"For so chaste a dame I dree."
"For so chaste a dame I dree."
All competitors having withdrawn, he was declared victor in the tournament; and springing gaily from his saddle, he received, kneeling, the prize from the hands of the fair Queen Agnes.
The tilting appeared to be ended, when a strange knight, in bright gilt harness, with a crown upon his locked helmet, and mounted on a snorting war-steed, presented himself at the barrier. He flung his steel gauntlet at Count Gerhard's feet, and, without uttering a word, tore, with the sharp end of his lance, the black veil fastened to the count's breastplate.
Queen Agues became pale; for by this action he attacked the honour of the lady whose gage he had thus outrageously insulted. All eyes were instantly turned with surprise and amazement on the strange knight.
"'Tis the duke--Duke Waldemar!" whispered one to another; although none was sure that this surmise was well grounded.
Count Gerhard, burning with fury, sprang upon his charger, and resumed his place in the lists, having first taken up the stranger's gauntlet, to intimate that he accepted the challenge without farther explanation. The heralds then opened the barrier, and admitted the strange knight, who advanced, proudly manœuvring his steed, and brandishing a sharp lance. Count Gerhard, too, armed himself with a similar deadly weapon, when the judges reminded them that the present was a festive tournament, where no serious fighting was permitted. But the exasperated count having demanded that the combat should be as serious as the insult, the objection was urged no further.
Like thunderbolts the knights rushed against each other, and in the shock Count Gerhard's lance was splintered against the gilded breastplate of his antagonist, from whose weapon he received a violent blow on the chest, but remained immoveable in his saddle.
The strange knight, who had been lifted slightly from his saddle by the violence of the shock, laughed scornfully behind his visor. He cast away his lance, and, following the example of the count, drew his sword. The blades met, and in the fierce combat that ensued, both exhibited great skill and courage. By one blow, Count Gerhard had struck the crown off the gilded helmet of his antagonist, who, however, lost no advantage offered by the unbridled ardour of the count; while the varying fortunes of either combatant were watched by all with the most intense interest.
"For the honour of my exalted lady!" shouted Count Gerhard, aiming what he intended as a finishing stroke, but by which he exposed himself to his antagonist; who, avoiding the blow, had raised his sword against the count's unprotected head, when suddenly he became motionless, gazing rigidly the while towards the barrier.
At the same instant a powerful voice cried out: "An infamous knight fights here!"
All looked in astonishment towards the spot whence the voice proceeded, where stood a tall and elegant knight, in steel-blue mail, with closed visor, and displaying a magnificent dagger in his outstretched hand.
"Knowest thou this witness, traitor?" he continued, in the same mighty voice, while in his hand he turned the dagger, on the hilt of which the golden lions gleamed in the bright sunshine.
"That dagger was drawn from the corse of King Erik Christopherson, on St. Cecilia's night," cried a loud voice among the people.
"That dagger armourer Troels of Melfert sold to Duke Waldemar," shouted another: "I can swear to it."
"It is the marsk's dagger--Marsk Stig's dagger!" cried a third.
The battle had ceased; for the knight in the gilded mail sat as if petrified, staring through the grating of his helmet at the blue knight and the dagger. The sword fell from his hand, and he was becoming faint and giddy, when, at a signal from the young Erik, the king-at-arms advanced and cried aloud--"No one shall interrupt the combatants by word or gesture, under the penalty of death!"
At this announcement the blue knight bowed respectfully, and placed the dagger in his bosom, but remained calmly gazing at Count Gerhard's antagonist.
"Hand him his weapon again!" cried the count to a pursuivant: "I know that I fight with a false and dishonoured knight; but one of us must here lose his life."
Whilst the pursuivant stooped to take up the sword, the golden knight suddenly gave the spur to his steed, and cleared the barrier at a bound. Every eye followed him with amazement, and a deathlike stillness prevailed until he was no longer visible; and when they then turned to look for the blue knight, he too had disappeared.
Count Gerhard therefore remained alone in the lists, and was declared victor in this conflict of honour; while the unusual occurrence caused many and various surmises among the spectators. The tournament was then declared to be ended, and the royal party returned to the palace, where, as old Sir John passed Lady Ingé, he whispered to her softly--"Drost Peter!"
She nodded in silence, while a deep crimson overspread her lovely cheeks. She had indeed perceived a rose-red pearl-band on the breast of the blue blight, and fancied she recognised in it her own fillet; but by what means her captive knight could have been present there was to her inexplicable.
Scarcely was the tournament at Helsingborg concluded, before an important message summoned the youthful Danish king, with all his knights, to Zealand. A Norwegian fleet had been seen in the Cattegat, and a landing was apprehended at Elsineur, where the fortress of Flynderborg, surrendered by the treachery of Sir Lavé Little, still remained in the hands of the rebels.
When Sir John took leave of the faithful Ingé, she whispered a few words to him, and placed in his hand a little parchment scroll, on which had been hastily sketched a building, and apparently an entrance to it, denoted by small crosses. He seemed astonished, but listened with attention to what she said. She repeated a few words, and pointed to the scroll, which he then, with a sign of well-pleased assent, carefully put up, and, imprinting a kiss on her forehead, hastened on board with the royal family.
They landed unmolested on the coast of Zealand, in the neighbourhood of Elsineur, whence Count Gerhard immediately conducted the queen and Junker Christopherson to Rypen House, which, in these unsettled times, was considered the most secure abode for the royal family. The young king, who could not be induced to accompany them, set out with Rimaardson for Tornborg, by Korsöer, for the purpose of inspecting that important fortress, and to hasten in person the equipment of the fleet; while Sir John prepared to defend North Zealand against any hostile attack.
The king ordered the cruizers lying at Korsöer to be manned, and stationed opposite the coast of North Jutland, ready to act in unison with Sir John. To all the operations connected with these movements the young monarch paid close attention, and found time also to examine the defences of the castle, which in many points he condemned as inefficient. Rimaardson, in acknowledging the correctness of his opinions, could not restrain admiration of his early knowledge of fortification, which he had acquired from Drost Peter.
Four days after the king's arrival at Tornborg, he was on the ramparts early in the morning, attended by Rimaardson, and a knight who had brought important tidings from Elsineur. The Norwegians, he informed the king, had effected a landing at Orekrog, and burnt the town to ashes; but the burghers had received succour from Sir John. Through a subterranean passage, to which he had led the way, they penetrated into Flynderborg, with the old knight at their head, and, overpowering the garrison, had from this strong point repulsed the enemy. The knight narrated circumstantially the whole occurrences, and informed the king that they had sought in vain for the letters from the outlaws, which Sir Lavé Little was accused of having received before the murder of the king.
"By all holy men, this pleases me well!" exclaimed young Erik. "The faithful Sir John has not wasted a word for his cousin's life; but now he has wiped out a portion of his crime. Let the chancellor announce to the prisoner at Kallundborg, that his doom is again deferred for a year, and this because his trusty cousin has retaken Flynderborg, and the proofs of his worst treachery have not been discovered."
Rimaardson eyed the king with a melancholy look. "Would to God and Our Lady," he exclaimed, "that every trusty knight you possess could so atone for the errors of his relations! There is now scarcely an honest man in the country some one of whose kindred is not in tower or on gibbet--and the end is not yet come."
The sorrowful knight was thinking of his brother Lavé's fate, and of his brother John, who then stood impeached with crimes affecting his life.
"The law is supreme over every man," observed the youthful monarch, with a sigh: "it was not by my own will that I became king so soon; yet, Heaven be praised, I have still many loyal and valiant men. Would only that Drost Peter were with me again!"
The king then returned to the castle, attended by the strange knight from Elsineur, and Rimaardson proceeded to examine the defences. Whilst thus engaged, he observed a short stout figure in the black mantle of a mass-boy, and a high cap drawn over his brows, waddling along the ramparts with a prayer-book in his hand, seemingly engaged in his morning devotions. The rolling boatman's gait of this individual struck the commandant, who observed him more narrowly, when, discovering traces of a badly-shorn beard, he recognised, to his astonishment, the rude Jarl Mindre-Alf.
"Good morning, my son," he exclaimed, approaching him. "Whither away so early?"
"To fetch wine for the priest, that he may pray for your soul," muttered the clumsy-looking mass-boy, in a deep gruff voice.
"Tarry a little," said Rimaardson, while he beckoned a couple of landsknechts to approach. "Methinks I should know thee. Did not we two once sit on the same bench in Lyse school-house? and didst thou not in those times play the tyrant over us all? Methinks thou shouldst be a count and jarl; and art thou only a poor mass-boy?" So saying, he raised the jarl's cap, and looked him full in the face.
"Betray me not, Bendix Rimaardson, for old acquaintance' sake," whispered the detected algrev. "We are relations, and I behaved to thee at school like a brother. I am now done with countship and jarldom. I am an outlawed man, and fain to seek protection with the pious. Be a good fellow, Bent. Pretend thou dost not know me, and let me run."
"Bind him, lads!" cried Rimaardson to the landsknechts: "he is a riever and an incendiary!"
The sturdy viking-chief threw aside his prayer-book and mass-boy's mantle, and stood in his knight's dress, prepared apparently to defend himself with desperation. The landsknechts, however, succeeded in disarming him, when he was instantly chained and fettered, and conducted forthwith, under a strong guard, to the criminal prison of Haraldsborg, having attempted in vain to bribe Rimaardson for his freedom.
The latter cared not to disturb the king with a report of this discovery, which might perhaps draw upon himself a reprimand for having allowed so dangerous a foe to find his way into the fortress. He considered, besides, that the castle was quite secure, and did not waste a thought on the insolent and sardonic laughter of the pirate-chief while he was dragged to prison. Rimaardson, amidst his pressing cares, had not observed that, on the previous night, a freebooter had run in close to Tornborg under Danish colours. Not only had the daring Jarl Mindre-Alf landed unnoticed, bat Marsk Stig himself, with a crew of bold pirates, had privately come on shore; and on the evening of that day, Mat Jute, disguised as one of the king's landsknechts, stood as sentinel outside the door of the royal apartment. The watch was set, and, in the confidence of security, the garrison retired to rest.
In the middle of the night the young king was awoke by a fearful noise. The whole castle was in flames around him, and the terrible cry--"The marsk! the marsk! the outlaws!" was shouted in every direction by the surprised and bewildered soldiers. Screams and the din of arms resounded from all quarters, while the youthful Erik stood alone, half dressed, in his chamber, which was already enveloped in smoke and flame.
"Merciful Heaven! must I now be burnt alive by my father's murderers!" he exclaimed, whilst he hurriedly threw his cloak around him, grasped his little sword, and prepared to rush through the flames.
He now distinguished the voice of his faithful Aagé Jonsen, mingled with the clash of weapons, outside his apartment; but the fire at that moment burst furiously forth, and the smoke so blinded him that it was with difficulty he could find the door. Suddenly he felt himself seized by a powerful mailed hand, and at the same instant he became unconscious. When he recovered, he found himself in a little open boat, speeding through cloud and storm with the rapidity of an arrow.
"Where am I?" he cried. "Am I among my father's murderers?"
"You are with faithful friends and subjects," replied a familiar voice by his side; while, through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a knightly figure in full armour.
"Drost Peter! By all holy men, is it you?" he asked joyfully.
"Who I am I dare not say," replied the other; in whom the king now thought he recognised the blue knight of the tournament.
"A pledge of honour binds my tongue," continued the knight, "and I must hide my face from my king and the whole world. I shall convey you safely to Rypen House, but I must myself withdraw to a place of darkness. I entreat you, sir king, believe what you will, but tempt me not to break my knightly promise."
"Be silent, then, in God's name!" exclaimed the monarch, as he pressed the mailed hand of his companion. "Thou art assuredly Drost Peter. Thinkest thou I know not thy voice? Thou hast saved my life to-night; and if thou still remainest in the power of the duke, I shall set thee free, cost what it may."
"Proceed not violently against the duke," replied the knight, with a deep sigh: "his prisoner's life is in his hands."
The young king remained silent, while the skiff sped on, and quickly disappeared beyond Sporgoe, where the new tower of Marsk Stig stood gloomy and frowning in the night.
In a few days the news became generally known that the famous Jarl Mindre-Alf had been made prisoner; that Marsk Stig had captured and destroyed the castle of Tornborg, in defence of which the faithful Sir Rimaardson had been slain; and that the young Erik, mysteriously saved, was then in security at Rypen House.
The first important act of the king, after his arrival there, was his nomination of the bold commandant of the castle, Sir David Thorstenson, to fill the office of drost, so long as Drost Peter was in the duke's power. And it was soon known that, in accordance with the new drost's advice, the queen had subscribed the death-warrant of Jarl Mindre-Alf.
The duke was reported to be lying sick in Sleswick, to the great grief of his young wife. His mind, it was said, was affected, and the rumours of his connection with the world of spirits were again revived. Some time previously he had disappeared for a few days, and, on his return, after having visited his important prisoner, Drost Peter Hessel, at Nordborg, whom he found secure in his chains, he was seized by this singular malady, in the paroxysms of which he asserted that he had, with his bodily eyes, seen the accusing angel, and that his prisoner in Nordborg was in league with devils and mighty spirits against him.
The Norwegians and the outlaws long continued to disturb the repose of Denmark; and although the Norse king nowhere succeeded in effecting a landing, yet, in the then distracted condition of the kingdom, he was no contemptible foe. He had committed ravages at Amager and Hveen; made a descent on Aalborg, which, however, proved unsuccessful; and had not spared even the towns belonging to Duke Waldemar. The council seriously thought of entering into a treaty with him; but the negociation appeared beset with difficulties, as he had promised the outlaws, in a letter of protection, that he would never conclude peace with Denmark without the consent of the marsk.
One calm autumn evening, the vaadesang rose mournfully from the crypt under King Erik Christopherson's tomb, in Viborg Cathedral. When the wind blew from the cathedral across the lake, the deep tones of the vigil, which was thus to be chanted night after night until doomsday, for the soul of the murdered king, could, at times, be heard at the ferry-house on the opposite side. The road to the convent of Asmild lay near the ferry-house, where, upon an upturned boat, sat a tall, aged pilgrim, his head bent upon his breast in deep thought. By his side stood a young girl, also in a pilgrim's habit, and holding by the hand a gay-looking dark-haired youth, equipped as a squire, in a buff jerkin and steel cap, and bearing, besides the usual arms, a long, gilt, flame-shaped sword, apparently intended more for ornament than use.
"Shall we proceed to the convent and knock for admittance, father Henner?" asked the youth. "Neither thou nor Aasé can go farther to-night."
"Tarry here, Skirmen," replied the old man. "Here we can rest well; for many a night have we watched under God's open sky since last we met. Until I have seen the arrogant marsk, and have delivered him the warning that I have been entrusted with, my penance is not ended. Until I have done this, no roof shall cover my head. So have I sworn."
"But, dear father Henner," exclaimed Skirmen, "what, then, dost thou here at Viborg? If the marsk be not in either of his strongholds on Hielm or Spraa, he must he out on some marauding expedition against the king's towns and castles. At Stege he was frustrated," he continued, as the old man remained silent; "but Skielskioer and the fortress on Samsoe have experienced the fate of Tornborg. Ah, Heaven help us!" he added, dejectedly, crushing a reed he held in his hand--"since the powerful Ladislaus as dead and gone, there is not a king in the world of whom the marsk is afraid, and, least of all, of our young King Erik."
"There is one King, my son, that neither the marsk nor any man may defy with impunity; and if He is with the young king, the power of the marsk is not greater than the reed you have crushed." As he uttered these words, the old man pointed solemnly towards the sky. "I may soon encounter him," he continued, after a thoughtful pause: "he may be nearer us than thou seemest to imagine. He is not on Hielm, but on his way to Halland, with his good friend the new archbishop. They were to meet in Viborg, or in Asmild convent; where, perhaps, at this very moment, they are plotting the ruin of the country."
"Methinks thou knowest everything, father Henner!" exclaimed Skirmen, in astonishment. "But what brings the marsk to Halland? Does he carry succour to Count Jacob at Hunehal?"
"Canst guess no better than that, Skirmen? thou, who hast had a statesman for thy master! No. The council desire to conclude a treaty with the Norse king at Varberg; but it cannot be done without the marsk's consent; and the fate of two, perhaps of three kingdoms, is now in the hands of that incendiary. It is high time he had a message from the King of kings."
The old man again relapsed into deep thought; whilst Aasé and Skirmen exchanged some tender words, without disturbing him.
"It is odd, however, that we should have met, Skirmen," resumed old Henner, as he looked affectionately at the youthful pair. "Aasé and thou remain good friends, I perceive. But thou canst not greatly boast of fortune, Skirmen. Gold spurs grow not on trees; and a knight thou must be, before thou hast her. Yet, courage, my son! If St. George help thee not, perhaps St. Christian will. Thou hast my pilgrim-sword, with which thou shalt succeed: the holy Michael has borne it for a century on a church-steeple. It belongs more to a dancing-slipper than a pair of red shoes; but if the cat would catch fish, she must wet her paws. What hast thou been about at Harrestrup, whilst thy master is lying in chains at Nordborg?"
"Alas! dear father Henner," replied Skirmen, "there is no excuse so poor that people will not fly to it in their extremity. My master's trusty old nurse, who lies sick at Harrestrup, sent me word that she had something important to confide to me, and--"
"Hum! there is but little to be learned from an old woman's gabble," muttered old Henner.
"Well, but what said she to thee?" inquired Aasé, curiously. "It is plain that the old nurse made thee feel ashamed of thyself, since thou wilt not out with it. She has certainly cared better for thy master, than thou--"
"Upbraid me not, dearest Aasé!" replied Skirmen, dejectedly. "On the unhappy day that my master was taken prisoner at Skielskioer, he had sent me on a message to Rypen House; and, ever since, I have thought of little else besides the means of setting him free. Three times have I been on Alsen; but the infernal prison-tower is strongly guarded night and day. Twice I was caught, and should certainly have been hanged, had I not contrived to escape."
"Thou dear, trusty Skirmen!" exclaimed Aasé, throwing her arms around him. "That would have been a vile death for a squire who has been so long in a fair way of becoming a knight," she added, waggishly. "Yet be not angry, Skirmen. I like thee all the better for this; and, indeed, thy exploits are quite enchanting. But what said the old nurse?"
"Alas! she is in her dotage, poor creature, and her mind is filled with whims and extravagances. She would have me believe that she had lain for eight days in my master's prison, instead of him. On Alsen, she said, they took her for a witch, and the guard would not deny her access to the prison, which my master left, disguised in her clothes; having first sworn a solemn oath that he would return and release her within eight days, and that during that time he would not show his face nor discover himself to any one. The carlin must have been in a dream. It could not possibly be as she says."
"Wherefore not, son?" asked old Henner, who had listened attentively: "it could easily be done. It is, at least, characteristic of thy true and chivalrous master, for the good woman I know not. Yet what purpose could it answer, since the faithful drost had to return, and, like a wizard, again creep into his prison-hole?"
"I know not: that is the most incredible part of the story, and makes me disbelieve it all. Besides, I know that Dorothy could not have remained quiet for eight days, nor help betraying herself by song and chatter. Yet it is surprising how much she knows concerning the prison. She described the exterior exactly as I had seen it myself; and, moreover, she gave me this key, swearing deeply and solemnly that it would open the innermost prison-doors."
"Ah, then, Skirmen, if thou doubtest longer, thou art an incredulous fool!" cried Aasé, joyfully. "If thou believest not that we women-folks can be silent to serve a good friend, thou little knowest us; and, if I mistake not, thy master could effect more in eight days, than many others could in a year. But, at any rate, he had one dear object to visit. Give me the key. I, too, can play the witch; and, since the good people on Alsen have so much respect for the weird sisterhood, we can easily hit on an expedient. We have been to St. Peter's prison, in Rome, thou must know, and have there received absolution of all our sins, and a dispensation from going to the holy sepulchre. I have not sinned greatly since, I believe; and if now our dear Holy Lady or St. Christian will make use of me to open a prison, they may well do so, though I am not altogether an angel--"
"Be silent, children, and conceal yourselves," suddenly exclaimed old Henner. "I hear horsemen on the road from the convent. It may be the marsk."
Aasé and Skirmen quickly obeyed, and retired to the thicket near the lake, where many a tender word was ex-changed between them.
A troop of well-armed horsemen now appeared, approaching the ferry-house from Asmild convent, having two tall personages at their head. One of these, who sat with a proud air on his quiet palfrey, was the haughty Master Jens Grand, who, after the death of the aged Johan Dros, had been, much against the wish of the king, chosen Archbishop of Lund. His mail-clad companion, who was stately and warlike, and mounted on a champing war-steed, was no other than the famous Marsk Stig himself. They halted on the road, while the attendant horsemen descended to the lake to water their horses.
"As I observed, sir marsk," said the prelate, "they must restore you your rank and estates if you will but allow the boy for the present to retain his throne. He is still preferable to your powerful King Priesthater."
"Out upon it, your reverence!" exclaimed the marsk: "you are afraid of the name priesthater, although it is one he does not deserve. He is the ablest monarch that ever sat on the throne of Norway, and possesses indeed the lofty soul of a king. When before, without showing fear or tyranny, has any northern king endured by his side a powerful brother, such as is Duke Hakon? Under such a king, Denmark and Norway will become unrivalled for power and greatness. Let me but wield the general's staff for ten years, while you bear the crook, and the world shall see that the ancient race of Skjalm Hvide have not degenerated since the days of Absalom. In Sweden, too, there is now a boy-king on the throne, but he will never become a man. What say you to an earthly trinity, most reverend father?"
"You will bend the bow until it breaks," replied the archbishop. "You forget that you are beyond the pale of the law, and that your large estates are in the possession of the crown."
"My will and this good sword is now my law," replied the marsk; "and as to estates, my friends and I have ample while all Denmark is in our hands."
"Still you must remember that you are an outlaw," observed the archbishop, emphatically, "and that you are also under the ban. If, then, I obtain you release from the latter, you must not set the priesthater as king over me and Denmark. I would rather you mounted the throne yourself--a step almost as easy of accomplishment."
"Mean you to tempt me, Grand?" observed his companion, with a smile. "Were Marsk Stig to sit on the throne of Denmark, Master Grand might occupy St. Peter's chair, and keep his royal kinsman in awe."
"No need of that, sir marsk," rejoined the imperious archbishop. "You despise not Holy Church and her chiefs, as does the proud Norseman, and you would be too prudent to deny the first prelate of the north that obedience and reverence he could extort. I meant not to tempt you; and, whilst I know and respect your self-control and magnanimity, you cannot be ignorant that it is my prerogative, not your's, to place the crown upon the head of him who is to wear it. Hear me, Marsk Stig!" he continued, proudly: "that I am your friend, you have had sufficient proof. I am now, after the king, the greatest man in Denmark. Acquitted of every part I took in your affair, I have even been admitted to his confidence, and am commissioned to negotiate a peace with Norway. In zealously attempting to effect this, I am labouring, not for the king's sake, but for that of the Church and kingdom. I know well, that, with a single word, you can annihilate the treaty. But be advised by me, Marsk Stig, and do not so. Demand what you will, and rely upon me; but remember that I it is who shall hereafter crown Denmark's kings, and I need not the authority of St. Peter's chair to bind or loose the monarch's soul, any more than those of his knights."
The marsk gazed for some moments with astonishment at the bold prelate. "You possess great power, it is true," he at length said; "but I believed, of a surety, that the son of Erik Glipping had no greater enemy in Denmark than yourself. After his death you persecuted his adherents, and caused even their corpses to be dug up from your churchyard, and thrown like dogs into a dung-pit. How is it, then, that you now cling so zealously to the boy-rule?"
"The boy is now anointed and crowned."
"Were he a thousand times anointed, 'tis the same. I have sworn his downfall, and he or I must perish! Upon you I trusted, Grand; but I now see that the Archbishop of Lund thinks not as did the Dean of Roskild. It is strange that changing his seat should so alter a man. But the highest elevated are the soonest giddy. Have you forgotten, reverend sir, in the archbishop's chair, what you swore to me in the dean's?"
"That I have not, most valiant marsk," replied the prelate; "but you have forgotten what we both promised to Duke Waldemar. He deserves truer friends than those who agreed to bestow the crown of Denmark upon the priesthater. That I do not support the boy's crown for the boy's sake, I have shown; but I was not in your councils when you broke promise to the duke."
"Ah! is it thus, your reverence? Now, for the first time, do I comprehend you. I had forgotten that you were confessor to the duke. But had you desired that I, or any honest man, should depend on that wily gentleman, you had trained up your shriveling otherwise than you did. As he was so base and faithless as to subscribe my sentence of outlawry, he would certainly not have hesitated to sign my death-warrant."
"Him you have to thank that you escaped so easily," replied Grand. "The duke acted as your most discreet friend, when he subscribed that sentence which, as regent, he has still the power to remit; and, if you will assist us in effecting this treaty with Norway, you shall no longer remain an outlaw. The time may come, too, when you shall sue for the saving blessing of the Church, and tremble at its ban. Despise not, valiant marsk, the lightning of its curse, which, ere now, has melted crowns and overthrown heroes stronger than you."
"A truce with your lightnings and your bans!" indignantly replied the marsk, as he erected himself proudly, and rode on. "You see, in me, that a brave man can thrive and be strong, despite your thunders of excommunication, launched against him from Lund Cathedral. Spiritual weapons avail not with Marsk Stig, nor shall they turn him a hair's-breadth from his course."
At that moment the vaadesang, from the tomb of the murdered king, sounded clearly across the calm lake.
The marsk paused. "What was that?" he asked.
"It was the blood of thy murdered king, crying aloud to Heaven for vengeance!" replied a hollow voice beside him, while the tall pilgrim-form of Henner Friser rose from the side of the boat, where he had been sitting, and, in the moonshine, stood menacingly before him.
The life-stream became cold in the warrior's veins while he gazed on the pilgrim as on some horrid spectre, and the mournful tones of the vaadesang were again wafted over the lake.
"Listen--listen!" exclaimed the pilgrim: "thus shall that song complain and mourn, till, at the last day, King Erik and his murderers stand before God's judgment-seat."
"Fiend! who art thou?" cried the marsk, unsheathing his sword.
"A king-killer--as thou art!" was the reply: "but I have atoned for my sin; and to thee I bring this last warning--Despise not the ban! despise not Heaven's weapons, Marsk Stig! Man's strength is but a reed; but the Lord's hand is mighty, and vengeance is his. Repent thee, Stig Andersen, or thine hour is near. 'Twas thus the holy father bade me warn thee: wash the king's blood from thine hands, and do penance; or set thine house in order, and prepare for death and perdition. Thy soul is weighed and found wanting--thy day of grace is but short."
"Henner! is it thee?" cried the marsk, as he brandished his sword. "But beware! thy crazy grayhead shall not always protect thee."
"Listen--listen!" calmly resumed the pilgrim, who shrunk not at the threat, whilst a gentle breeze again bore the vigil-tones over the lake, and the mournful chorus swelled louder and louder, vibrating overhead in the calm night. "Listen!" he exclaimed: "the tones from the grave ascend to heaven: they plead for the soul of the king, hurried away in the midst of his sins; but woe and eternal perdition they sound to those of his murderers!"
"Peace, accursed one!" exclaimed the enraged marsk, and his sword flashed in the direction of Henner's head; but at the same instant it was struck violently from his hand, while a sword of flame, as it were, gleamed before him in the air. Seized with terror, he spurred his steed forward, and galloped away, followed by the ecclesiastic, who, pale and frightened, continued to cross himself, as he disappeared along the dark road.
Shortly after the marsk's troop of horsemen rode past the pilgrim, who, leading Aasé by the hand, strode leisurely along the highway, whilst Skirmen still remained silently and gravely by the boat, leaning upon the long flame-shaped sword.
Four weeks had elapsed since the night on which the inflexible marsk encountered Henner Friser by Viborg Lake, and heard the tones of the vigils ascend from the tomb of the murdered king. It was evening, and the last golden rays of the sun rested on the turrets of Hielm Castle, when the stern marsk, accompanied by his troopers, rode across the little island in the direction of his stronghold. He had been attending the meeting between the Danish and Norwegian kings at Varberg, at which his unyielding pride and imperious demands had entirely frustrated the conclusion of the treaty; and although he now returned to Hielm with the proud consciousness of his formidable power and influence, his haughty features were pale, and his lofty figure seemed to rock in the saddle.
In presence of Archbishop Grand, he had concealed the strong impression made upon him by the occurrence which we have related, and, indeed, laughed at himself and the whole adventure, which he characterised as a mere accident, or a piece of trickery, got up by the half-crazed Henner. But during his homeward journey, when no longer sustained by the archbishop's presence, he had not spoken a word; nor could he shake off the conviction that the sword had been shivered in his hand by lightning. He still imagined that, while the vaadesang from the royal tomb rang in his ears, he had heard death and perdition announced to him by a spectre, and that a mighty cherub-sword had struck him with its lightning, while the accusing chorus swelled to heaven over his guilty head. With heavy soul he rode through the dark gate of Hielm Castle, and, dismounting from his steed, entered the arched hall of the keep, where sat his daughters.
The quiet Margarethé advanced affectionately to meet him, and proceeded to unbuckle his armour; while the impatient little Ulrica overwhelmed him with inquisitive questions, as to where he had been, and whether he had brought home booty and jewels.
"Hast thou not gold and jewels enough to fill thy young raven's maw?" asked the gloomy warrior, without looking at the child. "I have brought thee more than ever king's daughter in Denmark possessed. But the time may come," he added, in an under tone, "when thou must be contented with less. Go to the chamberlain, Rikké," he continued, in a sterner tone: "he will open the treasure-closet, and give thee the rosary on which King Erik Christopherson told his last prayer. Keep that as thy patrimony."
"Thanks, father--thanks!" exclaimed the innocent, rosy-cheeked child. "But, why dost thou always seem so angry when thou art kind to me? I may, then, now take the handsome string of pearls and diamonds to deck myself? Thanks, father--thanks!" she again cried, as she skipped away, clapping her hands with delight.
"And thou, my pious Margarethé," continued the marsk to his eldest daughter, as with emotion he gazed on her pale and quiet features--"thou carest not for my treasures; therefore to thee I give my blessing--if haply it carry not with it the weight of a curse!" he added, mentally, while he laid his hand upon her head. "Go, my child," he said, aloud, as he felt himself becoming giddy--"go, and send hither the chaplain."
"Art thou sick, dear father?" inquired the daughter, with deep concern: "thy hand is cold, and thou art quite pale."
"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 hearthy 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:--