, the others at the extremity of the line formed a long chain, and

danced around the green, to assure themselves that none were present in

the dance but those engaged in the plot. Rané, meanwhile, still stood

undecided by the bench on which Jomfru Kirstine was seated, when Jomfru

Ingé and the others began to sing:--

"Riber Ulf first dances here--

A king is he without compeer."

"'Tis you, Sir Rané!" exclaimed the daughter of the Norwegian

jarl--"'tis you: you are Riber Ulf to-night. Show me now that you are a

king without compeer."

Rané, however, did not seem to hear her. The song continued:--

"Then dances Tagé Muns so free--

Captain of Rypen House is he."

Drost Peter had cast aside his hood, and donned a high feathered hat,

which Skirmen had brought him, together with a scarlet mantle, which he

threw over his peasant's dress.

"Now are you captain of Rypen House," whispered Jomfru Ingé. His dress,

which was the same as the court-suit of the castellan, and which they

had procured on purpose, caused the knight to be mistaken by many for

Sir Tagé Muus himself; his portly bulk, derived from his peasant's

clothes beneath, greatly favouring the deception. In this guise he

danced forward in the ranks with Jomfru Ingé, who, with the maidens,

continued to sing:--

"Then dancing comes Sir Saltensee,

And so come on his kinsmen three.

"Then dance the noble Limbeks trim,

And they were kings of sturdy limb.

"Then after dances Byrge Green,

And many a gentle knight I ween.

"And now comes dancing Hanke Kann,

And eke his wife, hight Lady Ann.

"Then dancing comes a noble pair--

Sir Rank, and Lady Berngerd fair.

"Then rich Sir Wolfram, with his dame,

A lady fair, without a name."

At this verse Sir Bent Rimaardson, who had received the same invitation

as Drost Peter, joined the dancers, with an unknown lady by his side.

At the last couplet--

"Then dancing came Sir Iver Helt:

He followed the king across the Belt:"[36]

to his great surprise, Drost Peter perceived the brave Sir Thorstenson

advance, conducting a smart peasant-girl by the hand.

"What! Sir Thorstenson here, too!" he exclaimed, as he turned to Lady

Ingé, who hastily informed him that the bold knight was there to

accompany him to Nyborg, whither he had conducted the king and the

whole court, and that he had immediately approved of and entered into

her project.

Rané, however, had yet shown no disposition to take his part in the

dance. They had twice danced round the open space, and each time that

Lady Ingé had approached him, she had sung in a louder tone:--

"Riber Ulf first dances here,

A king is he without compeer."

She was now drawing near a third time; but he still remained as if in

deep thought.

"Are you afraid that your fair hair will get entangled, Sir Rané, that

you so long delay leading me to the dance?" exclaimed the courageous

Jomfru Kirstine, mockingly, and with a gesture of impatience.

"You are right, noble jomfru," answered Rané: "both head and hair may

easily be entangled here. My hair is a little red, as you must have

observed; but in this dance it might quickly become redder--"

"And your rosy cheeks might become all too white," interrupted she,

derisively.

"You are right in that also, fair jomfru," replied Rané, smiling slyly.

"You would have little service of the boldest bridegroom, when his

cheeks were as pale as those of a corpse. It is natural that a man

should hesitate before he springs into a death-dance, even with a

damsel ever so rich and fair."

"If you hesitate a moment longer, Sir Rané," angrily exclaimed the bold

jomfru, "I shall consider that I have been shamefully wronged and

insulted by you; and then, instead of being the bridegroom of Jarl

Mindre-Alf's daughter, you shall become the laughing-stock of every

girl in Norway. Yet, nay," she added, in a milder tone--"you will never

heap such shame and scorn on both yourself and me. Shall Ingé's words

prove true, and shall her knight behold your weakness and hesitation?

See how proudly he dances with her, the brave Drost Hessel!"

"Drost Hessel!" exclaimed Rané with surprise, as the blood forsook his

cheeks.

"Drost Hessel, of course. Surely you are not afraid of the name. If you

are as brave as you pretend to be, and my father has really given you

the stroke of knighthood, convince us now that you are worthy of it,

and show the proud drost that you are not allied to rebels and

traitors. He is severe, it is said, and old Friser has sworn your death

if you deceive us."

"Mistake me not, noble jomfru," said Rané, hastily. "I dread neither

the drost nor the ferocious innkeeper--for fear of them I stir not a

single step. But for your sake alone, fairest Kirstine, and my own

knightly honour, shall I stake my head upon the game, and dance with

you even to the castle-gate. When it is opened at my signal, I shall

have kept my word; but will you then as truly and honestly do what you

have promised, and accompany me from Rypen as my bride?"

"What I have promised I shall perform, like an honest Norwegian

maiden," replied Jomfru Kirstine, gladly, as she quickly rose, and gave

him her hand. "Dance but through the castle-gate with me, and you are

the bold and noble hero I believed you, and worthy of the daughter of

any jarl."

Rané seemed transformed as by some sudden inspiration; he sprang nimbly

forward with his lady, and placed himself at the head of the dancers,

who had now for the third time nearly made the circuit of the area.

Before Lady Ingé had again sung the first verse of the ballad, calling

on Riber Ulf, Rané was dancing gaily along, with Jomfru Kirstine on his

arm. Lightly tripping it, he sang aloud, while all the damsels and

knights accompanied him:

"And on Rypen streets the dance goes light,

With ladye gay and gentle knight--

For Erik the king so young."

"Right!" exclaimed the lively Norwegian lady, whom he whirled along,

her silken ribbons fluttering in her plaited hair, as she danced the

lightest and nimblest of them all. "Dance thus over the bridge, and I

shall praise your courage; and dance thus through the gate, and I give

you my plighted troth."

Rané waved his scarf when they reached the drawbridge, and it was

instantly lowered.

"Ingé, dearest Ingé, it succeeds!" exclaimed Drost Peter, as he warmly

pressed the arm of his partner.

The heavy boots of the knights thundered on the drawbridge, amidst the

light tread of shoes, and all sang merrily:--

"On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod;

There dance the knights so gaily shod--

For Erik the king so young!"

Rané now clapped his hands, and the castle-gates were opened. With song

and shout and merriment, the whole of the dancers were soon within.

Count Gerhard, who still stood on the bleach-green, laughing heartily,

then blew a merry strain on his horn; and in an instant he was

surrounded by his fifty men, who followed him with great glee to the

open gate. Here he posted one half of his force, and with the other

followed quickly after the dancers.

A considerable portion of the castle garrison were dispersed throughout

the town. The governor, Sir Tagé Muus, was sitting half intoxicated,

with thirty other knights, in the large royal riddersal. He heard,

without surprise, the singing and dancing in the castle-court and in

the passage of the riddersal; for he had given permission to his good

friend Rané and his young knights to conduct the fair daughters of the

citizens to him, with dance and song. In a few seconds the doors flew

open, and the whole company danced in, the knights holding their ladies

by the left hand and carrying blazing torches in their right. The whole

of them were linked together by a chain of green May-leaves,

interspersed with rare roses. By a sudden movement the ladies formed a

cluster, waving the torches, while the knights, in a compact circle,

surrounded the table with drawn swords in their hands.

The governor and his thirty knights now first became aware of their

betrayal, and started up in alarm to defend themselves. But in an

instant, and without bloodshed, the castellan and his entire force were

disarmed.

Beyond the circle of knights and their captives, the maidens now began

to dance, and with loud jubilation sang:

"And thus we danced the castle in,

With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--

The castle it is won!"

"For Erik the king so young!" exclaimed Drost Peter, stepping forward.

He then, in the king's name, took possession of the castle, and sent

the rebel governor and his adherents, bound, to the dungeon of the

fort.

To the great joy of the loyal Rypen burghers, the royal banner was seen

shortly after waving over the castle-gate, where it had been planted by

a tall and beautiful maiden. Now was there in Rypen a true feast of

gladness. While Drost Peter and Count Gerhard were placing trusty men

at every post, and adopting the strictest precautions, the dancing was

continued in the castle, as well as in the city, with the utmost

rejoicing.

When the necessary measures for the defence and security of the

fortress had been taken, Drost Peter returned with longing haste to the

riddersal, where he had left Lady Ingé, with Skirmen and Sir

Thorstenson, in the midst of a gay dance of victory. The meeting with

his childhood's bride, and the whole daring exploit, still presented

itself to his imagination like a wonderful dream. The artifice by which

the castle had been taken, and Rané's traitorous co-operation in it,

did not please him; but joy at having once more seen the brave Lady

Ingé, and the hope that her return to Denmark was no more a fleeting

vision than the whole night's adventure, inspired him with a feeling of

happiness that banished every other sentiment.

Doubt and inquietude, however, soon seized him, for nowhere could he

find her. He saw only the cheerful knights and disguised burghers, who,

with laughter, song, and merriment, whirled around with the nimble

Rypen damsels. He saw Sir Thorstenson, and the otherwise melancholy

Bent Rimaardson, glide past him in the mazes of the dance, as if

intoxicated with the general hilarity; while Count Gerhard clattered

away in his heavy boots, and sang lustily from the bottom of his heart.

In the song, to which they were now dancing with so much animation,

Drost Peter heard not the mellow voice of Lady Ingé, while both knights

and ladies repeated the words of their former bold songstress:--

"And thus we danced the castle in,

With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--

The castle it is won!

"With rosy wreath and ridder dance,

A keep so won I ne'er saw chance--

For Erik the king so young!"

The general delight would certainly have again communicated itself to

Drost Peter, had he anywhere caught a glimpse of Lady Ingé. But her

sudden disappearance was a painful mystery; and his anxiety augmented

when he perceived that Rané, too, had vanished. He knew that this

crafty knight had been her attendant from Norway; and notwithstanding

the apparent change in his sentiments, and his important share in

surprising the castle, he still considered him as the most treacherous

and dangerous foe of himself and the royal house. Neither could he

perceive the brave Norwegian maiden, whom Ingé had called her friend,

and who, with Rané, had led the dancers. That she was the daughter of

Jarl Mindre-Alf he knew, and Ingé's connection with this family

increased his uneasiness. While he was assailed by these doubts and

fears, Sir Thorstenson approached him and extended his hand.

"This, by my troth, I call a merry maiden's victory, Drost Peter!"

exclaimed the warlike knight, gaily. "The fair damsels are likely to

win the honours of war from us. To-night, at all events, the wreath of

victory certainly belongs to them. Next time, I hope it will be our's."

They retired to a corner, when Sir Thorstenson informed his anxious and

abstracted friend how, on his arrival at Rypen a few hours before, he

had been dragged into this singular adventure, whose important and

successful issue might excuse him for not having immediately attended

to his proper duty.

"Truth to say, my good friend," he added, "your cool mind and knightly

sword, no less than your authority as drost, were required to help us

to success; but I would rather dispense with your all too conscientious

scruples. Therefore it was that I persuaded Jomfru Ingé to take you by

surprise. If this deserves punishment, let the offence be visited only

on me. You are my superior, and can now, if you choose, place me in

arrest for neglecting my duty, and taking counsel against you with your

betrothed--for such, in truth, I suppose she is."

"Know you what has become of her?" inquired Drost Peter, hastily.

"That know I not," replied Thorstenson; "but leave the maidens to

dance, and let us no longer lose our wit over this conceit of the fair

ones."

Drost Peter was silent, and Thorstenson continued: "The duke's

preparations for war, notwithstanding the queen's confidence in him,

are regarded by the council as suspicious. Old Sir John considered the

young king as no longer safe in Viborg; and, in your absence, I was

obliged secretly to convey him to Nyborg. I myself believe that there

are evil birds about. Sir John informed me that I should meet you here,

and he charged me with these letters for you, both from himself and the

queen. I know that you must on to Nyborg. But here you now command.

Whilst you follow the king's orders, I must follow your's. I shall do

so, however, with pride and pleasure."

Drost Peter hastily perused the letters. "I must depart before day," he

said; and, after a moment's reflection, added--"you are governor of

Rypen House, Sir Thorstenson. This important fortress cannot be

entrusted to an abler knight; and, as a punishment for acting on your

own counsel, I require you to defend it to the last extremity, should

even the duke and Marsk Stig agree to storm it with their united

strength."

"Well," exclaimed Thorstenson, joyfully, "a more honourable punishment

could not have been awarded me. You show your displeasure, Drost Peter,

in a noble manner. Thanks for your confidence! There are brave men

amongst the burghers to defend the castle; and while one stone stands

upon another, nor foe nor traitor shall set foot within it. If the king

has no other place of security in the country, bring him hither. Rypen

House is and shall remain the strongest royal castle in Denmark. Within

a month it shall be impregnable."

"Bravely spoken!" exclaimed Drost Peter. "Within half an hour the keys

of the castle, with your authority as commandant legally drawn out,

shall be delivered to you. Meantime let the festivities be brought to a

close, and let all leave the castle who do not belong to it. If you

will, at the same time, do me a friendly service," he added, whilst

endeavouring to conceal his anxiety, "let search be made, with all

haste, for Jomfru Ingé Little. Perhaps she will allow me to be her

escort to her kinsman, the counsellor."

Thorstenson nodded, and, warmly pressing his hand, prepared to depart.

"Yet one word!" exclaimed the drost, with much inquietude. "If you

encounter Rané, he is our prisoner until his conduct has been

investigated. He must be sought for diligently. Let the town-gates be

locked, and suffer no vessel to leave the river within the next four

and twenty hours. God be with you!"

Thorstenson nodded, and, with the joyful sense of his new dignity, he

departed hastily to execute the injunctions of the drost.

The latter proceeded to the governor's private chamber, where he found

everything that was requisite to enable him to complete the necessary

instructions and authorities. Notwithstanding his anxiety, and the

pressure of his own dearest heart affairs, he fully felt the duty

imposed on him by his important station, and prepared the necessary

formulas with perfect deliberation. He had already put his large

signet-ring, bearing the flying eagle, to the wax of Thorstenson's

appointment, when the door was opened, and Claus Skirmen entered, in

great haste, and almost breathless.

"I have found you at last, stern sir," joyfully exclaimed the trusty

squire. "I have been searching for you everywhere; and bring you many

salutations, besides a pretty little letter, from Jomfru Ingé. I saw

her depart in excellent style, in the town-governor's own carriage,

drawn by four horses, with twelve troopers for an escort."

"What sayest thou, Skirmen?" exclaimed Drost Peter, in astonishment.

"She travels! and whither?"

"Know you not, sir? Was it not your own arrangement? But you shall

hear. When she had placed the royal banner over the castle-gate, she

directed me to follow her to the town-governor, to whom she showed a

letter, bearing three large seals. He bowed to her as if she had been

the queen herself, and immediately ordered the horses to be yoked--"

"Whither, I ask--where does she journey to? But you have a letter--give

it me quickly."

"She travels to Kolding, and from thence to Sweden, sir," replied

Skirmen, as he handed him a slip of parchment, tied with a

rose-coloured silk ribbon.

While the drost hastily perused the billet, he blushed deeply.

"Farewell, my childhood's bridegroom!" it ran. "'For Erik the king so

young,' I still sing in my heart, and the torch in the hand of my true

knight still gleams before mine eyes. He who is powerful in the feeble,

has given me also a work to do. The true Sir John knows of it. Ask of

him, but follow me not. In Denmark's darkest night we have danced a

victor-dance together; and, God be praised! it cost no blood. When the

child-king is Denmark's lord, and the crown sits firmly on his brow, we

may perhaps see each other in a happier hour. My father alone can unite

our hands. But our hearts, which God in truth hath joined together, no

man can ever sunder."

Drost Peter heaved a deep sigh, although his eyes sparkled with a great

and glorious hope. He concealed the note in his bosom, and turned again

to Skirmen.

"To Kolding, sayest thou--and from thence to Sweden? Who told thee

this?"

"I gathered it from what I heard her tell the town-governor, and the

Norse jomfru or fru--"

"The Norse jomfru!" interrupted Drost Peter, hastily. "She and Sir Rané

have not accompanied her?"

"Nay, the saints forbid, sir! Had I thought so, I should never have

allowed her to go, had I been compelled to keep her back by main force.

But I thought you knew all, and--"

"But Rané, Rané--where sawest thou him?"

"On the way to the town-governor we encountered the snake. He was

leaving the Grayfriars' Chapel with the Norse jomfru, where, it is

said, they have already been made man and wife. Jomfru Ingé cried

bitterly, and embraced the Norse lady with great emotion; but Rané--the

fiend take him!--would not delay. Within half an hour, he said, they

must be on the open sea; and he talked of his sea-dogs, and looked

about as if they were not far distant. He offered one arm to Jomfru

Ingé, while he held fast his young fru with the other. But Jomfru Ingé

withstood the indignity. She bade him a cold and formal farewell, and

turned hastily away. I was much tempted to measure my squire's sword

with the glaive of the newly-coined knight. My sword, I believe,

indeed, accidentally left the sheath, and certainly I did not look very

mildly at the crafty sir fox. I saw that he perfectly remembered how

last I waited for him outside the duke's door at Nyborg Castle; for he

suddenly became pale-nosed when he saw me about to spring at him.

Jomfru Ingé seized me by the arm; and, before I had time to call him a

traitorous nidding, he had disappeared with the pretty fru, whom he has

cajoled and stolen."

Drost Peter again breathed easily. "Now, God be praised!" he exclaimed.

"the wretch has no longer any power over her!"

"I trow he has, though!" cried Skirmen: "he took her with him."

"What! art thou mad?--Ingé?"

"Nay, Heaven forfend, sir!--Her I held fast by--but the pretty Norse

jomfru--"

"In God's name, so be it! She was his wife, Skirmen; and thou hast

conducted thyself like a brave fellow. She has set out alone, then, for

Kolding--Ingé, I mean?"

"Nay, with twelve horsemen, besides car-swains."

"Very well: let our horses be instantly saddled."

"Already?" exclaimed Skirmen, colouring: "I thought we should tarry

here to-night. Truth to say, sir, I have appointed a meeting with

little Aasé and her grandfather, by the Stone-gate. They are about to

make a pious pilgrimage, and I may not again see her for a long time."

"You can meet them as we go, for we shall pass through that gate. Quick

with the horses!"

Skirmen left the room, with a sigh, and Drost Peter threw himself

thoughtfully on a seat. He again drew forth Lady Ingé's letter, read it

once more, and had just pressed it to his lips, when the door opened,

and Sir Thorstenson entered, furious with rage.

"Ha! it was the cursed algrev's daughter!" he exclaimed, vehemently:

"and they are gone--Jomfru Ingé, with--"

"I know it," interrupted Drost Peter, concealing the letter as he rose.

"Here is your appointment and authority, brave Thorstenson, and Heaven

protect you! Rané has escaped us; but this time, however, we owe him

thanks."

"Confound him! it was the algrev's daughter he ran away with,"

continued Thorstenson, with indignation: "they were on the open sea

before the river could be blocked. Ha! why knew I not this an hour ago?

Death and destruction! The algrev's daughter should have sat a prisoner

in Rypen House until Sir Algotson had been hanged, and proud Ingrid had

become Thorstenson's wife."