"It will pass," he exclaimed, moodily, throwing himself into a seat.

"Do as I bid thee, and remain in thy chamber until I call. God bless

thee!"

Margarethé retired, with tears in her eyes; and in a little while a

timorous-looking clerk entered, and bowed humbly before the master of

the castle, without uttering a word.

"I have not long to live!" exclaimed the marsk: "prepare me for death,

if thou canst, and administer to me the holy sacrament. We must at

last, I perceive, make peace with Heaven, and think of our soul's

welfare. Shrive, however, I shall not," he continued: "the world knows

well what I have done, and the Omniscient best of all."

The trembling clerk began a discourse he was wont to use on similar

occasions, concerning the seven mortal sins and purity of conscience,

when the marsk impatiently interrupted him.

"This jargon helps me not," he said. "I wish not to hear _thy word_,

clerk, but God's word. Prepare the sacrament--there is virtue in that!

King Erik had it not before his death," he added, softly, "but he took

it with him in his coffin. Haste thee, clerk! why lingerest thou?"

"Alas, stern sir marsk," stammered the clerk, "I cannot--I truly dare

not. The canonical law, the chapter, and the holy father will condemn

me, should I administer this holy rite to one who is excommunicated."

"Death and perdition!" exclaimed the marsk, grasping his sword, "thou

shalt, base clerk, or thou diest!"

"Alas, most gracious master, while the ban of the church is on thee,

thou hast not the power to--"

"Not the power! By Satan, I swear that, if thou bringest it not

quickly, thou shalt die!"

The trembling clerk departed hastily, with a humble and obedient mien.

But he returned not; for, hurrying from the castle as fast as he could,

he instantly took to flight.

The marsk grew paler and paler, and, as he gazed on the door by which

the priest had departed, it seemed to him an avenue of heaven, from

which he expected an angel to bring him redemption. But it opened not.

He endeavoured to rise, but sank back powerless. He would have shouted;

but his voice was weak, and no one seemed to hear it.

At length his henchman, Mat Jute, entered. "A stranger of rank is here,

stern sir marsk," he said, as he remained erect by the door, with his

hand at his steel cap; "and he seems determined on entering, by fair

means or foul, and that immediately."

The marsk beckoned for a cup of wine, which somewhat revived him; and

"The clerk--the chaplain!" he anxiously cried, as his voice returned.

The trusty Mat now perceived with terror the condition of his master,

and rushed out to bring the priest and a physician.

Scarcely had he left the door, when the stranger he had announced

appeared. He was tall, and wore a lofty feathered hat, whilst the ample

folds of a purple mantle, in which he was enveloped, concealed his

face. They now fell aside, however, and revealed a countenance, pale

and restless indeed, but on which the stamp of a daring cunning was

ineffaceably imprinted.

"Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed the marsk, as he endeavoured to rise, but

again sank back on his seat. "Come you hither to see how the man dies

whom you have doomed an outlaw?"

"Do I come at an hour so solemn?" asked the duke. "Since, then, the

angel of retribution has found you first, my design is frustrated.

Know, however, that I came to defy you to mortal combat."

"You may still have your wish," replied the marsk, erecting himself.

"But wherefore seek you this? Tell me quickly!"

"Like a perjured traitor, you have broken your knightly word, and have

promised to the Norwegian king the crown which is mine."

"Ay, but not until you had broken our paction, and declared me an

outlaw."

"That I did so to save you, you know well; but any excuse is welcome.

Yet what fidelity could I expect from a regicide?"

"By that word you accuse yourself, Duke Waldemar. That sin--if sin it

is--you share with me. Deep injuries had I to revenge, which you had

not. If King Erik's blood stains not your hand, it yet lies as heavy on

your head as it does on mine. Your counsel and wishes were in Finnerup

barn, albeit you yourself were absent."

"A mightier Power has judged between us," replied the duke. "I will not

curse you in your dying hour; but one thing you must tell me--you must

solve to me a riddle that has driven me mad:--where is the dagger I

gave you when we swore the tyrant's fall?"

"I left it in his bosom," replied the marsk, "that it might be known

you were our head and prince. Your name I even had graven on it, that

no doubt might exist of your participation in the deed, and that thus

our fortunes might be indissolubly linked together."

"Shameless traitor! And thus it is that you would drag me with you to

perdition! But say, who was the accuser that displayed the dagger of

the bloody paction before the eyes of king and people?"

"If it was not Drost Hessel, let your confessor teach you the name of

the angel who accuses the faithless!"

"It was not the drost," exclaimed the duke, while his brain began to

reel: "he lay then in chains at Nordborg. But you it was--even you,

accursed regicide!--or it was the foul fiend himself!"

"Priest, priest! where art thou?" cried the marsk, glancing fearfully,

around him. "Name not the Evil One, Duke Waldemar! In our bloody

council we invoked him often enough."

At that instant the door was hastily opened, and Mat Jute entered, much

excited. "Sir marsk," he cried, "what is to be done? The priest has

fled, and the island is surrounded by the king's ships. The troops are

about to land, with Thorstenson at their head, to storm the castle."

"Let the priest speed to the infernal pit!" cried the marsk, rising.

"Now, I will not die. Come on, King Erik's men! You shall once more see

what Marsk Stig can accomplish!" He grasped his weapon with the

suddenly returned strength of a giant. "Away!" he shouted, in a fearful

voice: "every man to his post! We shall crush them with brynkiöls and

glowing stones."

In an instant he was gone, and Duke Waldemar remained alone, agitated

and undecided. The din of arms and soldiers was soon heard outside the

castle, when at length, seizing his sword, he hurried out.

* * *

In the attack on Hielm, the royalists were repulsed with great loss;

but Thorstenson still continued to beleagure the castle, and was making

preparations for another assault, whilst the most marvellous stories

and reports began to circulate among the people. The rumour that the

marsk was dead spread among the besiegers. It was said by others, that

he had mysteriously vanished, and that a stranger of eminence, who had

been with him, had also suddenly disappeared. From this circumstance it

was generally believed among the people, that the devil had been at

Hielm, and carried off the awful king-murderer.

Meanwhile, the castle was defended with great bravery by the marsk's

seven hundred mail-clad men. It was asserted that they were now

commanded by the former lord of the castle, the outlawed Chamberlain

Rané; and that his wife, the algrev's daughter, was with him. About the

same time, too, a small female form, in white garments, with a crucifix

in her folded hands, was frequently seen upon the ramparts of Hielm,

where the dark warriors knelt before her as she passed them. The chiefs

of the besiegers knew it was the marsk's eldest daughter; but many of

the common soldiers looked on her as a supernatural being, who

protected the castle, and rendered it impregnable.

One night, shortly after the rumour of the marsk's sudden disappearance

had been spread abroad, a funeral train, bearing torches, landed from a

ship lying off the parsonage of Stubberup, on Hindsholm,[42] and

proceeded with silence and solemnity towards the churchyard. The

maid-servants of the clergyman, assisted by some maidens from the

village, were engaged in carding wool, forming what was called a

carding-guild, which, when the work was over, terminated in dance and

merriment. The girls were cheerfully at work, in the servants' room,

where were a number of troughs, with a large tub in the centre,

while a single dull lamp hung in an iron hook from the rafters, and two

men-servants lay on a bench asleep.

The busy wool-carders were amusing themselves with singing ballads and

telling ghost-stories, and were in the middle of a fearful tale

concerning pirates who infested a wood in the northern part of the

peninsula, and who had been captured one yule evening by Drost Peter.

This was the band of Niels Breakpeace and Lavé Rimaardson, whose chiefs

had then escaped, but who were next year taken and executed at

Harrestrup. Twelve of these men had perished in captivity on Hindsholm;

on which achievement there existed a ballad which was generally known,

and which the maidens were now all engaged in singing with the greatest

glee. The kitchen-maid, who took the lead, was at the fourteenth

verse:--

"It was Drost Peter Hessel,

He called unto his band:

Wake up! wake up! no longer stay.

For news has come to hand.

Wake up! for now the time is come

To don the trusty mail--"

when the ballad was suddenly interrupted by the brewer's maid, who

rushed in, with terror in her looks, exclaiming that she had seen a

funeral company bearing torches. The maidens dropped their cards, and

the wool fell from their laps; whilst the men-servants aroused

themselves, and rubbed their eyes: but none dared to venture forth to

behold the cause of their fear.

"What scared fools you are!" at last exclaimed a little black-haired

maiden, who superintended the work. "It must be one of the outlaws

again, whom his comrades desire to bury in christian ground. Thus it

was they did with Arved Bengtson, who was slain by Tulé Ebbesen."

"But they don't carry torches, and come with a long train--they sneak

along, quietly and in darkness, when they go to bury a malefactor,"

observed the brewer's girl. "This must be a king, or some great man,

unless, indeed, it is a procession of ghosts, like what old Anders

Gossip has seen so often."

"Oh, what is it he cannot see, when the ale is in his head?" replied

the other, laughing. "They are living men, I dare wager; and he is a

milksop that dares not venture out to see."

"If thou darest venture out to see it, Elsie," rejoined the brewer's

maid, "do so, and prove to us that thou art as bold as thou boastest!

The fright has not yet left me: I feel it still in my knees."

"Go, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid: "thou must, in truth, have a man's

heart and courage, for the marsk's swain, long Mat Jute, is thy

sweetheart, and I would not be alone with him, for all the world."

"That I can well believe," replied Elsie, with some pride. "Mat Jute is

not to be jested with. Indeed, you cannot show me his match, in all

Funen."

"You dare not let Christen Fiddler hear you so speak!" cried one of the

girls.

"Why not?" replied Elsie, briskly. "I have told him so more than once.

Had Mat Jute not fallen into misfortune, along with his master, and

become such a ferocious strand-fighter, I should have had no fear of

taking him for a husband. But the Lord preserve me from him now!"

"Aha!" laughed the kitchen-maid: "he kills folk, they say, for the

smallest ill word said against his master. He must be a perfect fiend."

"Say not so," cried Elsie. "Fierce he is, it is true, but he is still

an honest fellow. He is true to his master--more's the pity!--and I

cannot bear anybody to speak ill of him."

"Old love doesn't die," remarked one of the men-servants; "and if Mat

Jute knew that thou hast now another sweetheart, little Elsie, he would

yet come and bite thy head off."

"As for that," returned Elsie, "I am truer to him than many Funen lads

are to their lasses; and, besides, I have only one sweetheart at a

time."

"If thou wouldst see the show, Elsie, haste thee, or it will be gone,"

cried the brewer's maid. "It went up to the churchyard; and, if I saw

truly in my fright, there was a light in the choir."

"Let us call the master!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid: "it is really

awful. They may be church-robbers; and if they be ghosts, the father

can read them away."

This was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master.

"It is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his

treasury at Eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps

of gold and jewels there, it is said."

"How long you think about it, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou

who hast been in a fortress. When thou wert at Flynderborg, thou wert

afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy

jomfru."

"I did not say that," replied Elsie: "the brave Jomfru Ingé showed more

courage than I, when the algrev and Niels Breakpeace paid us a visit.

But you shall see, for all that, that I am not afraid to look at a

funeral. A dead man can't bite my nose off. If it be an outlaw of mark,

there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows

and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what

they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. Come along with

me, girls--I will go first."

Her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but

none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did

not seem at all to relish the adventure.

"Very well," exclaimed Elsie, "I shall have all the treasure to myself.

See it, I will, at any rate."

So saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches,

exactly as described by the brewer's maid. As the procession moved

slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the

inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself

behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk

to the churchyard. She trembled as she plainly perceived the tall,

muffled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their

hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark

funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound.

Elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the

procession had disappeared in the church. She now ventured to look

around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then

boldly advanced a little farther. With a beating heart she stood by the

door of the choir, and peeped in. All was still and deserted, although

lights were burning on the altar. Gliding noiselessly inside the

church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature

was visible. The trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was

open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was

reflected upon the arches of the roof. She stood a moment, hesitating

whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a

short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the

trap-door, where, through a chink between the hinges, she was enabled

to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she

scarcely dared to breathe. Twelve armed men, with torches in their

hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black

velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay

a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. A solemn silence

prevailed. The priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his

face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the

clergyman of the parish. The lid of the coffin was then raised, and she

perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a

knight.

"Now, priest, lay God's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice

one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before

his death, although he loudly prayed for it. But now he shall take it

with him, even were he banned by the holy George and all the archangels

to boot."

"I do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as I have

already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it."

"Perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded

fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling

accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little

silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. The lid of the

coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three

spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church.

"Amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be

deeply affected.

The procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl,

springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with

indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in

the church-door. She had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which

she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself

beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread

of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-passage--not

until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from

her lurking-place.

The church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still

burning on the altar. The trap-door of the vault remained open, and she

perceived that there was still a light below. She again stole forth,

and peeped through the crevice. A lantern stood on the coffin, but all

the warriors were gone. She took heart, and ventured a step or two

within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she

cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld

the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with

silver and jewels. Under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a

silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems.

"This would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she

whispered to herself. "What wants the riever with it in the grave?"

The lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays,

when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured

the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. But the rustling of

armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror,

and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful

hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave,

cried--"Accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" She was now

entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards

insensible, into the vault.

"Rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and

all the young men of Stubberup, who meanwhile had assembled to dance at

the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and

pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in

his hand.

"Go thou first, Christen Fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may

be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father;

and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with

a dozen."

While they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron

mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild

howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared.

The terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their

paternosters; none doubting but that it was the Evil One himself whom

they had seen. At length, recovering their courage, they ventured

within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with

horror the little Elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin,

over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. They bore the maiden

to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated,

caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that

night.

What the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but,

three days after, Elsie was committed with all silence to the grave;

and for many a day the story was told on Hindsholm, that she had been

murdered by her old sweetheart, Mat Jute, because she would have

plundered his master's grave.

The priest of Stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one

after, wards dared to open it. Some time after, it was rumoured that

Marsk Stig had been secretly buried in Rörvig Kirk, in Zealand, where,

probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. In a short

time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in

uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain,

lest, as a man who died under the ban of the Church, his remains should

be persecuted and maltreated. Some even propagated the report that the

marsk did not die at Hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; by

which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his

memory.

But the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the

marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran

differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth

relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl

upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that

recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his

master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their

wedding-night.[43]

* * *

The vehement Thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom

during Drost Peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the

king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and

their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence

that Drost Peter would not have sanctioned. This was in a great measure

attributable to Junker Christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though

the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one

dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their

accomplices were concerned.

The death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor

did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. Rané

Jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against

the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon

known that Hielm Castle had been stormed and demolished by Thorstenson.

One evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in

hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near Helgeness, begging for shelter.

These were the orphan daughters of Marsk Stig, who, in their flight

from Denmark, found refuge and protection among the compassionate

peasantry.

About this time the commandant of Sjöborg, the honest old Poul Hvit,

was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being

opened, gave admission to a troop of royal horsemen and two bound

prisoners. Poul Hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received

these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments

of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean

condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners.

One of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn

down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he

was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back

of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together

with a rope of coarse hair. As the commandant held the lantern to the

prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud

countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and

grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty Jens Grand, who

remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded

position.

His companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a

similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous Provost Jacob of

Lund. They had both been seized in Lund, in the king's name, by Junker

Christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country

in this humiliating manner.

The captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant,

undersigned by Drost Thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under

pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and

commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest

durance.

"Herregud! we are all sinful men!" ejaculated the castellan, as he

obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting

archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely

procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before

they were fettered.

Jarl Mindre-Alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in Haraldsborg. He had

been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his

execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to

the commandant of Roskild, new and important information respecting the

outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete

investigation.

On a dark night in November, a vessel, bearing the Danish flag and

pennant, ran into Roskild Fiord. On the forecastle stood one whose long

brown hair was partially concealed by a shaggy cap, whilst a pitched

wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. A huge dog lay growling at

his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the

dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited

auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes.

"The attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the

knight: "should I be recognised, it will cost me my life."

"But 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a Norse accent, a

youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever

be, my crafty Rané. Yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free,

and to-day thou refusest. It would cost thee but a word to the

castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where

thou hast so often landed for plunder. Nay, nay--this time, at least,

thou _shalt_ keep thy word."

It was Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, the brave Kirstine, who thus spoke,

while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but

affection. In conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she

had compelled Rané personally to undertake in earnest what he had

convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which

no one except himself could accomplish. Rané had given the viking's

daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was

not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered,

with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she

had dreamt of, when she followed him from Norway, and danced with him

over the castle-bridge of Rypen. The chivalrous wooer soon became the

rude and imperious spouse; and Kirstine's affection changed to contempt

and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident participator in the

king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw.

The only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and

necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped

asunder. A ballad was already composed and sung in Norway on the

unloving pair. It subsequently became popular in Denmark; and it has

thus been recorded that the faithlessness of Rané to his former king,

and the sympathy which Kirstine felt for the royal house, was

frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. Their quarrel now

took this complexion, while steering into Roskild Fiord.

"Beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered Rané: "he can

see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake."

"Pity it was," replied Kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as

faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his

chamberlain."

Rané was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to

throw her overboard. "I betrayed not the king!" he cried. "Were they

even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes."

The ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master,

growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady.

"Have a care, Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, holding fast by the cordage.

"Twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again

happen. A single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee

overboard. Had I known what kind of a knight thou wert, assuredly I

should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my

fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide."

Rané ground his teeth with rage, and again assumed a threatening

attitude.

"Beware!" whispered Kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage.

"Think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of Finnerup! Dost hear

the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? They know my sir

husband, and apprehend mischief."

Rané, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the Norse boatmen

singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:--

"'The wood has ears, the field has een,

And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'

"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared,

We need not from the land have fared.'

"Across the table he struck her sore--

'Beware this speech our guests before!'

"And he struck her on the cheek so red--

'I did not wish King Erik dead,

Though spurned by kith and kin.'"

"Dost hear?" again whispered Kirstine: "thou shouldst know the ballad

well! If thou desirest not a worse ending, assist me now to save my

father, and then I bid thee farewell for ever. But if thou shouldst act

treacherously now, my trusty countrymen shall bind and carry thee to

the King of Denmark."

"Be still, dearest Kirstine! I will do as thou desirest," whispered

Rané, as he cast a fearful glance towards the sturdy boatmen, who

appeared to be as faithful and vigilant a body-guard to their lady, as

was the hound to the faithless knight.

The vessel soon lay to at a remote part of the fiord, where Rané and

his wife landed, and proceeded in silence to the town. The hound

followed; and, at a little distance behind, by a signal from Kirstine,

the two sturdy boatmen.

They passed thus through the streets of Roskild, until they reached the

prison-tower of Haraldsborg, near which a crowd was collected,

listening to an old crone singing street-ballads. She was seated on a

stone, and, although apparently blind, carried a lantern in her hand,

while on her arm hung a tin-box, on which she accompanied her song, and

into which her hearers now and then dropped a piece of money. The moon,

which had now risen, shone brightly on the tower and on the people, who

apparently had gathered there to catch a glimpse of the famous

prisoner, and to amuse themselves with the gossip of the town.

"Saw you the drost?" asked a soldier: "such a carl!"

"Ah, Heaven help us!" exclaimed a burgher; "he is under bolt and bar at

Nordborg; and, until he is free, we shall have neither peace nor luck

in the land."

"Meanest thou Drost Hessel?" replied the soldier. "Ay, he truly was a

brave gentleman; but 'twas the new drost I spoke of--he with the long

beard: he's a tough carl, and, while he advises, neither rogues nor

traitors shall long be safe in Denmark."

"How long stays he here?" asked the burgher.

"Only till the fleet is ready, and the landfolk assembled," answered

the other. "The king then comes from Helsingborg, and we shall at the

duke."

"Bravo! Drost Thorstenson is no fool!" cried a seaman: "he well knows

there is no road to land except by sea."

"How so, friend?" asked a landsknecht: "was it not on land we got the

holy banner, without which there is no road, either by sea or shore?

Now, however, we go together; but if the Norsemen should land again,

without leave, where were we without the landsmen then?"

"Well, my countryman," replied the seaman, "we will drink to good

fellowship both on sea and land. You laid by the heels that sea-bear in

the tower, where he shall no longer plunder and burn our sloops. Sing

us the ballad anent the corbie in the tower there, carlin!" he cried,

turning to the crone, "and thou shalt have a silver groat."

"How long will they allow him to remain there, and befool both bailiff

and hangman?" inquired a burgher.

"Have you not seen the wheel outside the town?" replied the seaman:

"he'll be safe anchored there in a week hence, for Drost David has

sworn it. He was, to give the devil his due, a daring sea-cock; but two

such rievers as the marsk and he would soon have sunk the country."

"Say you the algrev will be executed in a week hence?" exclaimed a

young girl. "Alas, it is still a sad end for such a rich and

distinguished gentleman!"

"Come, carlin, sing now!" cried the seaman: "here's my groat. Look!

there he is, poking his head out of the hole. He wants to see if there

be any good friends here to help him."

"Merciful Heavens! within a week. Heardst thou that, Rané?" exclaimed

Kirstine, weeping, and involuntarily grasping the arm of her hated

husband. "And, see, there he stands looking down to us. Haste thee,

Rané, and save him! I will forgive thee all, and remain with thee,

outlaw though thou be--only save him! save him! Thou canst if thou

wilt."

"Be silent, or, by Satan, thou wilt betray me with thy whimpering!"

quickly whispered Rané, as he looked anxiously around him.

And his fears were not unfounded, for some of the townspeople had

already been suspiciously watching the two strange figures; although

now the attention of all was attracted to the blind crone on the

kerb-stone, who began to sing:--

"Sir Alf was born in Norraway,

Yet lists not there to bide,

Though fifteen lordships he doth own,

To keep his state and pride.[44]

"Alf wends upon the rampart green,

And cons with care his book;

There meets him Bendit Rimaardson,

Who is so dour of look.

"'What brings thee here, carl Mindre-Alf?

Thou art of courage rare:

If now thou'rt made king's prisoner,

The land no worse shall fare.'

"'But I am not Sir Mindre-Alf--

That is no name of mine:

A mass-boy, as thou seest, I am,

And fetch the priest some wine.'

"Bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap,

And looked him in the een--

'An I see right, thou art the Norse

Sir Mindre-Alf, I ween.'

"'And thou wert once a clerk with me,

I knew thee well at school,

And thou mayst not deny, that oft

Thou wrought'st us pain and dool.'

"'An be it thou, Bent Rimaardson,

And thou be kinsman true,

An oath, I wiss, thou'lt swear to-day,

That me thou never knew.'

"But now they've ta'en Jarl Mindre-Alf,

His feet in fetters bound--"

"Away!" shouted the landsknecht who guarded the prison-tower: "finish

your screaming, carlin, and draw not the whole town hither; for whoever

comes three steps nearer the keep, will assuredly have a lance run

through his body."

The crowd drew back, and, with them, Rané, dragging along his wife, who

still clung to his arm, assailing him with urgent entreaties to redeem

his promise and save her father.

"Nay, it cannot be done!" exclaimed Rané, in an under tone: "I know

well he has sworn my death and destruction, and now let him help

himself!"

So saying, he attempted to shake off his wife, but she held him

tightly. He then pulled his cap over his eyes to avoid being

recognised; for, with increased terror, he now observed near him some

of the late king's servants, whom he had been the means of disgracing

at court.

"Leave me, woman!" he whispered "thou hast betrayed me--I am

discovered!"

A growing murmur arose among the crowd, and the cry of "Rané, the

outlawed chamberlain!" ran from mouth to mouth.

"Thou desirest, then, to cause my death, obstinate woman!" exclaimed

Rané, with subdued vehemence; while, with a violent effort, he

succeeded in freeing himself, and immediately took to flight.

"Seize him--seize him!" shouted the crowd: "it is Rané, the outlawed

chamberlain! Seize the traitor!" And he was followed with loud cries by

the enraged populace, who threatened to tear him in pieces. His hound,

however, by furiously attacking his pursuers, several of whom he bit

and frightened, enabled Rané to escape, both master and dog having

suddenly disappeared in the vicinity of the Grayfriars' Convent; whilst

Kirstine, amidst the confusion, was fortunately extricated from the

crowd by her faithful boatmen.

Rané remained undiscovered for some days, during which, as it was known

that he had many relatives among the grayfriars, the convent was

strictly searched by Drost Thorstenson's orders, but no trace was found

of the dangerous fugitive.

In a narrow street, and under a wooden shed that projected from the

convent-wall, was a well, out of which a large, ferocious-looking dog

had been observed to leap, by a girl who went there one morning early

to draw water. She related the circumstance to her neighbours, who,

from the description, inferred that it was the hound of the outlawed

Rané. The authorities were forthwith apprised of the circumstance, and

the well was examined; when, in it, and against the convent-wall, was

found a ledge, which was reached with some difficulty. Here was

discovered a strongly-barred door, which was soon broken open, and

revealed a low narrow passage, leading to a dark and noisome hole

between the double convent-walls. The first who ventured into this

mysterious hiding-place was furiously attacked by the dog, which,

however, after a desperate encounter, was at last overpowered and

killed. By the aid of their lanterns, they then carefully searched the

hole, but no trace of a human being was perceptible.

In one damp corner, swarming with toads and lizards, lay a heap of

stones and gravel, into which, before leaving the spot, one of the

soldiers accidentally thrust his lance. This action was followed by a

smothered cry of pain: the gravel-heap was then speedily removed, and a

sad and miserable spectacle exposed. Close in the corner, and huddled

quite together, lay the outlaw Rané, so disfigured by mire and blood

that he scarcely resembled a human creature. He sprang up, apparently

irresolute whether to fight or fly, and was instantly seized and

conducted to Haraldsborg, where the stern Drost Thorstenson, without

further form or delay, sentenced him to death, in the king's name.

Three days after the capture of Rané, the new Dean of Roskild was

returning, late in the evening, from a farmhouse in the neighbourhood,

where he had been administering the last rites of the Church. Two young

choristers rode before him, carrying torches; and the holy pix and

anointing-cruse; under a screen, were borne by a couple of lay

brothers. Their way lay by the place of execution, which was in a waste

field outside of Roskild, and where the algrev and Rané had suffered

the same morning. When the boys reached this spot, they became alarmed.

"Sir dean," said one of them, "it is not well to come this way."

"Proceed, children, in God's name!" answered the dean. "They cease now

from troubling; and, with the Holiest in the midst of us, we need fear

nothing."

The lads obeyed in silence; but, after advancing a few steps,

"See, see!" cried the younger of them--"there is something stirring up

yonder."

"And look!" added the other, "now there is a light--candles are burning

by the dead men."

"Ghosts and devilry!" exclaimed one of the lay brothers. "Read,

reverend sir, read!"

The dean, who now also became alarmed, halted, and gazing towards the

mound, on which the fatal wheels were distinctly visible, saw a female

form, holding in her hand a torch, the light of which, falling full on

her countenance, revealed an expression of the deepest grief, united

with so much calmness, that she resembled a Niobe in marble; whilst a

number of clumsy-looking fellows, in the garb of seamen, were quietly

but hastily engaged in releasing the bodies of the two malefactors.

This being accomplished, they deposited them in coffins, and, forming

themselves into a procession, left the mound, bearing the two corses in

their midst. The grave female figure preceded them with the torch; and

the dean, who, with his subordinates, had not stirred, now perceived

that she wore the scarlet mantle of a princess, or of the lady of some

knight of eminence.

The funeral train took the road to the fiord, approaching close to

where the dean was standing; but the calm, melancholy features of the

lady remained unchanged, nor did the others who composed the procession

seem at all concerned at the presence of the ecclesiastic and his

assistants. The latter, folding their hands, remained in silent prayer;

while, as the train passed by, and the holy pix glittered in the

torchlight, the grave seamen bowed their heads, and the knight's lady

knelt down, while tears streamed along her pale cheeks.

As if moved by sympathy, the dean, accompanied by the choristers, then

commenced singing, in a deep clear voice, a holy vigil for the dead

men's souls; which they continued until the whole procession had

passed. The mourners soon disappeared at the fiord, whence, shortly

afterwards, a vessel departed under full sail.

* * *

After the death of the marsk, Duke Waldemar had openly allied himself

with the brave Norwegian king, and had sent to the young Danish

monarch, and his mother the queen, a declaration of war, grounded on

the demands which he himself, and his brother Prince Erik, advanced for

the possessions of Svendborg and Langeland. The duke and the Norwegian

had agreed to commence the war with their united fleets and armies; but

the impatience of the duke would not allow him to wait the arrival of

the Norse fleet; and he ran out boldly with his own, which he conducted

into Grönsund, between Falster and Möen.

Sir John and the council resolved to take advantage of this imprudent

step, and immediately issued orders to man a number of long-ships and

cutters, for the purpose of attacking the duke. This fleet, with young

King Erik himself on board the long-ship Old Waldemar, early one

morning ran out of Issefiord, and proceeded through the Great Belt to

Grönsund, where the vessels of the duke had come to anchor on the

Falster coast. Sir John and the chancellor were on board the king's

ship, together with the royal trabants, and a numerous body of knights,

who, in full armour, only knew each other by their helmet jewels and

armorial bearings.

Close to the king's vessel followed Count Gerhard, in his own

long-ship, accompanied by a few sloops from Kiel, manned by brave

Holsteiners. Thorstenson himself commanded one of the largest

long-ships, and, in conjunction with Sir John, directed the movements

of the whole fleet.

The commanders still pursued the ancient Danish mode of attacking a

hostile fleet, seeking to break the position of the enemy by a vigorous

and combined movement, and, by coming as soon as possible to close

quarters, to allow the fate of the engagement to be decided, as in land

battles, by numbers and personal courage. To this end, they immediately

ordered the whole royal fleet to form in order of battle under the

coast of Möen, and opposite the duke, bringing all the ships together

in a single compact line, in the centre of which was the royal vessel,

from whence the position of both fleets, which were nearly of equal

force, could be easily seen. The duke, however, put only his largest

long-ships into line, and these he brought into an advanced position;

whilst he allowed the lighter and smaller sloops and cutters to remain

behind, with sails unbent, close under the coast of Falster.

In all the vessels of the king's fleet, the awning was then taken down

which served to protect the deck from the inclemency of the weather. On

the poop of the Old Waldemar, surrounded by the most valiant of the

royal knights, himself the tallest and strongest amongst them, stood

the standard-bearer, holding aloft the royal banner--the dark

parti-coloured standard of the murdered king, with its numerous keys,

wheels, and other remarkable symbols. The hold was filled with the

common soldiers, who, besides sword and javelin, were armed with bows

and slings, while a portion of them had the superintendence of the

heavy war-machines; and at the stern, having the command of the whole

vessel, stood the steersman, whose office, in the king's ship, was

filled by old Sir John.

The young king, who, with the Chancellor Martinus, stood by his side,

now exclaimed--

"Explain to me, Sir John, why the duke allows his sloops to lie

detached behind the long-ships? Drost Peter, I remember, once informed

me that Waldemar Seier and old King Waldemar did the same, when they

had to deal with a stronger foe, and feared to hazard their whole force

at once. But cannot the duke now surround us with his sloops, and fall

upon our rear?"

"We will not give him time for that," replied Sir John. "When we have

first saluted him at a distance, we will row rapidly forwards, working

our slings and rams; and when we are once alongside of him, the

engagement can be terminated sword in hand."

"The Almighty grant us victory!" exclaimed the chancellor. "Before you

give the signal for battle, Sir John, we must permit our people to

think of their souls, and to pray the Lord of victory to aid us."

"In God's name! But let it be soon and short, for there is little time

to spare, and the Lord shields his own."

The chancellor then, accompanied by several ecclesiastics, began a

war-hymn, in which all the soldiers and fighting-men joined; whilst

many, including the young king, followed the example of the chancellor

and clerks, and reverently bent the knee.

Scarcely was the solemn war-hymn ended, before the standard-bearer, at

Sir John's order, gave the signal for battle by waving the royal flag

three times over his head; and in a moment, although it was clear noon,

the sky was darkened with the arrows and stones, projected

simultaneously from every sling and bow on board the royal ships.

This attack was answered by a similar discharge of missiles from the

duke's fleet, the foreign soldiers in which now sent forth their wild

war-cries.

Sir John had ordered a shieldburg[45] to be formed around the young

king and the clergymen, through which, however, many arrows pierced,

while the stones and other missiles rattled on the bucklers with a

frightful din. On the royal vessel there alighted such an enormous mass

of stones, that it was evident the duke had concentrated his attack on

it alone. A few men fell, and many were wounded; but the distance was

still too great for these missiles to take much effect.

On board the king's ship, the standard-bearer now again waved the royal

banner, and the entire fleet rowed rapidly forward, while the heavy

engines of war were put in preparation. At the stern of the king's

vessel was placed an immense prow-hog, which, with its spiked and sharp

iron crest, broke into the centre of the duke's fleet, and, at the

first blow, parted two long-ships, thus forcing the duke to fight his

own vessel without aid from the others.

At the same instant, the sea-rams were vigorously worked. These

consisted of heavy beams, cased in iron, which, suspended by chains

from the masts, were swung with crushing effect against the enemies'

vessels. The duke possessed no such heavy machines; and it was soon

apparent that the royalists had gained a considerable advantage in this

first assault, great confusion having been produced in the enemies'

fleet, the line of which was already almost entirely broken.

It was, however, speedily evident that the lighter arms of the duke

were not less dangerous. He seemed not yet desirous of boarding,

but, with his light vessels, evaded the advancing line of heavy

battle-ships; whilst, besides arrows, stones, and bolts, he continued

to shower upon them great numbers of caltrops, and of fire-pots, filled

with pitch, brimstone, and oil. The latter were set on fire with tow,

and, as they fell, cast forth flames, which, seizing upon the sails and

cordage, created great damage and confusion in the royal fleet.

The duke immediately availed himself of this to order an attack on its

rear by his smaller vessels. When he heard, by the shouting, that this

was in execution, and became sure that the royalists would have to

fight in opposite directions and with divided strength he no longer

avoided the attempt to board, but ran his own long-ship close up to

that of the king.

Thorstenson, who had quickly perceived this cunning man[oe]uvre,

commanded the cables by which the royal ships were bound together to be

immediately cut asunder, in order that he might secure a more

advantageous position; but the caltrops had produced so much disorder,

and the fire-pots taken such effect, that the men were fully occupied

in extinguishing the flames, and in defending themselves against the

boarders, who now threatened them on both sides.

In this extremity young Erik, who stood by the side of the chancellor,

with his sword in one hand and a javelin in the other, observed the

duke near him, preparing to leap on board the blazing vessel. The sight

of the duke enraged him. "'Twas an unchivalrous piece of cunning, Duke

Waldemar!" he cried, at the same time dashing at him his javelin, which

struck the feather of the duke's helmet, and carried away its jewel.

At this a shout of delight broke forth on board the king's ship, and,

abandoning their efforts to extinguish the fire, the whole crew rushed

forward, to repulse the duke's boarders.

"Be calm, brave countrymen!" shouted Sir John. "Let us first quench the

fire, and then reckon with them for our house-warming!"

Both fire and attack raged most fiercely at the prow, and the

standard-bearer, forced to defend himself, had been obliged to fix the

banner in a plank by his side, where it was soon caught by the flames,

and fell hissing into the water. This incident, while it raised a wild

shout of joy on board the duke's fleet, greatly disheartened the

royalists, who regarded it as an unlucky omen.

"My father's banner has fallen!" exclaimed the young king, in a tone of

melancholy; "no good fortune attended it."

"That of your great ancestor was always victorious, my royal master!"

exclaimed the chancellor.

"But it, alas, lies in the duke's stronghold in Sleswick," sighed the

king. "The Lord, however, can still aid us."

"His help is near when we call upon Him," replied the chancellor:

"therefore be comforted, sir king!--But see you yonder fisherman, and

in what he is engaged?"

While the king was gazing in the direction indicated by the chancellor,

the duke saw with astonishment that the crews on board his vessels were

slipping and reeling about like drunken men; and he now first perceived,

running boldly to and fro among his fleet, a small fishing-boat, in which

stood a tall man, in a black leathern mail, casting pots of soap on board

the ships. On some of the vessels, too, fell pots of finely powdered lime,

which blinded the fighting-men; while, to increase his dismay, some of

the vessels began to fill and sink. In the midst of the terror and

confusion thus occasioned, a daring black-haired swimmer was seen, with

a large auger in his hand, diving here and there under the ships.

"Shoot the accursed fisherman! crash the swimmer's head!" furiously

cried the duke. "Board--storm--all hands!"

The boarding soon became general. No one could any longer stand on the

slippery deck of the duke's ship; and as the fire had fortunately been

extinguished in that of the king, there then commenced a hot and

serious conflict, in which the combatants fought man to man, and in

which many fell on both sides. Thorstenson, in whose long-ship the

battle also raged furiously, fought heroically, many falling by his

hand. Count Gerhard, too, reaped laurels. His ship lay opposite to that

of Duke Erik of Langeland, Duke Waldemar's brother, and generally known

as Duke Longlegs. By the side of his master, in the equipments of a

squire, stood the old jester, who, when the duke appeared on the point

of boarding them, exclaimed--

"See! there comes my illustrious namesake with the long legs! Hide your

lady's veil, stern sir, that it may not be again torn!"

Count Gerhard, in the spirit of chivalry and as a defiance to Duke

Waldemar, had attached the queen's veil to his breastplate; but, that

he might not now lose it in the fray, he took the advice of his jester,

and placed it under his mail.

"We shall not run now from hares or cats, stern sir," said the jester,

while a roguish smile dispelled the gravity of his countenance.

But this remark touched his good-natured master in the tenderest point,

by reminding him of an unfortunate encounter with the Ditmarshers,

wherein his troops were really first thrown into disorder by a hare or

cat.

"Now, by Satan! Longlegs, I shall strike thee dead!" cried the count,

as he furiously brandished his sword.

"Spare your wrath for the proper Longlegs--see, here he is!" replied

the jester, as he stepped back, and pointed towards the forecastle,

where Duke Erik came storming onwards.

"The fiend take all the Longlegs!" shouted the count, as he rushed

forward to the combat.

The royal ship continued to be closely pressed upon from every side.

Old Sir John had some trouble to protect the young king, who insisted

on leaving the shieldburg to take part in the fray. The duke himself

had struck down the standard-bearer, and, springing on board at the

forecastle, he was now, backed by his bravest knights, fiercely engaged

on the rowing-deck with the royal trabants. At every stroke he seemed

to cut out for himself a path, by which he was advancing nearer to the

king.

Sir John had placed himself in the narrow passage that led from deck to

deck, where with calm energy he defended the entrance to the poop,

where stood the king, between the chancellor and Squire Aagé Jonsen, in

front of the ecclesiastics. A vigorous stroke from the duke at length

reached Sir John's helmet, which fell cloven from his gray head, while

the old man himself sank bleeding between the rowing-benches.

At this sight the king sprang forward. "By all holy men!" he exclaimed,

"that stroke you shall atone for with your blood, most treacherous

duke!"

He became furious, and, shaking off all restraints, rushed forward, and

had slightly wounded the duke, when, in his eagerness, he stumbled over

a bench. The trabants, who had each an opponent to encounter, did not

observe the imminent danger of the king; but his squire, Aagé Jonsen,

darting forward, now closed with the duke, while Chancellor Martinus

placed himself, with his mass-book in his hand, between young Erik and

the combatants. Soon, however, the youthful monarch stood again

prepared for battle, but the chancellor restrained him. Squire Aagé,

unable to cope with the duke as a swordsman, and bleeding from many

wounds, was already beginning to give way, when the chancellor, who had

raised his hands and eyes towards heaven in supplication, suddenly

exclaimed--

"Behold, behold! Danebrog, Danebrog! The Lord sends us victory--_hoc

signo victoria!_"[46]

The joyful shout of "Danebrog! Danebrog!" was now raised by the

royalists; and the duke, on looking up, perceived before him, on a

rowing-bench, the well-known Danebrog flag, in the hands of a tall

knight, clad in steel blue harness, and with open visor. It was Drost

Peter, in whom, with mingled rage and fear, the duke recognised the

blue knight of the tourney, and saw the well-known lion-hilted dagger

gleaming in his uplifted right hand.

"Ha! thou--my deadly foe!" he cried, rushing madly towards him; but his

vision forsook him, and he heard but the clash against his breastplate

of the dagger, which, glancing aside, remained deep in his left

shoulder. Uttering a cry of terror, he let fall his sword, and reeled

backwards.

"Fly, fly! God has doomed us!" he cried, wildly, as, with a desperate

leap, he regained his own ship.

His knights followed him, and, perceiving the battle was lost, quickly

hoisted sail and took to flight, leaving the victory in the hands of

the royalists.

The sudden appearance of the Danebrog seemed to have rendered every man

of the king's soldiers invincible. From Thorstenson's ship arose a loud

shout of victory; and Count Gerhard had also so entirely cleared his

decks, that the severely wounded Duke Erik, finding himself nearly

alone, sprang overboard, and saved his life by swimming to his

brother's vessel. The royal ships were filled with slain or captured

foemen; whilst of the duke's fleet, which was altogether broken up, a

number of vessels were sunk, and others captured--the duke himself

escaping with great difficulty and danger.

Old Sir John, whose wound had been bound up, now received, with

feelings of pleasure, the thanks of the king for the brave defence he

had made. His wound was not dangerous; although the heavy blow had

stunned him, and he felt with regret that he could no longer wield his

sword as in his youthful days. From the poop, and over the heads of the

king and the aged knight, waved the sacred Dannebrog banner, which had

been entrusted to the custody of the trabants by Drost Peter, whilst he

hastened to aid Thorstenson in completing the victory. In the tumult of

battle, only a few had recognised him.

"The Almighty be praised!" cried the chancellor, kneeling, and raising

his folded hands towards heaven, as, with a loud voice, he began to

chaunt the _Te Deum laudamus_, in which the ecclesiastics joined, and

during which the king and Sir John, with all else on board, continued

reverently kneeling.

Scarcely was the solemn hymn of victory ended, before the chivalrous

Drost Peter and Thorstenson were observed in a fishing-boat, hastening

towards the king's ship, accompanied by old Henner Friser and Skirmen.

The drost sprang on board, and congratulated the king on his victory,

whilst, with a loud exclamation of delight, the young victor rushed

into his arms.

"Thou it was--thou it was!" cried young Erik--"thou broughtest me

victory with my ancestor's banner."

Drost Peter bowed his head, and raised his hand solemnly towards

heaven.

"Yea, the Lord be praised! for from Him alone comes victory!" exclaimed

the king, with emotion, whilst he again embraced his faithful friend.

Drost Peter was greatly exhausted by his hurried journey. He had been

fearful of arriving too late for the battle, and had also suffered

much, after his escape from prison, in his exertions to obtain

possession of the important banner, whose singular influence on the

people, ever since the days of Waldemar Seier, was well known; it being

their pious belief that, with this their national standard, and with

confidence in God, they were sure to conquer. Its effect on Duke

Waldemar had also been of vital importance. His right arm was paralysed

from the moment when Drost Peter returned him the traitor-dagger,

stained with the heart's-blood of King Erik Christopherson, and it was

now with reason hoped that he would never more raise it against the

crown of Denmark.

Drost Peter's unexpected arrival produced great joy on board the king's

ship. All crowded around him, while he briefly related how old Henner,

with Aasé and Skirmen, had contrived to procure his escape from

Nordborg Castle, and assisted him in obtaining possession of the

national standard. He then presented to the king the faithful old

Henner and the active squire, both of whom had contributed to the

victory--the latter by boring the holes in the enemy's vessels; while

the idea of the soap and lime, which the king considered more novel

than chivalrous, belonged altogether to Henner, who had pretended to

the drost that he had a design of trading in these articles.

"Kneel!" said the young king, turning to Skirmen: "I shall dub thee a

knight, for thou hast merited the honour, and I exempt thee from the

usual proofs."

With tears of joy in his dark eyes, and an exclamation of gratitude,

the brave squire knelt and received the stroke of knighthood in the

name of God and the Holy Virgin.

The king then beckoned to Aagé Jonsen, whose numerous yet not dangerous

wounds had, meanwhile, been bound up. "Thou, too," said the king--"thou

hast defended my life today like a hero, as thou didst at Tornborg."

Aagé knelt in silence, and arose a knight.

"I desire not knighthood on account of the soap-pots, sir king," said

old Henner; "but, by my troth, the soap was capital--and the carls

required it much."

"If thou canst not be a knight, ingenious old man," replied the king,

"thou canst be a steersman, and such from this day thou art."

Old Henner was greatly affected: he spoke not a word, but bent his

knee, and kissed the hand of the young king, who, however, hastily

withdrew it, for a tear which had fallen from the old warrior's eyes

had scalded him.

In the midst of the general joy, Count Gerhard had come on board, when,

after having heartily embraced Drost Peter, both he and Thorstenson

received the thanks and commendations of the king, who now heard in

detail how matters had fared in the count's ship, and how Duke Longlegs

had sprung overboard.

"Take the fleetest boat, Count Gerhard," said the king, extending his

hand to him, "and proceed to Helsingborg, where my mother, the queen,

is expecting tidings of us. Carry her the account of our victory, and I

promise you that you shall then obtain what you have so long and so

ardently desired."

On hearing these words, the brave count could no longer constrain

himself. He embraced the king, Drost Peter, old Henner, the jester,

and, in fact, every one around him, and with difficulty refrained from

taking the young king in his sturdy arms, and dancing with him on the

poop.

"Shame befall me," he cried, "if there shall not be a dance at

Helsingborg, in which I'll share." And in an instant he stood in

Henner's fishing-boat. "Sir Steersman Henner," he exclaimed, "you shall

take me to Helsingborg. Nobody steers a boat like you."

"Right willingly," cried Henner, following him into the boat. "I

promised you good luck, and you see I have kept my word."

The boat was already leaving the king's ship, when one long leg,

followed by another, came sprawling over the gunwale: the long-shanked

jester would follow his happy master.

The rumour that the great sea-fight was expected to take place in

Grönsund, had reached Helsingborg the same day on which it was fought.

On that evening Queen Agnes, in great anxiety, sat in her closet, and

every other moment quitted her seat to gaze out over the Sound. That

the young king was with the fleet she knew; and that her devoted knight

and suitor, Count Gerhard, who had gone to his aid, would dare the

utmost, she felt certain. On leaving Kiel to join the fleet, he had

sent to her a formal declaration of his love; and her affectionate

answer to his letter now lay on the table before her, ready to be

forwarded to him on the following day. She had despatched three fleet

skiffs, one after the other, to bring her intelligence from Grönsund;

but they had encountered a storm in the Sound, and were now all three

beating about off Dragoe, when Count Gerhard, in Henner's little

fishing-boat, passed them.

"The cross shield us--they will perish!" cried the seamen from

Helsingborg, when, by the moonlight, they perceived the little

fishing-yawl driven by, and every instant threatened with destruction

by the surging billows.

The queen was ignorant of this her lover's danger; but the violence of

the storm augmented her apprehensions concerning the battle. To conceal

her anxiety, she had directed her ladies to retire, and, in her present

loneliness, she felt as if her own and Denmark's fate depended on the

message she that night expected. All the gloomy images of her chequered

life seemed united in one single event, which threatened entirely to

crush her heart, and banish that bright hope in which she had found a

recompense for all her losses, and a comfort for all her misfortunes.

If the battle were lost, and the young king slain, then would there be

an end of Denmark's freedom and of her own maternal joy; and, if the

trusty Count Gerhard had fallen, then was her letter to him, which now

lay before her, but a mournful testimony of the great and true

happiness she had lost.

The night passed on: the wax-lights flickered on the table, and the

storm howled in the chimney, but the queen still sat, sorrowfully

contemplating her letter to Count Gerhard, in the seal of which she was

represented as kneeling in a church before a virgin and child, with a

winged cherub holding a crown above her head.[47]

"Take the crown, Lord, and guard it," she sighed, "but let not the

angel fly away. Leave him to watch over me, and over him who is dearer

to me than all the crowns in the world."

She had drawn forth her diary, in which the dearest of all her heart's

confessions was not yet expressly inscribed, although in the latter

portions of it Count Gerhard was mentioned oftener than herself,

especially from the time when she had presented him with her veil, and

chosen him her knight and protector.

The image of her faithful knight had subdued every anxious thought in

the heart of the fair queen, when suddenly there arose an unusual noise

from the gardens beneath her window. She approached the balcony, and,

by the moonlight, perceived a crowd of people on the quay, where the

pilots were engaged in dragging a small boat through the surf; and

in the next moment she heard the shout of "Victory, victory! The

count--the one-eyed count!" She uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving,

and, overcome with joy, tottered to a seat in her inmost apartment.

Shortly after, the palace resounded with the joyful tidings of victory;

and, within an hour, the queen, surrounded by her entire court, stood

in the brilliantly illuminated audience-chamber, where the fortunate

bearer of the intelligence knelt, and laid at her feet his sword and

the banner of the vanquished enemy.

Whilst the whole palace shone with light, and re-echoed with sounds of

mirth and festivity, Count Gerhard learned from the queen's own lips

what was contained in the letter with the red seal on her table, and

his happiness was complete.

* * *

The joy created by this victory was soon after increased by the

tidings, that the fortress of Hunehal, in Halland, had been stormed by

the royalists, and the proud Count Jacob taken prisoner. The victory

itself was followed by important results; for the Norwegian king, who,

with his fleet, had arrived too late, abandoned altogether his

expedition against Denmark; and shortly after a friendly meeting

between the two monarchs took place at Hindsgavl, where a truce was

concluded preliminary to a treaty of peace, which in its conditions

should be equally honourable to both kingdoms. Duke Waldemar, too,

through his ambassadors, had proposed terms which could be accepted;

and, after the convention of Hindsgavl, no further measures were taken

against the outlaws, who, however, were strictly forbidden ever to show

themselves in the presence of the King of Denmark.

On a fine clear day in autumn great festivities and rejoicings were

held at Helsingborg Castle. It was the bridal day of the fair Queen

Agnes and Count Gerhard, whose sister, the dowager Queen Hedvig of

Sweden, together with the entire Danish and Swedish courts, were

present. The rejoicings, which were intended to celebrate at once a

victory, a peace, and a marriage, were attended with a tournament, in

the tilting of which, however, Count Gerhard took no part. He sat in

the royal balcony, by the side of Queen Agnes; and although he seemed

in some constraint in his fine bridal suit, yet the joy that sparkled

in his honest eye showed him to be supremely happy; whilst, from the

noble features of his majestic regal bride, beamed an expression of

unsurpassed sweetness.

Next to her, and as Denmark's future queen, the little Princess

Ingeborg was the object of universal admiration and knightly homage.

During the tourney she sat, well pleased and happy, by the side of the

young, chivalrous King Erik, where they conversed together with all the

tenderness of brother and sister. Sir John had to dash away a tear of

joy from his aged eyes when he looked upon this youthful pair, who,

with innocent childish glee, were playing only, as it were, at

bridegroom and bride, unconscious of any other affection than that

which they felt, with mutual ardour, for the land and people over whom

they were destined to rule.

With similar feelings the Swedish knights and nobles regarded the young

King Berger and the little Danish Princess Mereté, who, also, as

parties affianced, sat side by side, witnessing the tournament.

On this occasion, the prize was won by Drost Peter Hessel, who, bowing

profoundly, received it from the hand of the fair Queen Agnes, whilst,

as his eyes glanced over the brilliant ranks of dames, they rested with

a look of intense affection on the tall lady who occupied the chief

seat among the damsels of the Princess Ingeborg. It was Jomfru Ingé

Little, whom he had not seen since they parted in Kolding Fiord. Her

father, he was aware, still lay a prisoner in Kallundborg Castle, it

being only in tenderness to the feelings of Sir John that the king had

so long deferred his sentence, because his treason was manifest,

although his participation in the late king's murder yet wanted proof.

Jomfru Ingé had been absent from the tournament until that moment, and

Drost Peter had inquired for her in vain. Great was his joy, therefore,

on now beholding her; but it soon changed to anxious grief, when he

perceived the impress of a deep sorrow on her beautiful countenance;

while her look, cast on the ground, seemed studiously averted from his.

He hastily left the lists, and retired, to indulge his melancholy, near

the Sound, whilst the royal parties and their respective attendants

re-entered the riddersal, where the nuptials were farther to be

celebrated with a ball and sumptuous banquet.

Drost Peter stood long by the Sound, gazing steadfastly in the

direction of Flynderborg. The days of his childhood came before him,

and his thoughts reverted to the time when, as a knight and drost, he

had again seen his childhood's bride, and heard her sing with animation

of--

"The king who ruled the castle,

And eke ruled all the land."

The dangerous position in which his king and country had been placed

allowed him of late but little time to think of his own heart's

affairs; but now the sorrowful image of Jomfru Ingé had awakened in his

soul a powerful desire to achieve her happiness, and partake it with

her. That she should feel grief for her father and his uncertain fate,

was but natural; but why she should now seek to avoid her true and

attached knight, and even to deny him a kindly look, he could not

comprehend. The thought that she might have forgotten him for a more

fortunate suitor, for an instant only, like a threatening demon,

crossed his mind, but did not reach his heart. He remembered how he had

regarded, as a messenger of love from her, every friendly bird that

twittered outside the gratings of his prison; and, shaking his head,

with a melancholy smile he repeated the beautiful verses of the old

ballad:--

"A bird so small from the white strand flew,

And she sang, Where is my heart's love true?

"A bird so small o'er the sea flew wide,

And he sang, O where is my own true bride?"

"God strengthen and cheer you, my dear sir drost!" exclaimed the kindly

voice of young Sir Aagé Jonsen, interrupting his reverie. "I have been

looking for you," he continued, "for I know you are not happy; and yet

this is a day of rejoicing such as has hardly ever been seen in

Denmark. The noble Queen Agnes is now happy, and our young king dances

blithely with his affianced bride. There is no longer a traitor in the

country, and Denmark's throne again stands firm. We have peace and

happy times in prospect, sir drost."

"For which I thank Him who has succoured us," replied Drost Peter. "His

hand has wonderfully averted the danger, and blessed the crown of the

Waldemars on the head of our youthful king. I, too, ought to be happy

today; but, my dear Aagé, there are sorrows of which thou knowest not

yet."

"I have, nevertheless, already known great ones," replied his grave

pupil; "and I guess that which now oppresses you--the noble Jomfru

Ingé--"

"She, alas, is unhappy, Aagé, and will not be consoled while her father

lies in Kallundborg."

"Our young king is all too stern, in rejecting every petition on his

behalf," sighed Aagé. "I have, however, heard a rumour, dear sir

drost--whether well or ill founded, I know not--which yet may prove

worthy of your investigation. It is said that Sir Lavé Little has

promised his daughter's hand to the knight who procures his pardon from

the king; and that you, knowing this, either cannot or will not fulfil

the conditions."

Drost Peter was startled. "He barters, then, his daughter's happiness

for his own freedom," he exclaimed, in a tone of contempt. "At that I

am not astonished. But what says Ingé? Will she submit to be a

sacrifice for her father's sins?"

"Know you not that she has so resolved?" asked Aagé anxiously; "and are

you not aware that the rich Sir Thord, from Kongshelle, is here, with

four ships laden with treasure, which he intends offering to the king

as the ransom of Sir Lavé Little? I myself saw him but now in the

riddersal, where he was waiting until the king left the dance, to

confer alone with him in his closet, and--"

"Just Heaven!" exclaimed Drost Peter, "this shall not be! I will myself

entreat him for Sir Lavé's freedom: he cannot--he must not refuse me!"

"Hasten, then, sir drost. Sir Thord is perhaps already with the king.

Alas, I thought you knew of this, but would or could not--Haste,

haste!"

Pale and agitated, the drost hurried to the riddersal, where his eye

ran through the rows of dancers. The triumphant Count Gerhard, with

his fair and majestic bride--the young King Berger, with Princess

Mereté--and Skirmen, in his new knight's suit, with the lively Aasé

Hennersdaughter, tripped gaily down the hall; while, among the ladies

of the Princess Ingeborg, he quickly descried Jomfru Ingé, who sat,

pale and motionless, gazing with a calm, fixed look on all before her.

The drost perceived not the king, and his eyes began to swim; but,

accosting a bustling chamberlain, he asked him, falteringly--"Where is

the king?"

"In his closet," was the answer.

"With whom?"

"Sir Thord, from Kongshelle."

He turned, and darted from the riddersal.

Count Gerhard and King Berger led their ladies from the dance, as King

Erik re-entered gravely, accompanied by Drost Peter, the expression of

whose features indicated the greatest anxiety. The king advanced to the

Princess Ingeborg, who was seated by his mother's side, and, at his

signal, the dancing ceased, the music was hushed, and the attention of

all forcibly arrested.

"Noble Princess Ingeborg," said the young king, aloud and solemnly,

"inform Drost Peter Hessel that King Erik of Denmark can never forget

what he promised his dead father; but that Denmark's future queen gives

him the right to declare Sir Lavé Little's pardon and freedom."

"Thanks, thanks, Erik!" exclaimed the little princess, springing up

joyfully: "thou hast kept thy word, and enabled me to make my dear Ingé

happy." Then, turning to Drost Peter, she repeated to him the king's

words, and led the astonished Ingé into his arms.

Great was the joy of the faithful pair, in which all present seemed to

participate. At a signal from the king, the music again commenced; and,

when the damsels began to sing--

"On Rypen streets the dance goes light--

The castle it is won!

There dance the knights so gaily dight--

For Erik the king so young!"

the hearts of Drost Peter and Jomfru Ingé glowed with that same warm

feeling of love for king and fatherland which first knit their souls

together. They joined the giddy maze; and, whilst the damsels entwined

the king and the dancers with a single long garland of flowers, Jomfru

Ingé, in her true knight's arms, sang with animation--

"So boldly dance we thus, I ween,

With true hearts under scarlet sheen--

The kingdom it is won!

"Never saw I a rosy dance

So gaily trode, and eyes so glance--

For Erik the king so young!"

THE END OF KING ERIK MENVED.

APPENDIX.

THE SWORD TIRFING.

The account of Hervor, the bold skioldmö, and of the sword Tirfing,

mentioned at page 270, is to be found in the _Harvarar Saga_, or the

story of Hervor. It was the translator's intention to have given this

saga entire, to serve at once as a specimen of the character of the

ancient literature of Scandinavia, and as a picture of the mind and

manners of an extremely remote and barbarous age. Doubting, however,

whether the saga, in all its integrity, would possess any great

interest to the present matter-of-fact age, he has limited himself to

such an abstract of it as will give a tolerable idea of its nature and

contents.

In its present form, the saga is supposed to have been compiled in the

thirteenth century, though parts of it may date as high as the tenth.

Many of the persons mentioned are entirely fabulous, and several of the

places have no existence. The only gleam of historical truth it

contains, is probably in that portion which relates the battle of

Angantyr and his brothers, on Samsoe, against Hialmar and Oddur, a

similar account being given by Saxo of the twelve sons of Arngrim the

Berserk. But to enter upon any critical investigation of this nature,

would be obviously out of place on the present occasion.

The style of the original is rude and homely, and has evidently been

cast in heathen mould. The quality most admired is courage; the

greatest baseness, cowardice. The man of strength, courage, and

sagacity is ever lord of the ascendant--chief of a band of vikings, or

king of kingdoms--always a leader. In this and other sagas, we always

find much romance and much heroism; but it must be acknowledged that

both the romance and the heroism wear the cold hues of paganism, and

want those warm tones of colour which render the old Christendom tales

of chivalry so attractive.

* * *

The Turks and Asiatics came from the east, and occupied the north

country. Their leader's name was Odin, who had many mighty sons. One of

them, Sigurlami, possessed Gardarike (Russia), and fell in battle with

the giant Thiasse. His son and successor, Swafurlami, once, while

hunting, met with two dwarfs, whom he threatened to kill unless they

made him a sword of the finest qualities. They brought him Tirfing, but

informed him that it would kill its man every time it was drawn, that

it would be the instrument of three of the most dastardly actions, and

that it would, also, be his own bane.

With the aid of Tirfing, Swafurlami revenged his father's death on

Thiasse, but was slain with his own sword by Arngrim the Berserk. This

Arngrim was step-son to the giant Starkother, who had eight arms, and

who was killed by Thor, for having abducted Arngrim's mother from her

husband during his temporary absence. Tirfing now became the property

of Arngrim, who bequeathed it to Angantyr, the eldest of his twelve

warlike sons. Hiorvard, one of the brothers, made love to Ingeborg, the

daughter of Ingé, King of Sweden; but his rival, Hialmar the Brave,

challenged him to a holmgang[48] on Samsoe. After Angantyr had wedded

Jarl Biartmar's daughter, he sailed with his brothers to the place

appointed. There, when the berserk phrensy came over them, they

killed all Hialmar's men; but afterwards, when the latter and his

foster-brother Oddur met them at the holmgang, they were all killed,

after giving Hialmar a mortal wound.

Tirfing was now deposited in Angantyr's cairn or barrow. After his

death, his widow gave birth to a daughter, who was called Hervor. From

her childhood she proved herself of a belligerent and bloodthirsty

temper; and having heard of her father's cairn on Samsoe, she

dressed herself in man's clothes, and sallied forth in the company of

vikings (pirates). One night she went alone to the cairns, where the

country-people never ventured for fear of spectres, awoke with

incantations[49] her father's ghost, and conjured him to give her

Tirfing; which she obtained, but accompanied with the prediction that

it would be the bane of her race. Under the name of Herward, she now

visited King Godmund of Jotunheim (the giants' country), and assisted

the king to play at chess; but when one of his courtiers took Tirfing

in his hand to admire it, she killed him with it, left the king's

court, and, after spending some years as a viking, returned at length

to her foster-father's castle. There she busied herself in womanly

occupations, and was so beautiful that her fame extended to the court

of King Godmund, whose son, the famous Haufud, wooed her and became her

husband.

Hervor had two sons, Angantyr, who resembled his father, and Heidrek,

who did every one evil. On one occasion their father gave an

entertainment, to which he did not invite Heidrek, who was brought up

from home, with an old warrior, and, in consequence, he came to the

king's court to spoil the mirth of the company. When he had succeeded

in provoking a quarrel between two of the guests, until one killed the

other, he laughed, and said, that the feast was never better than when

the red liquor ran on the tablecloth. The upright Haufud ordered that

he should be banished from the country, but gave him eight good

counsels:--never to aid him who had defrauded his master; never to

trust him who had defrauded his friend; never to let his wife visit her

kin often, however much she might entreat him; never to tarry late with

his mistress, nor to entrust her with his secrets; never to ride his

best horse when he would make speed; never to bring up the child of a

greater man, nor be ready to accept of his invitations; and never to

have many thralls along with him as prisoners of war. If he gave heed

to these instructions, he would be happy. Hervor gave him the sword

Tirfing, to which his brother added a purse of gold, and accompanied

him part of his way. Heidrek was most pleased with the sword; but when

he drew it from its sheath to look at it, the berserk phrensy came upon

him, and he slew Angantyr.

Heidrek repented the evil he had done, and lived for a space of time in

the woods; but still wishing to be celebrated like his race, he

repaired to the coast, where, in defiance of his father's advice, he

first redeemed one who had defrauded his master, and then one who had

murdered his friend. Thereupon he became the chief of a crew of

vikings, was victorious, and soon became greatly renowned. By his

bravery he set free Harald, King of Ridgothland, and received his

daughter Helge in marriage, with half his kingdom. In a year of

scarcity, the wise men declared that the noblest child in the land must

be offered in sacrifice. Heidrek promised to give his son, on condition

that every man in the country should swear obedience to him; but,

raising a great army, he captured King Harek, and sacrificed him and

his men to Odin. This was the second base deed he had performed with

the aid of Tirfing. Helge hanged herself in the hall of the Disar

(goddesses). In a victorious expedition south to Hunaland (the country

of the Huns), Heidrek took captive King Humle's daughter, Sifka; but

after she had been for some time his mistress, he sent her home to her

father, and she gave birth to a son, who was called Hlöd.

Some time after, Heidrek married the beautiful Olofa, daughter of Ake,

King of Saxland. Being absent on a voyage, he permitted her to go home

to visit her parents; but when, one evening, he wished to take her by

surprise there, he found her in the arms of a flaxen-haired thrall.

Heidrek contented himself with declaring the matter before a Ting,

drove the thrall out of the country, and retained his wife's rich

dowry. Thereafter he offered to bring up the son of King Hrollaug of

Gardarike (Russia), and some time afterwards accepted his invitation to

a sumptuous banquet. One day, when hunting with his foster-son, he

begged the latter to hide himself, and thereupon returned, late in the

evening, to his mistress Sifka, and confided to her that he had killed

his foster-son. Sifka could not keep the secret, and Hrollaug caused

Heidrek to be bound, along with the two niddings whom he had formerly

redeemed. But Heidrek was set at liberty by his own people, whom he had

placed in ambush; and after much bloodshed, Hrollaug at length learned

that his son was safe and sound with Heidrek, and was reconciled to

him, and gave him his daughter to wife.

Heidrek now ceased to make war, gave good laws, and was the best of

chiefs. Twelve wise men were appointed to judge all important disputes,

and to guard the hog of Freyr (the god of the sun), the divinity to

whom, in particular, he sacrificed. Every one who offended against him

was either to be judged by the twelve, or to propose to him a riddle

that he could not solve. A herse (ruler of a province), named Gest of

Ridgothland (probably Smaland), who had highly offended against

Heidrek, was terrified at both ordeals, and implored Odin to aid him.

Odin showed himself before him, and proposed to go to the king in his

stead. Odin proposed many riddles, having relation to natural objects,

all of which Heidrek guessed; but when at last he asked him--"What said

Odin in Balder's ear before he was laid on the pile?" Heidrek knew that

it was Odin himself, and, having rebuked him, would have cut him down

with his sword Tirfing, had not Odin transformed himself into a falcon,

and flown away so swiftly that he only lost his train; which is the

reason that the falcon ever since has worn so short a tail. In his

flight Odin informed him, that, as a punishment for having broken his

compact, he should be slain by his meanest thrall. Shortly after, when

he had ridden out on his best horse, he was murdered in his sleep by

some Scottish thralls.

His eldest son, Angautyr, avenged his death, and recovered Tirfing; but

when his step-brother Hlöd demanded half of his inheritance, a hard

battle was fought between the two brothers. On Dunhede Mark many

thousands contended against each other; the valley was filled with dead

bodies, and the wounded were drowned in the streams of blood that

flowed. Hlöd and all his Huns fell, and Angautyr long continued King of

Ridgothland.

The remainder of the saga is occupied with a variety of narratives, of

comparatively little interest. What ultimately became of the fatal

sword Tirfing is not mentioned; and we are left to infer, that,

according to the prediction, it caused the extinction of the entire

race of Hervor.

* * *

Many are the wonderful tales of swords in these old northern romances.

They were generally manufactured by the _dveryar_, or dwarfs, who were

celebrated for their skill as smiths and jewellers. The sword sometimes

owed its excellence as much to magic as to the temper and finish it had

acquired at the hands of the workman. On Tirfing, certain runes or

magic characters were engraved--a custom which was observed in the

manufacture of swords for many ages. The sword of the celebrated

Gustavus Adolphus was covered with a number of hieroglyphs and

astrological characters, which have been the theme of many learned

dissertations. The story of the sword Mimung, made by Velint (the

prototype of Wieland the blacksmith), is a fair specimen of this class

of marvels.

Wada, who lived in Sealand, had a son called Velint, one of the most

excellent smiths that ever lived. His father, hearing of the great

skill of the smith Mimer, in Hunaland, sent him thither in his ninth

year, where he learnt the trade at the same time with the celebrated

Sigurd (Siegfried). Afterwards he prosecuted his study with the dwarfs

in a mountain, and there attained the perfection of his art. His father

was killed by the fall of a rock, occasioned by an earthquake, which

his tremendous snoring produced. Velint proceeded to the court of

Nidung, King of Waringia, living in Jutland, at whose court he was

challenged by the smith Amilias to a trial of his skill. The latter

fabricated a suit of armour. Velint, in seven days, forged the sword

Mimung, with which, in the king's presence, he cut asunder a thread of

wool, floating on the water. But finding the faulchion heavy and

unwieldy, he sawed it in pieces, and, in a mixture of milk and meal,

forged it in a red-hot fire for three days, and, at the end of

thirteen, produced another sword, which cut through a whole ball of

wool floating on the water. Still he was not satisfied with its

excellence, but committed it again to the flames, and, after several

weeks, having separated every particle of dross from the metal,

fabricated a faulchion of such exquisite perfection, that it split in

two a whole bundle of wool, floating on the water. The smith Amilias,

trusting to the impenetrability of his breastplate and helmet, sat down

upon a bench, and bade his rival strike at him with the sword. But

Velint split him to the navel; and, when he complained that he felt as

if cold iron had passed through his entrails, Velint desired him to

shake himself a little, upon which his body fell to the ground in two

pieces.

* * * * *

BRUCE AND WYLD PRINTERS, 84, FARRINGDON STREET, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Erik, Abel, and Christopher I.]

[Footnote 2: "Thing" (pronounced "Ting"), a court of justice: also, the

name of the ancient Scandinavian parliaments, or assemblies of the

states of the realm, at which, generally, all the freemen of the nation

had a right to attend. They were usually held in the open air. The

"Danehof," or Dane-court, mentioned farther on, was a similar

institution, at which were present the king and his nobles, the

principal clergy, burghers, and peasants.--Tr.]

[Footnote 3: The "marsk" anciently filled an office similar to that of

the modern marshal, or field-marshal.--Tr.]

[Footnote 4: A "drost" filled the office of prime-minister to the king.

He was often required, not only to take a leading part in the councils

of his sovereign, but to conduct warlike operations in a campaign. A

prince of the blood might also have his drost, who attended him in the

capacity of aide-de-camp. The king's drost superseded the marsk, when

present with the army.--Tr.]

[Footnote 5: "Et Sondagsbarn." A superstition exists in Sweden and

Denmark, that a child should not be baptised on the same day it is

born. Hence it is believed that a child born and baptised on a Sunday

will not live long; or, should it happen to live, that trolds and

witches can have no power over it. A Sunday's child may, it is said, be

known by its clear skin and complexion.--Tr.]

[Footnote 6: A small Norwegian horse--a kind of pony.]

[Footnote 7: Ale brewed of the herb called sweet gale, or Dutch myrtle,

instead of hops.--Tr.]

[Footnote 8: A proverbial expression, said of one who conceives and

carries out an odd or whimsical idea.--Tr.]

[Footnote 9: A garter--a punning nickname generally given to Drost

Peter.]

[Footnote 10: Such was the name given to the municipal law promulgated

by King Erik Glipping, in 1269, for the government of Ribe, or Rypen,

in Denmark, It contains many judicious and some singular enactments,

for the discovery and punishment of offenders against the peace and

morals of the community. The penalties it attaches to some crimes might

well give rise to coarse remarks among the discontented nobles.--Tr.]

[Footnote 11: "Nidding." A term of contempt, for which we have no

equivalent in English. It expresses more than the word coward. In some

parts of Scotland and of the north of England, a low, mean-spirited

fellow is termed a "niddy," probably from this Scandinavian

original.--Tr.]

[Footnote 12: In allusion to an acute and learned work of Master

Martin's.]

[Footnote 13: Junker, pronounced "Yungker." A name formerly given to

the sons of the king of Denmark.]

[Footnote 14: A kind of heroic ballad, or metrical romance, similar to

"Chevy Chase," or "Sir James the Rose," great numbers of which are

still extant in Scandinavia.--Tr.]

[Footnote 15: Thus were called those celebrated sea-rovers and pirates,

the Norwegian and Danish sea-kings;--the terror of the European

nations, during the middle ages, for their daring exploits both by sea

and land.--Tr.]

[Footnote 16: The name of a powerful Swedish family, from which Magnus

himself was descended.]

[Footnote 17: Skiold is fabled to have been the first king of Denmark.]

[Footnote 18: The Berserks are celebrated in Scandinavian history and

romance for their great strength, courage, and daring. They often

fought naked (hence, probably, their appellation--"bare-shirts"); and

stimulated their courage to a degree of phrensy or madness by the use

of strong liquors, or by chewing some herb, in which state they would

rush against naked swords, dash against rocks, and oppose themselves to

any odds of antagonists. They were the bullies and bravos of their age,

and in this capacity were often retained in the service of great men,

proving at times, however, rather intractable followers, and not always

to be relied upon.--Tr.]

[Footnote 19: Thorstenson here intends a pun; and Flynderborg has, for

the nonce, to be converted into its English equivalent, "Flounder

Castle,"--Tr.]

[Footnote 20: Helsingborg, a fortress on the Swedish coast, at this

time belonged to the Danes.--Tr.]

[Footnote 21: There were three courts of judicature in Denmark. The

"Herred-Ting" was a local court, held weekly, for civil and criminal

causes. This court was held, or built, in an open field, outside the

towns and villages, to be at a distance from taverns and ale-houses,

and strong drink was strictly forbidden to be brought into court. From

this court there was an appeal to the "Land-Ting"--a provincial court,

held monthly, in the principal cities of the kingdom. The highest court

of appeal was the "Retter-Ting," or royal court, where the king himself

often presided. It was usually opened about the middle of March, by the

king in person, attended by the various estates of the kingdom, and

continued its sittings almost daily, until about Christmas. The decrees

of the "Retter-Ting" were final. Each of these courts had its judges,

secretaries, and assessors, for the trial of causes, and the

administration of justice.--Tr.]

[Footnote 22: The snowdrop is, in Denmark, called "sommergiæk"--a

summer "geek," or fool.]

[Footnote 23: "Jomfru," the title of unmarried ladies in Denmark.--Tr.]

[Footnote 24: It is related in the "Heimskringla," that Harald Hardrada

(the Stern), king of Norway, in one of his plundering expeditions to

the coast of Jutland, heard that the daughters of Thorkill Geysu had,

the previous winter, in mockery, cut their cheeses into the shape of

anchors, and had boasted that with these anchors they might hold all

the ships of the Norwegian king. A spy, who had been sent from the

fleet of King Harald, came to these women, saying, "Thorkill's

daughters, ye said that King Harald dared not come to Denmark." Dotté,

Thorkill's daughter, answered, "That was yesterday." The King of

Norway, having secured them, carried them off to his ships, and

Thorkill had to ransom them with a large sum.--Tr.]

[Footnote 25: A diminutive, expressive of endearment. Ingelil--i. e.,

little Ingé: somewhat similar to our own diminutives in "ie" and

"y"--as, Annie, Jenny, &c.--Tr.]

[Footnote 26: Jarl--(pronounced yarl)--an earl.--Tr.]

[Footnote 27: The Danish mile is rather more than four and a half

English miles.--Tr.]

[Footnote 28: A kind of chevaux-de-frise.]

[Footnote 29: About fifty English miles.--Tr.]

[Footnote 30: Hamlet, in his feigned madness, made wooden hooks, and

hardened them by holding them in the heat of a fire. On being asked

what he meant to do with these books, he replied, "To revenge the death

of my father!" which all, but the more discerning, regarded as a proof

of his insanity. The well-informed reader need scarcely be reminded

that the discussion of Drost Peter and Lady Ingé on Hamlet, had

reference to that version of his history told by Saxo Grammaticus, and

not to the more popular and beautiful version given by Shakespeare in

his immortal tragedy.--Tr.]

[Footnote 31: King Waldemar Seier (the Victorious) committed an

injustice on Count Henry of Schwerin, which the latter resolved to

revenge. He came to the court of Denmark, and contrived to gain the

king's confidence. One day, when the king was resting in a lonely

forest, after a day's hard hunting, Count Henry seized him and his

eldest son, carried them on board a ship, and had them conveyed to the

dungeons of the strong castle of Schwerin, on the Mecklenburg coast. It

was only after the interference of the pope and other princes, and the

payment of a large ransom, that Waldemar and his son regained their

freedom.--Tr.]

[Footnote 32: According to popular superstition, the elfin ladies were

fair to look upon, but hollow behind as a dough-trough, and were, in

consequence, careful to prevent any one seeing their backs.--Tr.]

[Footnote 33: These services for the murdered King Erik commenced at

three in the afternoon and were continued until six the following

morning. Even after the Reformation, and down to 1633, they were

continued under the name of a Vaadesang--a song for protection from

surprise and assassination--when the then reigning king substituted a

morning service, more in accordance with the usages of the reformed

Church.--Tr.]

[Footnote 34: Alfsdaughter. Danish and Norwegian surnames were, and we

believe still are, formed in the following manner:--The male children

take the name of the father or family, with the addition of "son;" the

females the same name, with the addition of "daughter." Thus we have

Alfson and Alfsdaughter, the children of Alf, Erikson and

Eriksdaughter, the children of Erik.--Tr.]

[Footnote 35: Literally, "shield-maids," or amazons. The sword Tirfing,

like King Arthur's Excalibar, was one of wonderful properties. It could

never be drawn, even in jest, without causing the death of some one.

The story of Hervor, and the manner in which she recovered the fatal

weapon from her father's cairn, or barrow, though interesting, is too

long for the subject of a note. I have therefore ventured to give it in

the form of an appendix, at the end of the work.--Tr.]

[Footnote 36: The original of this ballad, which has little to boast of

but its great antiquity, will be found in Syr's Kæmpeviser, p.

151.--Tr.]

[Footnote 37: Eagle's-borg or castle.]

[Footnote 38: Perhaps from his favourite expression: "By all holy men!"

(hellige mænd.) Some, however, derive this surname from mændevid, or

mandevid,(pronounced 'menved,' and signifying man-wit,) with reference

to the young king's manly intelligence and sagacity.]

[Footnote 39: In the year following, Sir Algotson was beheaded on the

spot where the abduction took place. Thorstenson's intended bride

subsequently became Abbess of Breta convent.]

[Footnote 40: In a storm at sea, he was, some time afterwards, by

casting lots, condemned to death as a secret criminal. He then

confessed his crimes before the crucifix, and leaped overboard. There

is still extant a ballad, entitled "John Rimaardson's Confession."]

[Footnote 41: Skalds: the appellation anciently given to the bards or

poets.]

[Footnote 42: A small peninsula on the north coast of Funen.]

[Footnote 43: Several traditions have been preserved respecting Marsk

Stig's death and funeral, and the abstraction of the pall that covered

his coffin. One account states that he was interred at Hintzeholm at

midnight; that the priest's servant-maid, who had secretly witnessed

the funeral, disclosed it to her master; that the priest ransacked the

grave, and shared the velvet pall with the maid, who, shortly

afterwards, was married to one of the marsk's swains; and that her

husband, who saw the velvet on one of her pillows, and was informed by

her how she had obtained it, fearful that his master's place of

sepulchre would be discovered, killed her; although, as the tradition

says, "he loved her very dearly." Another account, quoted from a

manuscript (a kind of parish-register, kept by a clergyman from the

year 1622,) in the royal library of Copenhagen, states, that the marsk

had a granary on Hielm, strongly fortified with mounds and ditches.

Opposite Hielm, at Biornkier, he had a barn-yard, bounded on one side

by the sea, and on three others by a fresh-water lake, a great morass

which was impassable, and a thick wood. In this wood which he could

reach in an hour and a half's ride from Hielm, he took his pleasure in

hunting. It is related that on one of these journeys he became

overheated and was taken ill, and, being obliged to dismount, he sat

down on a stone and there died. His body was the same night carried to

the church of Helgeness, and honourably interred by Our Lady's altar;

"and the priest, who then lived in the parsonage-house, had a

maid-servant, who, going out to bring ale from a place under the north

armoury, stopped and saw how they buried him, and laid a magnificent

pall over his coffin; and when she found an opportunity, she had the

grave dug up, and stole it away," &c. This story, the worthy priest

adds, was told him by honest Danes who were born in these parts, and

had lived in the country more than a hundred years.--Tr.]

[Footnote 44: Danske Viser fra Midelalderen, 2 D. p. 215.]

[Footnote 45: Formed by the soldiers placing their shields and bucklers

together in such a manner, as to present to the projectiles of a foe a

compact circular wall and roof of iron.--Tr.]

[Footnote 46: The Danebrog, some readers are probably aware, is a

Danish order of knighthood. The history of the Danebrog, or Dannebrog,

however, may not be so well known. It is related that when King

Waldemar Seier was fighting against the heathenish Laplanders, in order

to convert them to the Christian faith, Archbishop Andrew of Lund stood

on an eminence, as did Moses of old, and prayed to Heaven for the

success of the Danish arms. As long as he was able to keep his arms

raised, the Danes prevailed; but the moment he let them fall, through

the feebleness of old age, the heathens gained the advantage; and the

priests therefore supported his arms while the battle lasted. Then

happened this miracle, that when the principal banner of the Danes was

lost in the heat of battle, there descended from heaven a banner with a

white cross in a field of red, by the influence of which the Danes

gained the victory. This precious banner was long preserved. The belief

was general that with it victory was certain, and therefore it was

called the Dannebrog (the Danes' fort or strength). On the spot where

the battle took place, was built the town of Wolmar, which takes its

name from Waldemar.--Tr.]

[Footnote 47: The legend on this queen's seal was "Agnes, Dei gracia

Danorum Slavorque Regina."]

[Footnote 48: The "holmgang" was a species of single combat or pitched

battle. The combatants were placed on an island, and left to fight with

swords, until all on one or both sides fell. He who refused the

holmgang, or attempted to escape from it; was called a nidding, and

subjected to every species of insult and contempt. The "berserk-gang,"

or fighting phrensy, was, it has been supposed, produced by eating of

some intoxicating herb.]

[Footnote 49: The incantation of Hervor has been translated by Herbert,

in the work entitled "Five Pieces of Runic Poetry."]