"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere,And about the field doth fly;But she guardeth not the little hillWhereon she might rely."
"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere,
And about the field doth fly;
But she guardeth not the little hill
Whereon she might rely."
"Alas, yes, my trusty Rané," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the saying is as applicable to me. But did you fasten the door carefully? I thought I heard it shake in the wind."
"It does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the greatest force. I fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily: "there must be a thief in the candle. Shall I lower it and see?"
"You may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. Come, I shall trim it myself."
Whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses was heard outside the barn.
"There are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed Rané, taking the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?"
"Nay, for God's sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "If they want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room."
They were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now quiet again.
"They have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes, but there was a profound silence.
"What day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse I have never lived."
"This is St. Cecilia's night, sir king," replied little Aagé, who perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "Ah, gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy Cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night."
"Pray!--pray thou, child! I cannot," replied the king. "Mass-bell and church-hymn, I never followed: the holy Cecilia aids not me."
The little Aagé folded his hands and prayed. Rané still held the lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king, who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt.
"That is well, Rané: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered. "How many studs are there in my belt?"
Rané held the light closer. "I count twelve," he replied: "but why desire you to know that?"
"That was a singular woman in the forest, Rané. She could see up into heaven and down among the damned. She bade me count the studs upon my belt, if I would know the number of my traitors. Twelve only you reckoned? I fancied I had counted fourteen. Thirteen there are, at least."
"Who would be guided by the number of buttons, sire?" replied Rané. "When a man cannot make up his mind, I have heard that he should count his buttons; but that is suited only to children, sire."
"Thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, Rané? Reckon again, and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. Is it not so?--there are thirteen?"
"Well, possibly," replied Rané, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is not a lucky number, sir king."
"Thou art right. Thirteen was the number when the false Judas betrayed his heavenly Lord and King. But, why becomest thou so pale, Rané?"
"I have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied Rané, looking towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if I am a little palefaced. But listen! What is that?"
Lusty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and poles.
"Arise, King Erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice outside.
"I am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "That was the terrible Stig Anderson's voice." He had drawn his sword; but stood irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre.
The chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "King Erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "Conceal yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "Lay yourself down: I will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." He extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now stood in total darkness.
"Rané, Rané! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the wretched king.
"Hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! I shall defend you to the last drop of my blood."
"So shall I too!" cried little Aagé Jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "Alas! had I but a sword!"
The little Bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without continued.
"Be still--be still, youth! Resistance is useless here," whispered the king to Aagé. "Do not betray me with your whining, Bent," he added; "but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner."
They hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded them.
The noise outside was still increasing. The assailants hammered lustily against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of straw. Twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. They looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not finding what they were in search of.
"Where is he? He hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful voice from the midst of them. They searched fruitlessly every spot, except where Rané stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw.
"Save my life, my trusty Rané!" whispered the king from beneath the straw, "and I give thee my own sister in marriage."
"My king and master is not here, but I guard his jewels and treasures," cried Rané, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and I shall cleave the skull of the first who approaches." And he swung his puny sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a clump of wood lying on the barn-floor.
"You defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered Aagé: "give me your sword, if you will not use it better."
"Away, boy!" shouted Rané, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of the page, but without touching him.
Among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by the side of a powerful and gigantic form. These two pressed on at the head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of the other, until they reached the spot to which Rané had pointed. They both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king.
"Here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. At the same instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light of the torch.
"Aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of straw.
A scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter, issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving murderer. In their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch.
Rané continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any one. At last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of him who carried it. "Help, help! They are murdering my king and master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed furiously from the barn.
A fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene.
The gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. The fearful monk-like forms stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the murdered Erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes of death.
"He is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their leader, breaking the fearful silence. "Away! To horse!"
In an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have torn it asunder with his nails.
The two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the mangers.
"Monster!" now cried the little Aagé; and rushing towards him, he plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the madman's heart.
"Good, good--now I can die! Blessed be the angel from heaven who has redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the murdered king.
One half of the barn was already in flames. The four horses in the stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door; and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. The flames burst through the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of persons hurrying to the scene.
"Help me to save the king's corpse, Bent," said Aagé to his weeping comrade. And with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated.
"God be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed Aagé, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. Make haste!"
They were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse.
A great number of people had now assembled; but they gave little heed to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. The crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping youths in front of the burning pile. The feelings awakened in the minds of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed. The consternation and the confusion were great. They screamed and shouted from one to the other.
"Pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"Take care of the king's body!" cried others.--"Send word to Harrestrup!"--"Bring the drost! bring Sir John!"--"Send word to Scanderborg! there are still the queen and the young king!"
Such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered, but no one stirred to give them effect. Women and children thronged towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. Many commanded, but none obeyed.
At length was heard, in the midst of the hubbub, the cry of--"Room, room! the drost is coming!" and the noisy crowd was divided by three horsemen, who urged their panting steeds eagerly through them. It was Drost Peter, with Skirmen and old Henner Friser. Behind them followed a troop of huntsmen, having Chamberlain Rané, bound, in their midst.
"Silence here--give place!" cried Drost Peter, springing from his horse.
The crowd fell respectfully to one side, and a dead silence ensued. The drost beheld the king's body with horror. He hastily examined it, and found that there was no longer any sign of life. He counted fifty-six wounds, all of which were mortal. Under the king's vest he also found a dagger, which had not been withdrawn from where it had been planted in his bosom. He drew it out, and examined it closely: it was a magnificent weapon, wrought with great skill, its hilt representing a gilded lion. Having displayed it to the nearest spectators, he put it carefully aside.
"King Erik Christopherson is dead," he cried, with a loud voice, whilst he rose from the corpse and surveyed the crowd, whose earnest and sympathising faces were illumined by the flames of the barn: "he has been shamefully murdered, and this atrocious crime shall not remain unpunished, as certain as there is a righteous Judge above us!" He paused an instant, and a deep silence prevailed around.
"The young King Erik Erikson is now our lawful lord and king," he continued, with greater calmness, and raising his right hand: "the people of Denmark have themselves elected and sworn allegiance to him. The holy Church will ratify his election; and soon shall he sit, anointed and crowned, on the throne of his ancestors. If you be true to him, brave Danish people, he shall, if it please God, be a good and righteous king, and shall severely punish the cruel and audacious murderers of his father. May the Almighty give him strength, and throw his protecting arm over him and his loyal people!"
"Long live King Erik Erikson! long live our young king!" shouted the multitude; whilst a few cries of "Vengeance--vengeance on his murderers!" were heard.
Drost Peter waved his hand for silence, and turned to those who stood nearest to him. "Who here has the fleetest horse?" he demanded.
"I--I have!" cried Skirmen, springing forward.
"Right--none can speed as thou canst. Bide instantly to Scanderborg, my trusty Skirmen. Speed thee, and carry to the queen the woful tidings. Relate what thou hast heard and seen. Say to Sir Thorstenson, in my name, that every avenue to the palace and to our young king must be instantly closed and well guarded. To-morrow, I shall arrive myself, with Sir John, when I have properly cared for the dead king's body. Away! God be with thee!"
Skirmen was mounted in an instant, and flew off, with the speed of an arrow, on his little norback.
"Thou, trusty old Henner!" continued Drost Peter, turning to the grave old man, who had remained by his side immoveable, on his tall horse, and gazing upon the royal corpse with a strong expression of sorrow--"thou, and the royal huntsmen, pursue the murderers immediately. Take Rané with thee, and compel him to lead thee in their track."
Henner Friser nodded, and turned his horse. A minute afterwards, the giant-like old man, with Rané by his side, bound, rode at full gallop past the blazing barn, followed by the huntsmen.
"Ye good Danish men," continued Drost Peter, turning to some of the more respectable peasants who stood nearest to him, and who appeared to regard the royal corpse with most sympathy, "ye shall bear the body of our murdered king with me to Viborg. Bleeding, as it now lies, shall it be exposed to the gaze of the people. Lay four planks over that harvest-waggon, and yoke to it six of your best horses. Spread my mantle over the planks, and lay the corpse carefully upon it. You, children, follow me," he said to the two weeping pages, who, in the meantime, had caught the king's steed, and one of the falcons. "Tie the king's horse to the waggon, Aagé: he shall follow his master. Give me the falcon, Bent. Light two fir-torches, and place yourselves at the king's feet. You shall bear the lights for him to-night, for the last time."
The boys wept and obeyed; and the peasants soon executed the orders of the drost. His scarlet cloak had now become the king's pall; and he himself sat quietly on his steed, with the king's favourite falcon on his arm, and saw that everything was done becomingly.
Many people still crowded around, but there was no noisy commotion. From the women only was heard a solitary sigh, or a subdued expression of pity; but among the men, astonishment at the unheard-of deed appeared more general than sorrow or commiseration.
Drost Peter perceived this with deep emotion. "King Erik's last journey is dark. Take brands from the barn, and light us," he said, in a sorrowful tone.
Some men from Harrestrup instantly obeyed.
"Honour the dead; for the crown he bore, and for the sake of the royal race from which he was descended. Follow him, as many as can, yet as a freewill token of affection: none else is wanted. Withdraw which way you will; but depart with quietness, and repeat at least a prayer for his soul. When the sun last set, he was a powerful king, and our lawful lord and master. Let that den of murder burn," he added, with horror: "its foundation shall be razed, and every trace of it rooted from the earth. Where it stood, shall no man rest any more; but, for centuries to come, shall prayers be said, night and day, for the soul of the murdered king. May the merciful God be gracious to him and all of us!"
With emotion he raised his hand to his eyes and gave a signal, when the procession slowly moved forwards. The crowd dispersed quietly and in silence; twelve peasants only attending, who walked, with blazing fir-torches, on both sides of the waggon. Near to the king's head rode Drost Peter, with the falcon on his arm; whilst the steed followed his dead master. As the procession moved past the flaming barn, a strong light fell on the drost's earnest countenance, and the royal corpse lay aloft on the waggon, visible to all. At its feet sat the two pages, with torches in their hands. Silently and slowly the gloomy funeral train disappeared in the deep night; and here and there, on the highways and byways, along the road to Viborg, stood astonished peasants, gazing in wonder.
At Scanderborg, the queen and the young princes were still in deep slumber, at the early hour when Claus Skirmen reached the palace on his panting norback, which had carried his light rider more than forty English miles in six hours.
The landsknechts who held watch at the castle-gate and by the palace-stairs recognised the drost's squire, and instantly admitted him. They were surprised at his haste.
"Pull up the drawbridge, and lock the gates!" he cried: "the foe is at my heels!"
The grave landsknechts were amazed: no enemy was perceptible in the misty dawn, and they were not accustomed to receive orders from a squire. Whilst they hesitated and delayed, Skirmen leaped from his saddle, and hurried up to the queen's large ante-chamber, where Sir Thorstenson himself kept night-watch with the royal body-guards.
"The king is murdered!" cried Skirmen, almost breathless.
The whole of the knight's men in the hall sprang up, and stood as if thunderstruck or petrified.
"Murdered!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson: "art thou in thy right senses, Skirmen?"
"Murdered!" repeated Skirmen; "and the murderers are not half a mile distant: they are approaching, with a numerous band of horsemen. If you would not have the palace surprised, sir, let it be barricaded instantly!"
"Wilt thou drive us mad, Skirmen? Bar the palace, trabants! and every man to his arms! Righteous God! murdered!"
The alarmed trabants hastily quitted the hall, with scarcely sense enough left to execute the orders of their captain.
"Now, by Satan, speak, Skirmen!" exclaimed the enraged Thorstenson, stamping. "Who has ventured on this atrocious deed? Ha! was it the algrev--the accursed algrev?"
"Nay, stern sir: if it were not the devil and his imps, it was Marsk Stig and his kinsmen. At the barn of Finnerup the deed was done." And Skirmen then related all he had himself heard and seen, and what the drost had charged him to say. "And my master was right," he added: "had he not dispatched me instantly, the murderers themselves had perhaps first brought you the intelligence. An hour ago they held a council on Tulstrup Heath. They sat on horseback, and clothed in mail: in the fog I had nearly ridden into the midst of them; but the moon broke forth over their heads, and revealed to me their bloody swords. I hurried past them, and they pursued me up to the forest. There were certainly more than seventy men, and some amongst them were disguised as grayfriars. They must be here instantly."
"Let them come!" cried Thorstenson: "they shall find us awake. You are right: none has dared this deed but Marsk Stig. He has now fulfilled his oath, and slain King Erik. He may next aim at the prince's life; but his vengeance shall not reach it. Is everything in order, trabants?" he inquired of some of them who had returned to the ante-chamber. They informed him of what had been done for the defence of the place, and were again dispatched with fresh orders; and the utmost activity prevailed in the palace.
The sudden noise awoke the queen, who rang for her maids, and inquired what the disturbance meant. They were all frightened, but none of them yet knew what had happened. The queen arose and dressed hastily, to proceed to the guard-chamber. The noise in the palace increased. People ran about bewildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen among them; but where, no one could tell. Every one knew that a great misfortune had happened; but what it was, no tongue ventured to ask. In the guard-room the knights stood in complete armour, awaiting the orders of their chief. The hall looked out on the palace-yard, and was provided with a balcony, commanding a view of the high road. Here stood Sir Thorstenson and Skirmen, watching, on the road to the palace, a great cloud of dust, which they were now first able plainly to distinguish from the gray mist of the morning.
"You are right, Skirmen," said Thorstenson, with a nod: "it is a large band of horsemen; they will actually treat us here on fasting stomachs. No matter--they shall have their morning meal before us. Are the archers on the tower?" he inquired of one of the trabants.
"Yes, sir knight," was the reply: "they have occupied all the loopholes, and are ready, with arrows on their bowstrings, as you commanded."
"Good: but let no one draw a shaft until I wave this banner over the balcony," he commanded, as he seized the large royal banner which stood at the end of the saloon. "The more time we can gain the better," he added: "if it comes to a storming, we must use our shot-waggons; for the fellows deserve a warm breakfast. Let the fire rage under the stones, and they will soon he hot enough. We must melt these mailed flinty hearts."
The trabant departed.
At the same moment the queen entered, attended by her ladies and maidens. "What mean these preparations?" she inquired, looking anxiously around her, and at the same time, with her customary dignity, acknowledging the military salute given her by the trabants.
"God and Our Lady support you, my noble queen!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson, advancing, and lowering the banner respectfully before her: "I did not think your grace was up, and I would not suffer you to be awoke with evil tidings. Prepare to hear them with resolution, my noble-hearted queen. Drost Hessel has sent us this messenger; and in the colours of night ought he and we to be standing here, for the news he brings is dark and gloomy as the grave."
"That, then, has happened which I have so long dreaded," said the queen, becoming pale: "my lord and king is dead? Speak, young man!" she continued, turning to Skirmen, "what unhappy tidings dost thou bring of my unfortunate husband? Speak! The Queen of Denmark shall not be crushed by a word, though the dread of it may chase the blood from her cheeks! My lord and king is dead?"
"You have spoken it, noble queen," replied Skirmen, approaching her respectfully, whilst Thorstenson retired to the balcony, over which he looked with strained attention. "Traitors surprised him last night," continued Skirmen: "it happened in an evil hour, when he had lost himself in the forest, near Finnerup, and his trusty men were not by his side."
"Murdered, then--miserably murdered!--as is now every king of Denmark!" exclaimed the queen, leaning for support on one of her maidens.
"It is unfortunately so, my noble queen," replied Skirmen, with strong sympathy, although the expression of the queen's countenance seemed rather to indicate bitter anger than deep, heartfelt sorrow. "Drost Hessel was the first to find your unhappy husband, after the fearful deed was done, and the murderers had fled. He immediately examined his wounds, and found them numerous, and all mortal. He would not quit the royal body before it was placed beyond the reach of farther indignities; but, for the security of yourself and the princes, he bade me hasten hither; and, with God's help, I have made such speed, that I am here before the traitors. God preserve you, my queen, and the young prince, who shall now rule Denmark's kingdom."
"Where is he?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously looking around her; "where is the prince? where is my little Erik? Come the murderers this way? Are they near?"
"Be calm, my noble queen," replied Thorstenson. "A band of armed horsemen ride, indeed, towards the palace, with some disguised traitors at their head; but, so long as I and a single Dane remain alive, no enemy to the royal house shall set foot within these walls. I have sent for the princes, and they will be here immediately."
"Can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the traitors all beyond its walls? Are there none amongst us? And was it not a Dane who murdered Denmark's king?"
Overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king.
"The castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon another," replied Thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "The traitors are near us, but you have true men around you. Affront not every Dane by such dishonouring suspicions, illustrious queen. In this bloody treason the true Danish people had no part. Your royal husband was not beloved; nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or perjurers. Marsk Stig Andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest Dane. We will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with security the crown of Denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and loyal people."
"We will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!"
"Where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more composure: "can we see them?" She went hastily to the balcony, and perceived the dark troop of horsemen approaching, with the disguised, hooded men at their head. "They are numerous," she continued; "but not sufficient to intimidate my protectors. They approach the castle apparently with peaceful intentions."
"Let them come close up to the walls, noble queen. They must not imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. They have neither archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. The moment they commence an attack, I send them a salute of a shower of arrows from the tower."
"'Tis well, Sir Thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with proud indignation. "They shall behold the Queen of Denmark--they shall behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not slumber, and that the sceptre of Denmark, even in the hand of a minor, has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!"
The princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. The young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just heard; but his brother, Junker Christopherson, was burning with wrath and indignation. The queen turned from the balcony and approached them.
"My sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! Bear this sorrow as beseems his sons and avengers! Those who caused his death, thirst after your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm you."
Junker Christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. But that which so frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little King Erik.
"My sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "I am now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the kingdom. It shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall of my father's godless murderer. Is the castle in a state of defence, Sir Thorstenson?"
The bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. He bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to lose sight of the movements of the hostile horsemen.
"Good, good!" said Erik, nodding.
A trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. Erik hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with his mother, stepped on to the balcony.
The troop of horsemen had halted at some distance from the palace, and the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council.
At length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood, accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise, rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. The sun had just arisen, and shone upon the noble form and fair, pale face of the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right.
This spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. At length he reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the prince through the grating of his visor.
"Queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy braggart who denounced King Erik at the Thing of Viborg. You imagined that the man was not in Denmark who dared put so bold a speech in practice. Behold, then, in me, the Dane who has kept his promise to the king. The fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable."
With these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty features of the warrior. But speedily recovering herself, she again stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by her side grasped the hilt of his sword.
"Come you yourself, Marsk Stig Andersen, self-made king!" said the queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? Know, then, it was pronounced in that bloody midnight hour, and that here stands now your king and master, who will, if God spare him life, by a wave of his youthful hand, accomplish Heaven's judgment upon you."
"A self made king I am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice: "such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be Denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall determine. The time for that has not yet arrived; and I have not sped hither to contend with women and children. I came here to see what I now behold. You yourself best know who was a self-made king in Denmark. My deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought you sorrow and heart-pangs, Queen Agnes. I bear you, instead, a welcome message."
As the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse in her dreams. She blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"For these words, Stig Andersen, I shall answer you, when we meet before God's judgment-seat! Here, you stand deeply under the Queen of Denmark's wrath."
"Let me speak, mother!" interrupted little Erik: "I am his judge and master. Thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my mother, and shalt surely die! From this hour thou art an outlaw, as certainly as I shall wear the crown of Denmark!"
Junker Christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "The rack and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and angrily, clenching his hand with excess of passion.
The impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little king was effaced by his passionate brother.
"The threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight. "But know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant crown!--If I must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in the land more widows than thy mother--if Marsk Stig must lie, an outlaw, in wood and den, Denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and his followers! Away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear our hands! The kingdom and country can yet be saved!"
Sir Thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "Down with the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony.
At the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide from the loopholes of the castle-tower. The marsk turned his horse and laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. As if in derision of this fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone, discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails of the noble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him.
At the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers rushed towards him with bows drawn. The marsk hastily leaped on another horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower of hissing arrows and glowing balls from the castle of the infant king.
Twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in relating the manner of his death.
At Kiel Castle, Count Gerhard received as guests the illustrious Duke Waldemar and his drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. They had arrived, late in the evening, from a journey through Brandenburg, and were accompanied by both the brothers of Queen Agnes--the Margraves Otto and Conrad of Brandenburg.
In these brave noblemen Duke Waldemar had, in the course of his journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and had invited them to accompany him to Sleswick. The margraves were the intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent Count Gerhard, and they had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable Kiel Castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence, without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he journeyed homewards.
The duke had not met Count Gerhard since the evening he had seen him in company with Sir John, at the Dane-court of Nyborg, shortly before his own imprisonment. The interest with which the count had afterwards laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king, had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to shine in presence of the ladies. That the brave, honest count, notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious duke had never been able to forgive him.
Count Gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in Denmark had not yet reached Kiel. His guests and himself were seated at the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs.
The Margrave Otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. He was a great admirer of the German minne-singers, and sang several of their lays in a fine deep bass voice. To satisfy the Danish gentlemen that his royal brother-in-law, King Erik Christopherson, was more esteemed in Germany than by his own people, he sang Reinmar von Zweter's well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the Schwabian dialect, thus commences:--
"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"
"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"
and which may be thus translated:--
"A king so well becrown'd, and true,And eke a crown beking'd well, too,Maintains that crown aright:Should thus the king his crown adorn,That crown adorns him in return,And each does each requite."
"A king so well becrown'd, and true,And eke a crown beking'd well, too,
Maintains that crown aright:
Should thus the king his crown adorn,That crown adorns him in return,
And each does each requite."
It was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been welcomed at Harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that his heart and courage were great and bold.
"Pokker i Vold! To the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged crown, my good friend!" said Count Gerhard, laughing, when Margrave Otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "Your good Master Reinmar is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, I could wish the song were Danish, and that the people might sing it from the bottom of their hearts. Yet I have no great relish for songs for the people that have to be brought to them from other lands."
"Now, now, my dear Count Gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a people's song, but a complimentary ode. How otherwise would you like to be sung?"
"Plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at all. Songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily, "must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. Nay, I prize more highly the art of my old Daddy Longlegs: he does more with his countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la. You must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen."
At his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen. This mightily amused Count Gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and manners he mimicked by turns. In this representation the guests immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic Master Martinus de Dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, passionate Master Grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned theologian. The dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester could more especially imitate to the life.
The duke and Sir Abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition.
"Excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold Master Grand to perfection. But if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire holy Church."
"He is not pope yet," replied Count Gerhard; "and more than one infallible clerk we are not bound to believe in. I have great respect for the abilities of the learned dean; but he is still a fallible man, and, like a good Christian, he must allow that even his best friends are not blind to his infirmities. To show you, gentlemen, that we here do not limit our selection of persons, when, at a merry moment, we have a mind to see them amongst us, without putting them to the inconvenience of a journey, Daddy Longlegs shall now give us a copy from nature, which it will probably cost you no great effort to recognise."
He whispered a few words to the jester, who nodded, and left the room. He shortly returned, attired in a princely purple mantle, with a gilded parchment crown on his head, over a tuft of thin combed-out hair. His face expressed a singular mixture of majesty and meanness, of wild strength and effeminate weakness: he seemed both to threaten and smile at the same time, and blinked constantly. He strode leisurely forward, stopping at times, as if in doubt, and supporting himself on his long wooden sword.
When Duke Waldemar saw this, he became pale. Count Gerhard laughed immoderately; and the knightly margraves seemed perplexed.
"Let this rather daring jest alone, noble Count Gerhard," at length said Margrave Otto, earnestly: "it is not becoming in us to be spectators whilst our royal brother-in-law is turned to ridicule."
"What the deuce, my brave sirs, are you afraid of the spectre of your royal brother-in-law?" cried Count Gerhard, laughing. "As you intend shortly to visit him in person, you will do well to accustom yourself to look him boldly in the face, without being embarrassed by his blinking, or scared by his anger."
The jester had withdrawn to the farther end of the apartment, where he stood in the shade, observing the effects of his mimicry. At that moment the door was opened, and two young knights, half intoxicated, stumbled in.
"News! news!" they shouted in a breath: "there is an insurrection in Denmark, and the king is slain!"
All sprang up in astonishment, except Duke Waldemar, who swooned, and sank back in his chair. In the general confusion, this was observed by Sir Abildgaard only, who hastily came to his assistance, and chafed his temples with wine, giving no alarm, but placing himself before him, and concealing him with his mantle.
The others gazed with alarm on the young knights who had brought the unexpected intelligence. But the terror of the jester was beyond control. Notwithstanding his talent for drollery, he was subject to a deep melancholy, which at times bordered on madness. A fearful horror now overwhelmed him, and he fancied that the ghost of the murdered king had actually taken possession of him, to revenge the mockery of which he had made him the subject. Longshanks became so deadly pale, and remained so motionless, that now he really personified a fearful spectre of the murdered king, whose mask he had assumed in a playful mood.
Count Gerhard had suddenly become grave; but the young knights who brought the message of death did not observe, in their half-inebriated state, the effects which their intelligence had produced; nor knew they that the two strangers were Margraves of Brandenburg, and brothers-in-law of the murdered king. They now related, in a careless and almost merry tone, what they had heard of the king's murder.
"There is no doubt about it, sir count," said he who stood nearest him: "he fell, appropriately, in a love adventure in Finnerup Forest; and could not himself have desired a fairer or pleasanter death. Let us now drink a happy journey to him, and a better and more faithful mate to his fair queen. Merrily, sirs! The health of King Erik Christopherson, wherever he may be."
Count Gerhard stood in agony during this unseemly and inconsiderate speech in presence of the margraves. He would have reprimanded the thoughtless knight, but the jester anticipated him. Rushing madly forward, in the guise of the dead king, he seized the bone of a roebuck from a silver dish on the table.
"King Erik Christopherson thanks you for the toast!" cried he, assuming with fearful truthfulness the monarch's voice: "to you, and to all his merry friends here, he sends a greeting."
So saying, he threw the large bone at the forehead of the young knight, but it missed its aim, and struck Count Gerhard, who fell to the ground, with the blood streaming from his left eye, which was laid open by the blow.
All crowded around him, alarmed. During the commotion the duke regained his senses: he cast an anxious look towards the end of the hall, where the jester had stood; and as he no longer saw the threatening form of royalty, he appeared entirely to recover his self-possession.
At the moment the accident happened to the count, the jester had cast aside his parchment crown and purple mantle, and thrown himself, with an exclamation of intense grief, over his wounded master; but Count Gerhard quickly arose, holding his hand over his bleeding wound.
"Our untimely jest has cost me an eye," he said, with composure; "but that is a matter of little consequence at present. If what we have heard be true, the kingdom and our noble queen are in a critical position. Haste, my lords, and stand by her with aid and counsel! As soon as possible, I shall place myself at the service of the crown and country."
Count Gerhard left the drinking-room to commit himself to the care of his surgeon; and his guests instantly departed from Kiel Castle, and hastily took the road to Scanderborg.
On the same evening the inmates of Möllerup were in a state of anxious expectation, for the lord of the castle had departed eight days before with a portion of the garrison. The gates were closed, and the drawbridge was drawn up as usual. The four watchers stood on the tower, and all was stillness in the strong, gloomy fortress.
In the women's apartment, as midnight approached, sat the tall, veiled Fru Ingeborg, in her dark mourning dress, engaged in sewing a long white linen garment. On the work-table before her, stood a lamp. The little, restless Ulrica she had sent to bed; but the quiet Margarethé sat by her side, industriously employed on the sacred picture, which she worked with silk and threads of gold, and which was destined to adorn a holy altar-cloth in the castle-chapel of Möllerup.
"I shall soon have it finished now, mother!" exclaimed the daughter. "Look once more. The red shines beautifully in the light: to me it seems as if the little angels smiled, and as if there really came a radiance from the faces of the infant Jesus and the dear Mother of God."
"Good, good, my pious child," replied the mother, patting her pale cheek, and casting on the work a passing glance through her veil. "I, too, shall soon be done," she added, with a suppressed sigh.
"But what is this long linen garment for, dear mother? It is neither a table-cloth nor a sheet."
"When I am dead, my child," answered the mother, "thou shalt thank the merciful God, and wrap my body and face in this linen cloth: then shall I have put off the dark dress of mourning, and be clad in white garments--white is the colour of innocence and purity, my child."
"Alas, mother! cannot we wear that garment, then, when we are living? But our Lord and Saviour took all our sins upon himself, when he died for us on the cross. Angels came to his grave in white raiment; and, when we become as little children, the kingdom of heaven belongs to us, as to the angels."
"Put on thy white kirtle to-morrow, my child," replied the mother.
"Ah, mother, mother!" sighed Margarethé, "when shall I see thy face again, and thy beautiful tender eyes? I well remember seeing them when I was very little; but that is long, long ago. Poor little Rikké has never seen thy face, and she is thy child also."
"Soon, soon shall ye both see me face to face, I hope," replied the mother, with a trembling voice. "Look at the sand-glass, child: is it near midnight?"
"It is past midnight, mother. Dost thou expect father to-night?"
"He promised to be here, or to send a messenger, before midnight," replied the mother, anxiously; "and he is not wont to forget what he promises. But he has a great pledge to redeem; and before that is done I shall not hear from him: until then, there is peace for none of us."
"Alas! wherefore not, mother? Rememberest thou not that the holy text speaks of the peace which is higher than human understanding? That peace the Lord has given to us all."
"Yes, truly, child: that peace the righteous shall find: they shall enter into their peace--they shall rest on their beds, it stands. But everything in its time: first war--then peace."
There was now heard the howling of dogs in the court-yard.
"Listen, mother, listen!" said Margarethé: "the dogs are noisy. They certainly expect father; but they were never wont to howl so fearfully."
"It betokens a message of death," said the mother. "Keep silence, my child; methinks I hear thy father's hunting-horn; and, list! the watchword rings from the tower.--He comes!"
Footsteps now sounded in the court. In the still night they could hear the drawbridge lowered and the gate turn on its grating hinges, and shortly after came the noise of many horses and horsemen in the court. Margarethé ran to the window.
"It is father and his men!" she cried. "But what is this? There are grayfriars among them, with torches! Father has now dismounted, and is coming straight to us."
Fru Ingeborg attempted hastily to rise, but sank back on her chair, powerless. "Seest thou thy grandfather, too?--Seest thou my hapless old father?" she inquired.
"Nay, poor old grandfather I do not see, mother. I can see all, but grandfather is not amongst them."
The door into the women's apartment was now opened, and the tall lord of the castle stood in his steel armour on the threshold. His visor was raised, and his stern, serious face was pale. He remained on the threshold without uttering a word, but made a sign to intimate that the child should be sent away.
"Go into the nursery, my child," said the mother, rising slowly, and trembling: "what thy father has to tell me, thou art not to hear."
Margarethé had approached her father, to greet him and kiss his hand; but she saw clots of blood on his gauntlet, and ran back affrighted. She folded her hands, and left the apartment, weeping.
The marsk then stepped over the threshold. "It is done!" he said: "take the veil of shame from thy face, my wife, and embrace, at last, thy husband and thine avenger! Thy scandal is washed out with the tyrant's blood: thou shalt no longer blush to be called the wife of Stig Andersen."
With a violent, almost convulsive action, Fru Ingeborg tore away her veil, and the rays of the lamp fell on her deadly pale and wasted face, which still bore the traces of a beauty seldom surpassed; but her dark blue sparkling eyes were deeply sunk in their large sockets. She stretched out her meagre hands, and approached the marsk. He drew back a step, surprised; but in another instant he rushed forward with wild ardour into her outstretched arms, while two large tears rolled down his iron cheeks.
"My Ingeborg! my unhappy Ingeborg! is it thus I again embrace thee!" he exclaimed: "has an age passed over our heads, and have we both grown old since last I looked upon thy face, and held thee in these arms? Live, live now, my hapless wife, and become young again! All thy griefs are over: thy years of sorrow and thy dishonour are avenged--fearfully avenged! Never was a polluter of woman more severely punished than he who murdered thy peace. Thy father was the first whose sword pierced his false heart."
"Ah! my father, my father! where is he?" inquired Fru Ingeborg, starting, alarmed, from her husband's bloody arms. "And thou art bleeding--thou art wounded!"
"It is the tyrant's blood--I swore thou shouldst see it. I am myself unscathed, my wife! but thy father--thy poor crazy father--he followed us not from the burning barn. I hurried back to drag him from the flames, but it was too late!"
"Burned! burned alive!" shrieked Fru Ingeborg. "Righteous God! thus does the Almighty Judge crush us for our vengeance!" And she fell senseless on the winding-sheet, which lay upon the floor.
When she again opened her eyes, she was on a chair, and her husband, in his bloody harness, yet stood alone with her. "Comfort thee, my wife!" said the marsk: "thy unhappy father lay not long in pain; his soul soared peacefully on the flames to that promised land of freedom for which he so long vainly sighed. Comfort thee, wife! Hear what I have to tell thee! It now concerns our own lives. Our great plans respecting the kingdom and country are not yet to be thought of. A panic has seized all our friends: every one thinks but of himself and his own safety. The people will not declare in our favour; but wail, like madmen, over the slaughter of the king. I myself am an outlaw: the young king has so proclaimed me, though without trial or judgment. I laughed thereat--but it struck my followers with dismay. And, truly, the words of the child appeared to me most marvellous. People may say what they will; but the child is now a king, however. I cannot rely on Duke Waldemar; and, therefore, we must away."
"Never, never! I remain here!" exclaimed Fru Ingeborg, with decision, as he raised her head.
"It is requisite, my wife, thou mayst believe me! I never retreated a step when it was possible to advance. Wilt thou now follow a poor outlawed man, my Ingeborg, or tarry behind, with a foul name, among our powerful foes?"
At these words the powers of life returned to Fru Ingeborg for an instant, with mighty force. She arose calmly, and regarded her husband with a look of surprise.
"A foul name I have borne long enough!" she said: "I shall no longer bear it in this world, even were I to be made Queen of Denmark. Thanks for having taken away my reproach--for me, no one shall further grieve. But if I am again the wife of Marsk Stig Andersen, hear now the last words which, in this world, I have to say to thee. My hours are numbered. The hour's honour I have won was not worth nine years' anguish, and that horrible night of fire and murder. Has the panic which struck our friends, seized also the mighty Marsk Stig? Art thou the man to be frightened by a child, and to flee the land at the bidding of a boy? Nay, nay, my bold avenger! It is the mist of the dusky night of blood that now obscures thy vision and weighs down thy soul--it is the kingly gore upon thy wambraces that paralyses thine arm. Stay here till dawn. Cleanse the blood from thy harness, and bethink thee why it flowed. 'Twas not merely that thou shouldst behold this pallid countenance. Tonight, I stand before thee as a spectre only to remind thee why thou hast tarried so long, and then to descend with honour into my grave. But when thou hast closed these eyes--"
"Live, live, my brave wife!" interrupted the marsk; "and thou shalt see that I will act in a manner worthy of thee. But, alone and unaided, not even the strongest can overthrow the throne of Denmark."
"When wert thou left alone? Hast thou not lords and knights of thine own kindred? Art thou not in league with kings and princes? Live Duke Waldemar and Count Jacob no longer? And are not Ové Dyré and Jacob Blaafod yet remaining? Our powerful kinsmen will not desert thee. In Norway, King Erik is thy steady friend: he is mighty in people and ships: him thou canst depend upon. Remain here, then. Let not our race be rooted out, and the land be lost. Build a castle on Hielm, that shall stand firm against shaft, and shot, and sling. Take not thy mighty hand from Denmark, my brave, proud Stig Andersen! Set the crown on a head that can bear it, and suffer not the families of Toké and Hvide to be banished, so long as thine eyes are open! Give me thy hand upon this, if my peace and salvation are dear to thee!"
"Well, my wife, I promise you!" said the marsk, holding forth his mailed hand to her: "if it please God, it shall so be done!" He became silent and thoughtful.
They stood thus for a few moments, hand in hand. The fire in the pale Ingeborg's eyes was quenched, and a cloud overspread her countenance.
"Thanks, thanks! now am I at rest," she said, slowly and solemnly; "now can I lie still in my grave, and grieve no more over my lacerated life, and over the blood that has been shed for my womanly honour. I shall not hear my forsaken daughters weep--I shall not hear my father's death-shriek in the flames. For the last time my eyes swim in darkness," she whispered, faintly, tottering. "Good night, my avenger! Thanks! Thou hast brought me the last message which I shall hear in the world. It was a message of victory, but of a terrible one. I am again thy lawful wife--but only beyond purgatory can I be what I was nine years ago--"
"Ingeborg, dearest Ingeborg! talk not so wildly!" exclaimed the marsk, anxiously; "retire to rest--thou art unwell."
"I go to rest," she whispered, and staring wildly before her. "Father, father! burn no longer for thy daughter! Now shall she pass with thee through the flames! Good night!" She pressed the marsk's hand fervently, and fell suddenly to the ground, as if struck with apoplexy.
Alarmed, the marsk called for help; but, before the servants arrived, their unhappy mistress lay, without sign of life, in the blood-stained arms of her husband.
Ere Duke Waldemar and the Margraves of Brandenburg reached Scanderborg Castle, Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson stood at the head of a considerable array of soldiers before the palace, where a camp had been pitched, whilst crowds of people flocked to do homage to the young king. Old Sir John had been brought to the palace on a litter; and the strictest regulations had been adopted. No seditious voice dared to make itself heard. Duke Waldemar and his train had ridden day and night, without intermission. On the second morning after they left Kiel, they beheld the camp of Scanderborg in the distance.
"We come too late," said the duke. "Tarry a moment, my lords: if I see aright, there is an army here."