Towards midnight, Count Henrik stood in his apartment, next the
king's chamber, in the upper story of the castle. He had extinguished
his light, in order to retire to rest, but remained standing
half-undressed, at the high arched-window, which looked towards the
east, and from which he gazed out in the moonlight upon the Sound,
watching the distant vessels gliding away over the glittering mirror of
the waters. Since his visit to St. George's hospital, he had been
silent and pensive. At the evening repast he had constantly drained his
cup, for the purpose of raising his spirits. His pulse beat hard;
recollections of the past, and hopes for the future, passed rapidly
through his mind, in fair and vivid imagery. At the sight of the ocean
and the distant prospect, he gave himself up to visionary longings
after his distant fatherland, and a beloved form seemed to flit before
him, as he pressed the blue shoulder-scarf to his lips, and hung it
carefully over a high-backed chair. He took a gold chain, which the
king had lately given him, from his breast, and laid his sword aside.
"Deeds, achievements, honour, first!" he said to himself, "and then
love will surely also twine me a wreath. Now that _his_ life and
happiness are at stake, he shall not have called me his friend in vain.
Let him become a Waldemar the Victorious! and Henrik of Mecklenborg's
name shall be famed like that of Albert of Orlamund[oe]. But another
sort of fellow, and a right merry one, will _I_ be." He now heard the
weapons of the bodyguard clashing in the antechamber, where a young
halberdier kept guard, with twelve spearmen. It was not, however, usual
for the king to be surrounded by a guard, when he made a progress
through the country, and passed the night at any of the royal mansions;
but here, where the banished archbishop and the outlaws still had their
numerous friends, and where the ecclesiastical rulers of the town were
on doubtful terms with the king, Count Henrik had counselled this
precaution as in some degree necessary, after so recent an
insurrection, and where the king's mediation had not been able to
satisfy all the discontented. While Count Henrik was undressing
himself, the Drost's letter dropped from his vest, and he pondered
thoughtfully over the solemn warnings it contained. "Hum! The junker,"
he said to himself "his own brother--and yet surely a traitor--never
shall I forget his countenance that night at Kallundborg--the blood of
the unhappy commandant was surely upon his head--_he_ will be no joyous
wedding guest--he would assuredly rather stand by the bridegroom's
grave;--then might a crown yet fall upon his raven's head. Hum! They
are murky, these Danish royal castles," he continued, looking around
the dark gothic chamber, with its arched roof and walls, a fathom
thick, "Is he safe here among his guests? The little spying bishop was
Grand's good friend. I like him not; the haughty, gloomy abbot still
less--they are dangerous people, those holy men of God, when they will
have a finger in state affairs. Here he sleeps under the same roof with
his enemies to-night; and yonder, in the hospital, lies a disguised
regicide; perhaps he was only deadly sick for appearance sake, and my
compassion was ill bestowed." As Count Henrik was revolving these
thoughts, and delayed retiring to rest, there was a low knocking at the
door. It opened, and an ecclesiastic entered; he was a quiet, serious
old man. The moonlight fell on a pale and somewhat melancholy face, and
the Count recognised the general-superior of the Copenhagen chapter. "A
word in confidence, noble knight," he whispered mysteriously; "I come
like Nicodemus; yet it is not spiritual things, but temporal, which
have disturbed my night's rest. Your liege the king hath this day
generously saved my life and the lives of my colleagues, although he
does not regard us all as his friends, and with some reason: perhaps I
may now be able to requite him."
"How?" exclaimed Count Henrik: "say on, venerable sir! What have you to
confide to me?"
"When we fled from Axelhuus at break of day," continued the
ecclesiastic, "I was well nigh sick of fear and alarm, and gave but
little heed to what passed around me. A half-dead man had been found on
the beach, and out of compassion taken into the boat. I saw not his
face, and his voice was strange to me; of that I can take my oath. He
was afterwards carried to St. George's Hospital here, close by the
king's meadows. While we lay hidden under the thwarts in the boat, for
fear of the insurgents, the sick man had come to himself: and exchanged
many strange, enigmatical words with my colleague, the abbot of the
Forest Monastery. What it was I heard but half, and cannot remember;
but there must be some mystery about that person which makes me
apprehensive; deadly sick he seemed to me in no wise to be, and
appeared least of all prepared for his _own_ departure from this world.
My lord, the bishop seemed neither to know him nor his dark projects;
but as I said, the abbot knew him, and had assuredly before
administered to him the most holy Sacrament. More have I not to say;
but I felt compelled to seek you out, however late it was: I could not
sleep for disquiet thoughts. The guard without, here, I found in a deep
slumber, I know not whether it is with your knowledge."
"How? Impossible!" exclaimed Count Henrik, in great consternation,
hastily stepping into the antechamber, where he found all the twelve
spearmen lying asleep on the floor. On the table stood an empty wine
flask and some goblets. The young halberdier, who had the command of
the guard, sat likewise asleep in a corner. Count Henrik shook them;
but they were all in a deep sleep. "Treachery!" he exclaimed, in
dismay, and hastily snatched a lance from one of the sleeping guards.
"Haste to the knights' story, venerable sir! Wake all the king's men,
and call them instantly hither! I cannot now myself quit the king's
door. I will fasten the door after you: knock three soft strokes when
you return! For the Lord's sake, haste!"
The ecclesiastic nodded in silence, and departed. Count Henrik locked
the door of the upper story after him, and barricadoed it with tables
and benches--he strove again to waken the sleeping guards, but it was
in vain: they seemed not intoxicated by ordinary wine; their sleep
rather resembled that caused by a soporific draught.
Count Henrik stood alone among the sleepers, and waited long in a state
of painful anxiety; there was a deathlike stillness around him: he
heard but the deep-drawn breathings of the sleepers; but the king's men
from the knights' story did not arrive, and the ecclesiastic returned
not either. He stood for full an hour, listening with lance in hand.
All was still. At last he thought he heard a noise, as if some one was
scraping the wall, or creeping to the window over the projecting
battlements near the staircase of the upper story. He cast a hasty
glance at the window, and saw a horrible and deadly pale face, which he
could not recognise, pressed flat to one of the window panes. He rushed
forward with raised lance, but when he reached the window the face had
disappeared. Count Henrik stepped back, thrilled by a feeling of horror
which he had never before experienced. It seemed as if the prostrate
warriors around him mocked his growing uneasiness by the profound
indifference of their slumbers. He felt as if secret doors were about
to open in all the old panels, and the outlawed regicides of Finnerup
were ready to rush forth masked from every corner to renew the bloody
scenes of St. Cecilia's eve, and avenge Marsk Stig and their slain
kinsmen. He kept his lance in the one hand and held his knight's sword
unsheathed in the other. Thus armed, he stationed himself without the
king's door, and just before the open door between his own chamber and
the landing of the upper story, every moment expecting an attack from
the foe, who were probably many in number. It was useless to give an
alarm; the wing containing the knights' story, where all the king's men
slept, was at too great a distance for his voice to reach thither, and
if the traitors were nigh, a shout of distress might embolden them. He
thought of waking the king; but all as yet was quiet, and he was
ashamed of showing fear in Eric's presence, where there was no enemy
either to be seen or heard. To the king's sleeping chamber there was no
other entrance than through the antechamber of the upper story and the
count's apartment. The windows of the king's chamber were furnished
with iron bars: but in the antechamber the high arched windows were
without any defence, and they looked out on the other side to the open
field. From this quarter he expected the attack would be made, and he
feared, with reason, that some mishap must have chanced to the
ecclesiastic on the way to the knights' story. The longer he pondered
over his situation, the more alarming it appeared. An idea now suddenly
struck him, which he instantly hastened to put into execution. After
he had once more unsuccessfully attempted to arouse the slumbering
men-at-arms he raised them up one by one from the floor and bound them
tight by their shoulder-scarfs, in an almost upright position, to the
strong iron hooks in the window pillars, which were used for hanging
weapons upon. In this attitude they turned their backs towards the
windows looking upon the fields, and would, therefore, appear to those
without to be awake and at their posts. Hardly had he completed this
laborious task ere he heard whispering voices, and a low clashing of
arms under the windows. He sprang suddenly forward with raised lance
and sword, to that window, which was most strongly lighted up by the
moonshine, and shouted in a loud triumphant voice, "Now's the time,
guard! Here we have them in the field."
"Fly! fly! We are betrayed!--they are all on their legs!" said a hoarse
voice without; and Count Henrik saw in the clear moonshine a whole
troop of masked persons, in the mantles of Dominican monks, take flight
over the meadow. "St. George be praised!" he exclaimed, once more
breathing freely. "I should hardly have been able to master so many."
The spearmen and the young halberdier still slept soundly in their
hanging position. Count Henrik bound them yet faster, and left them
in this attitude. When the king stepped forth from his chamber at
sun-rise, he beheld, to his surprise. Count Henrik pacing up and down,
half-dressed, on the landing, with weapons in both hands, while the
guard hung snoring in their shoulder-scarfs among the untenanted suits
of armour on the window pillars. At this sight he burst into a hearty
laugh, and on hearing the strange adventure shook his head and smiled.
"You have dreamed, my good Count Henrik; or, to speak plainly, you have
had a goblet of wine too much in your head," he said, gaily. "I noticed
that last night, indeed; but compared with these fellows you have
assuredly been sober: you have made rare game of them in your
merriment."
"As I live, my liege, it was no joke," began Count Henrik eagerly; but
the lancers now began, one after another, to gape and to stretch
themselves. When they found, however, how they were bound to the
armour-hooks, and beheld the king with Count Henrik just opposite them,
they demeaned themselves most strangely, betwixt fear and bashfulness.
The king turned away to repress his laughter, as he was now compelled
to be stern; but Count Henrik was indignant at his incredulity and gay
humour.
"Throw the whole of that dormouse guard into the tower," commanded the
king; "they can sleep themselves sober, and so be better able to keep
their eyes open another time. You yourself shall get off by putting up
with my laughter," he added, and went with the count into another
apartment. "Henceforth I can believe neither what you nor my dear Drost
Aage see and hear in the moonshine. Out of pure love to me you spy
traitors in every corner, and vie with each other in playing mad
pranks. Hath any one ever known the like of the halberdier guard!" When
the door of the guard-room was shut, the king gave vent to his
laughter; his opinion of the real state of the case was strengthened by
observing that Count Henrik was only half-dressed, and by his disturbed
looks.
"You wound me by your doubts, my liege," resumed Count Henrik, with
subdued vehemence, and casting his mantle around him; "but so long as
you can make laughing-stocks of your true servants; thank God, it is a
proof at least that you are of good cheer, my liege, and that should
vex no loyal subject. You can witness, fellows," he continued eagerly,
again opening the door of the guard-chamber upon the dismayed spearmen.
"No! That is true; you saw nothing of it, ye drowsy pates!" he cried in
wrath. "To the tower with you instantly! and you besides, vigilant Sir
halberdier! You never more deserve to be trusted with the guarding of
the king's person."
The young halberdier, who had awoke in fear and dismay, and had now
extricated himself from his humiliating position, related in his excuse
how he had lost his consciousness in an unaccountable manner, after
having only drunk a single cup of the evening draught which had been
brought to them. They had all fared in the same manner. The king at
last became serious, and caused the matter to be strictly inquired
into. It could not be discovered who had brought the soporific draught.
None of the kin's attendants knew any thing of it. No one had been
roused in the knights' story. The old general-superior must have been
carried off by the traitors: he was nowhere to be found. When the
bishop and the abbot of the Forest Monastery heard what had been done
they appeared to be in the greatest consternation. The bishop loudly
expressed it as his opinion that it must have been the discontented
guild-brethren from the town, and that the attack, in all probability,
had concerned him. Since his last conversation with these
ecclesiastical dignitaries the king had altered the plan of his
journey, and determined instantly to repair to Helsingborg, there to
expedite his marriage, and prepare every thing for the reception of his
bride.
He excused himself with cold courtesy from all further companionship
with bishop Johan and the abbot, who, silent and thoughtful, set out on
the road to Roskild; but the aged provincial prior Olaus accompanied
the king, by his desire, to supply the place of the absent chancellor,
in conducting correspondence and matters of a similar nature.
When the king, a few hours after sunrise, was about to leave
Sorretslov, and traversed the ante-chamber where Count Henrik had kept
his singular night-watch, he took the count's hand and pressed it with
warmth, "If you have been able to put my enemies to flight, here, with
snoring fellows on hooks, you must be able to crush them with waking
men in coats of mail. From this hour you are my Marsk, Count Henrik of
Mecklenborg, with the same authority in peace and war as Marsk
Olufsen," So saying, the king handed him a roll of parchment, with sign
and seal of this high dignity. "When I laugh another time at your
heroic deeds, brave count, and call them dreams and visions, you may
call me an unbelieving Thomas," he continued. "From my childhood
upwards I have had as many deadly foes as my father had murderers," he
added, solemnly, and with a tremulous voice; "yet truly, I thank the
Lord and our holy Lady for my foes; they teach me almost daily to know
my true friends."
Count Henrik's eyes beamed with joy; he heartily thanked the king, and
followed him down the staircase to the court of the castle, where
Eric's numerous train already awaited his coming, on horseback. Count
Henrik sprang gaily into the saddle, with his new commission in his
hand, and instantly issued, as Marsk, the necessary orders for pursuing
and tracking the traitors.
As they rode out of the court-yard, the king missed his two favourite
tournament steeds, and became highly displeased. "Truly this is worse
than all the rest," he said, looking around him with so stern a glance
and so clouded a countenance that the young knights looked at each
other in surprise; and a word of soothing or admonition seemed to hover
on the lips of the aged provincial prior.
"The handsome, spirited prancers, they should have danced before
Princess Ingeborg's car on our bridal day," continued the king, turning
to Master Olaus. "This is no good omen for me. They might sooner have
burned the castle over my head than robbed me of those noble animals."
It was now discovered that the horses were already missing in the
morning of the day preceding, together with both the grooms who had the
charge of them, and that they had been sought for everywhere in vain.
"They shall and must be found; I will answer for that," said Count
Henrik, and instantly despatched a couple of his own grooms to look for
them. The party rode on; but the king's good humour was disturbed for
some time. "I shall never be able to find such another pair," he said
at last, in a milder tone, looking out across the Sound on the
picturesque road to Elsinore, while the larks carolled gaily above his
head, and his long fair locks floated on the spring breeze. "I always
fancied them dancing before her car every time I thought on her bridal
day; eager wishes may make us superstitious and childish, I believe.
Had we but the bride in the car we should assuredly get it drawn to
church."
"You would have twice as many hands to draw it as there are hearts in
Denmark's kingdom," said Count Henrik, placing a green sprig of beech
in his hat. "We bring summer with us to Helsingborg, my sovereign--Look!
Denmark's forests already arch themselves into a vast Gothic church and
bridal hall."
"_That_ church and bridal hall they shall at any rate leave wide open
to me," exclaimed the king, with some bitterness, as he raised his
glance above the woods to the clear heavens. "Yon eternal church of
God, besides," he continued, "however matters may stand with her image
here in the dust. Is it not so, Master Olaus?"
"The true temple of God's spirit is a pious and loving heart, my
liege," answered the mild, calm, provincial prior. "Where there is love
and living faith, with the Lord's help, there will be no lack of
blessing."
The king nodded kindly to them both, and they now rode briskly forward
on the road to Elsinore.