"It was Drost Peter Hessel,He called unto his band:Wake up! wake up! no longer stay.For news has come to hand.Wake up! for now the time is comeTo don the trusty mail--"
"It was Drost Peter Hessel,
He called unto his band:
Wake up! wake up! no longer stay.
For news has come to hand.
Wake up! for now the time is come
To don the trusty mail--"
when the ballad was suddenly interrupted by the brewer's maid, who rushed in, with terror in her looks, exclaiming that she had seen a funeral company bearing torches. The maidens dropped their cards, and the wool fell from their laps; whilst the men-servants aroused themselves, and rubbed their eyes: but none dared to venture forth to behold the cause of their fear.
"What scared fools you are!" at last exclaimed a little black-haired maiden, who superintended the work. "It must be one of the outlaws again, whom his comrades desire to bury in christian ground. Thus it was they did with Arved Bengtson, who was slain by Tulé Ebbesen."
"But they don't carry torches, and come with a long train--they sneak along, quietly and in darkness, when they go to bury a malefactor," observed the brewer's girl. "This must be a king, or some great man, unless, indeed, it is a procession of ghosts, like what old Anders Gossip has seen so often."
"Oh, what is it he cannot see, when the ale is in his head?" replied the other, laughing. "They are living men, I dare wager; and he is a milksop that dares not venture out to see."
"If thou darest venture out to see it, Elsie," rejoined the brewer's maid, "do so, and prove to us that thou art as bold as thou boastest! The fright has not yet left me: I feel it still in my knees."
"Go, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid: "thou must, in truth, have a man's heart and courage, for the marsk's swain, long Mat Jute, is thy sweetheart, and I would not be alone with him, for all the world."
"That I can well believe," replied Elsie, with some pride. "Mat Jute is not to be jested with. Indeed, you cannot show me his match, in all Funen."
"You dare not let Christen Fiddler hear you so speak!" cried one of the girls.
"Why not?" replied Elsie, briskly. "I have told him so more than once. Had Mat Jute not fallen into misfortune, along with his master, and become such a ferocious strand-fighter, I should have had no fear of taking him for a husband. But the Lord preserve me from him now!"
"Aha!" laughed the kitchen-maid: "he kills folk, they say, for the smallest ill word said against his master. He must be a perfect fiend."
"Say not so," cried Elsie. "Fierce he is, it is true, but he is still an honest fellow. He is true to his master--more's the pity!--and I cannot bear anybody to speak ill of him."
"Old love doesn't die," remarked one of the men-servants; "and if Mat Jute knew that thou hast now another sweetheart, little Elsie, he would yet come and bite thy head off."
"As for that," returned Elsie, "I am truer to him than many Funen lads are to their lasses; and, besides, I have only one sweetheart at a time."
"If thou wouldst see the show, Elsie, haste thee, or it will be gone," cried the brewer's maid. "It went up to the churchyard; and, if I saw truly in my fright, there was a light in the choir."
"Let us call the master!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid: "it is really awful. They may be church-robbers; and if they be ghosts, the father can read them away."
This was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master.
"It is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his treasury at Eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps of gold and jewels there, it is said."
"How long you think about it, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou who hast been in a fortress. When thou wert at Flynderborg, thou wert afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy jomfru."
"I did not say that," replied Elsie: "the brave Jomfru Ingé showed more courage than I, when the algrev and Niels Breakpeace paid us a visit. But you shall see, for all that, that I am not afraid to look at a funeral. A dead man can't bite my nose off. If it be an outlaw of mark, there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. Come along with me, girls--I will go first."
Her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did not seem at all to relish the adventure.
"Very well," exclaimed Elsie, "I shall have all the treasure to myself. See it, I will, at any rate."
So saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches, exactly as described by the brewer's maid. As the procession moved slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk to the churchyard. She trembled as she plainly perceived the tall, muffled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound.
Elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the procession had disappeared in the church. She now ventured to look around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then boldly advanced a little farther. With a beating heart she stood by the door of the choir, and peeped in. All was still and deserted, although lights were burning on the altar. Gliding noiselessly inside the church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature was visible. The trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was reflected upon the arches of the roof. She stood a moment, hesitating whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the trap-door, where, through a chink between the hinges, she was enabled to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she scarcely dared to breathe. Twelve armed men, with torches in their hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. A solemn silence prevailed. The priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the clergyman of the parish. The lid of the coffin was then raised, and she perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a knight.
"Now, priest, lay God's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before his death, although he loudly prayed for it. But now he shall take it with him, even were he banned by the holy George and all the archangels to boot."
"I do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as I have already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it."
"Perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. The lid of the coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church.
"Amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be deeply affected.
The procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl, springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in the church-door. She had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-passage--not until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from her lurking-place.
The church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still burning on the altar. The trap-door of the vault remained open, and she perceived that there was still a light below. She again stole forth, and peeped through the crevice. A lantern stood on the coffin, but all the warriors were gone. She took heart, and ventured a step or two within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with silver and jewels. Under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems.
"This would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she whispered to herself. "What wants the riever with it in the grave?"
The lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays, when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. But the rustling of armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror, and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave, cried--"Accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" She was now entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards insensible, into the vault.
"Rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and all the young men of Stubberup, who meanwhile had assembled to dance at the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in his hand.
"Go thou first, Christen Fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father; and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with a dozen."
While they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared.
The terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their paternosters; none doubting but that it was the Evil One himself whom they had seen. At length, recovering their courage, they ventured within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with horror the little Elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin, over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. They bore the maiden to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated, caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that night.
What the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but, three days after, Elsie was committed with all silence to the grave; and for many a day the story was told on Hindsholm, that she had been murdered by her old sweetheart, Mat Jute, because she would have plundered his master's grave.
The priest of Stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one after, wards dared to open it. Some time after, it was rumoured that Marsk Stig had been secretly buried in Rörvig Kirk, in Zealand, where, probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. In a short time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain, lest, as a man who died under the ban of the Church, his remains should be persecuted and maltreated. Some even propagated the report that the marsk did not die at Hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; by which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his memory.
But the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their wedding-night.[43]
The vehement Thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom during Drost Peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence that Drost Peter would not have sanctioned. This was in a great measure attributable to Junker Christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their accomplices were concerned.
The death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. Rané Jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon known that Hielm Castle had been stormed and demolished by Thorstenson. One evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near Helgeness, begging for shelter. These were the orphan daughters of Marsk Stig, who, in their flight from Denmark, found refuge and protection among the compassionate peasantry.
About this time the commandant of Sjöborg, the honest old Poul Hvit, was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being opened, gave admission to a troop of royal horsemen and two bound prisoners. Poul Hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners.
One of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together with a rope of coarse hair. As the commandant held the lantern to the prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty Jens Grand, who remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded position.
His companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous Provost Jacob of Lund. They had both been seized in Lund, in the king's name, by Junker Christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country in this humiliating manner.
The captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant, undersigned by Drost Thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest durance.
"Herregud! we are all sinful men!" ejaculated the castellan, as he obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before they were fettered.
Jarl Mindre-Alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in Haraldsborg. He had been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to the commandant of Roskild, new and important information respecting the outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete investigation.
On a dark night in November, a vessel, bearing the Danish flag and pennant, ran into Roskild Fiord. On the forecastle stood one whose long brown hair was partially concealed by a shaggy cap, whilst a pitched wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. A huge dog lay growling at his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes.
"The attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the knight: "should I be recognised, it will cost me my life."
"But 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a Norse accent, a youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever be, my crafty Rané. Yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free, and to-day thou refusest. It would cost thee but a word to the castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where thou hast so often landed for plunder. Nay, nay--this time, at least, thoushaltkeep thy word."
It was Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, the brave Kirstine, who thus spoke, while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but affection. In conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she had compelled Rané personally to undertake in earnest what he had convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which no one except himself could accomplish. Rané had given the viking's daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered, with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she had dreamt of, when she followed him from Norway, and danced with him over the castle-bridge of Rypen. The chivalrous wooer soon became the rude and imperious spouse; and Kirstine's affection changed to contempt and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident participator in the king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw.
The only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped asunder. A ballad was already composed and sung in Norway on the unloving pair. It subsequently became popular in Denmark; and it has thus been recorded that the faithlessness of Rané to his former king, and the sympathy which Kirstine felt for the royal house, was frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. Their quarrel now took this complexion, while steering into Roskild Fiord.
"Beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered Rané: "he can see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake."
"Pity it was," replied Kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his chamberlain."
Rané was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to throw her overboard. "I betrayed not the king!" he cried. "Were they even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes."
The ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master, growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady.
"Have a care, Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, holding fast by the cordage. "Twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again happen. A single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee overboard. Had I known what kind of a knight thou wert, assuredly I should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide."
Rané ground his teeth with rage, and again assumed a threatening attitude.
"Beware!" whispered Kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage. "Think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of Finnerup! Dost hear the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? They know my sir husband, and apprehend mischief."
Rané, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the Norse boatmen singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:--
"'The wood has ears, the field has een,And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared,We need not from the land have fared.'"Across the table he struck her sore--'Beware this speech our guests before!'"And he struck her on the cheek so red--'I did not wish King Erik dead,Though spurned by kith and kin.'"
"'The wood has ears, the field has een,And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'
"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared,We need not from the land have fared.'
"Across the table he struck her sore--'Beware this speech our guests before!'
"And he struck her on the cheek so red--'I did not wish King Erik dead,
Though spurned by kith and kin.'"
"Dost hear?" again whispered Kirstine: "thou shouldst know the ballad well! If thou desirest not a worse ending, assist me now to save my father, and then I bid thee farewell for ever. But if thou shouldst act treacherously now, my trusty countrymen shall bind and carry thee to the King of Denmark."
"Be still, dearest Kirstine! I will do as thou desirest," whispered Rané, as he cast a fearful glance towards the sturdy boatmen, who appeared to be as faithful and vigilant a body-guard to their lady, as was the hound to the faithless knight.
The vessel soon lay to at a remote part of the fiord, where Rané and his wife landed, and proceeded in silence to the town. The hound followed; and, at a little distance behind, by a signal from Kirstine, the two sturdy boatmen.
They passed thus through the streets of Roskild, until they reached the prison-tower of Haraldsborg, near which a crowd was collected, listening to an old crone singing street-ballads. She was seated on a stone, and, although apparently blind, carried a lantern in her hand, while on her arm hung a tin-box, on which she accompanied her song, and into which her hearers now and then dropped a piece of money. The moon, which had now risen, shone brightly on the tower and on the people, who apparently had gathered there to catch a glimpse of the famous prisoner, and to amuse themselves with the gossip of the town.
"Saw you the drost?" asked a soldier: "such a carl!"
"Ah, Heaven help us!" exclaimed a burgher; "he is under bolt and bar at Nordborg; and, until he is free, we shall have neither peace nor luck in the land."
"Meanest thou Drost Hessel?" replied the soldier. "Ay, he truly was a brave gentleman; but 'twas the new drost I spoke of--he with the long beard: he's a tough carl, and, while he advises, neither rogues nor traitors shall long be safe in Denmark."
"How long stays he here?" asked the burgher.
"Only till the fleet is ready, and the landfolk assembled," answered the other. "The king then comes from Helsingborg, and we shall at the duke."
"Bravo! Drost Thorstenson is no fool!" cried a seaman: "he well knows there is no road to land except by sea."
"How so, friend?" asked a landsknecht: "was it not on land we got the holy banner, without which there is no road, either by sea or shore? Now, however, we go together; but if the Norsemen should land again, without leave, where were we without the landsmen then?"
"Well, my countryman," replied the seaman, "we will drink to good fellowship both on sea and land. You laid by the heels that sea-bear in the tower, where he shall no longer plunder and burn our sloops. Sing us the ballad anent the corbie in the tower there, carlin!" he cried, turning to the crone, "and thou shalt have a silver groat."
"How long will they allow him to remain there, and befool both bailiff and hangman?" inquired a burgher.
"Have you not seen the wheel outside the town?" replied the seaman: "he'll be safe anchored there in a week hence, for Drost David has sworn it. He was, to give the devil his due, a daring sea-cock; but two such rievers as the marsk and he would soon have sunk the country."
"Say you the algrev will be executed in a week hence?" exclaimed a young girl. "Alas, it is still a sad end for such a rich and distinguished gentleman!"
"Come, carlin, sing now!" cried the seaman: "here's my groat. Look! there he is, poking his head out of the hole. He wants to see if there be any good friends here to help him."
"Merciful Heavens! within a week. Heardst thou that, Rané?" exclaimed Kirstine, weeping, and involuntarily grasping the arm of her hated husband. "And, see, there he stands looking down to us. Haste thee, Rané, and save him! I will forgive thee all, and remain with thee, outlaw though thou be--only save him! save him! Thou canst if thou wilt."
"Be silent, or, by Satan, thou wilt betray me with thy whimpering!" quickly whispered Rané, as he looked anxiously around him.
And his fears were not unfounded, for some of the townspeople had already been suspiciously watching the two strange figures; although now the attention of all was attracted to the blind crone on the kerb-stone, who began to sing:--
"Sir Alf was born in Norraway,Yet lists not there to bide,Though fifteen lordships he doth own,To keep his state and pride.[44]"Alf wends upon the rampart green,And cons with care his book;There meets him Bendit Rimaardson,Who is so dour of look."'What brings thee here, carl Mindre-Alf?Thou art of courage rare:If now thou'rt made king's prisoner,The land no worse shall fare.'"'But I am not Sir Mindre-Alf--That is no name of mine:A mass-boy, as thou seest, I am,And fetch the priest some wine.'"Bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap,<.p>And looked him in the een--'An I see right, thou art the NorseSir Mindre-Alf, I ween.'"'And thou wert once a clerk with me,I knew thee well at school,And thou mayst not deny, that oftThou wrought'st us pain and dool.'"'An be it thou, Bent Rimaardson,And thou be kinsman true,An oath, I wiss, thou'lt swear to-day,That me thou never knew.'"But now they've ta'en Jarl Mindre-Alf,His feet in fetters bound--"
"Sir Alf was born in Norraway,
Yet lists not there to bide,
Though fifteen lordships he doth own,
To keep his state and pride.[44]
"Alf wends upon the rampart green,
And cons with care his book;
There meets him Bendit Rimaardson,
Who is so dour of look.
"'What brings thee here, carl Mindre-Alf?
Thou art of courage rare:
If now thou'rt made king's prisoner,
The land no worse shall fare.'
"'But I am not Sir Mindre-Alf--
That is no name of mine:
A mass-boy, as thou seest, I am,
And fetch the priest some wine.'
"Bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap,<.p>
And looked him in the een--
'An I see right, thou art the Norse
Sir Mindre-Alf, I ween.'
"'And thou wert once a clerk with me,
I knew thee well at school,
And thou mayst not deny, that oft
Thou wrought'st us pain and dool.'
"'An be it thou, Bent Rimaardson,
And thou be kinsman true,
An oath, I wiss, thou'lt swear to-day,
That me thou never knew.'
"But now they've ta'en Jarl Mindre-Alf,
His feet in fetters bound--"
"Away!" shouted the landsknecht who guarded the prison-tower: "finish your screaming, carlin, and draw not the whole town hither; for whoever comes three steps nearer the keep, will assuredly have a lance run through his body."
The crowd drew back, and, with them, Rané, dragging along his wife, who still clung to his arm, assailing him with urgent entreaties to redeem his promise and save her father.
"Nay, it cannot be done!" exclaimed Rané, in an under tone: "I know well he has sworn my death and destruction, and now let him help himself!"
So saying, he attempted to shake off his wife, but she held him tightly. He then pulled his cap over his eyes to avoid being recognised; for, with increased terror, he now observed near him some of the late king's servants, whom he had been the means of disgracing at court.
"Leave me, woman!" he whispered "thou hast betrayed me--I am discovered!"
A growing murmur arose among the crowd, and the cry of "Rané, the outlawed chamberlain!" ran from mouth to mouth.
"Thou desirest, then, to cause my death, obstinate woman!" exclaimed Rané, with subdued vehemence; while, with a violent effort, he succeeded in freeing himself, and immediately took to flight.
"Seize him--seize him!" shouted the crowd: "it is Rané, the outlawed chamberlain! Seize the traitor!" And he was followed with loud cries by the enraged populace, who threatened to tear him in pieces. His hound, however, by furiously attacking his pursuers, several of whom he bit and frightened, enabled Rané to escape, both master and dog having suddenly disappeared in the vicinity of the Grayfriars' Convent; whilst Kirstine, amidst the confusion, was fortunately extricated from the crowd by her faithful boatmen.
Rané remained undiscovered for some days, during which, as it was known that he had many relatives among the grayfriars, the convent was strictly searched by Drost Thorstenson's orders, but no trace was found of the dangerous fugitive.
In a narrow street, and under a wooden shed that projected from the convent-wall, was a well, out of which a large, ferocious-looking dog had been observed to leap, by a girl who went there one morning early to draw water. She related the circumstance to her neighbours, who, from the description, inferred that it was the hound of the outlawed Rané. The authorities were forthwith apprised of the circumstance, and the well was examined; when, in it, and against the convent-wall, was found a ledge, which was reached with some difficulty. Here was discovered a strongly-barred door, which was soon broken open, and revealed a low narrow passage, leading to a dark and noisome hole between the double convent-walls. The first who ventured into this mysterious hiding-place was furiously attacked by the dog, which, however, after a desperate encounter, was at last overpowered and killed. By the aid of their lanterns, they then carefully searched the hole, but no trace of a human being was perceptible.
In one damp corner, swarming with toads and lizards, lay a heap of stones and gravel, into which, before leaving the spot, one of the soldiers accidentally thrust his lance. This action was followed by a smothered cry of pain: the gravel-heap was then speedily removed, and a sad and miserable spectacle exposed. Close in the corner, and huddled quite together, lay the outlaw Rané, so disfigured by mire and blood that he scarcely resembled a human creature. He sprang up, apparently irresolute whether to fight or fly, and was instantly seized and conducted to Haraldsborg, where the stern Drost Thorstenson, without further form or delay, sentenced him to death, in the king's name.
Three days after the capture of Rané, the new Dean of Roskild was returning, late in the evening, from a farmhouse in the neighbourhood, where he had been administering the last rites of the Church. Two young choristers rode before him, carrying torches; and the holy pix and anointing-cruse; under a screen, were borne by a couple of lay brothers. Their way lay by the place of execution, which was in a waste field outside of Roskild, and where the algrev and Rané had suffered the same morning. When the boys reached this spot, they became alarmed.
"Sir dean," said one of them, "it is not well to come this way."
"Proceed, children, in God's name!" answered the dean. "They cease now from troubling; and, with the Holiest in the midst of us, we need fear nothing."
The lads obeyed in silence; but, after advancing a few steps,
"See, see!" cried the younger of them--"there is something stirring up yonder."
"And look!" added the other, "now there is a light--candles are burning by the dead men."
"Ghosts and devilry!" exclaimed one of the lay brothers. "Read, reverend sir, read!"
The dean, who now also became alarmed, halted, and gazing towards the mound, on which the fatal wheels were distinctly visible, saw a female form, holding in her hand a torch, the light of which, falling full on her countenance, revealed an expression of the deepest grief, united with so much calmness, that she resembled a Niobe in marble; whilst a number of clumsy-looking fellows, in the garb of seamen, were quietly but hastily engaged in releasing the bodies of the two malefactors. This being accomplished, they deposited them in coffins, and, forming themselves into a procession, left the mound, bearing the two corses in their midst. The grave female figure preceded them with the torch; and the dean, who, with his subordinates, had not stirred, now perceived that she wore the scarlet mantle of a princess, or of the lady of some knight of eminence.
The funeral train took the road to the fiord, approaching close to where the dean was standing; but the calm, melancholy features of the lady remained unchanged, nor did the others who composed the procession seem at all concerned at the presence of the ecclesiastic and his assistants. The latter, folding their hands, remained in silent prayer; while, as the train passed by, and the holy pix glittered in the torchlight, the grave seamen bowed their heads, and the knight's lady knelt down, while tears streamed along her pale cheeks.
As if moved by sympathy, the dean, accompanied by the choristers, then commenced singing, in a deep clear voice, a holy vigil for the dead men's souls; which they continued until the whole procession had passed. The mourners soon disappeared at the fiord, whence, shortly afterwards, a vessel departed under full sail.
After the death of the marsk, Duke Waldemar had openly allied himself with the brave Norwegian king, and had sent to the young Danish monarch, and his mother the queen, a declaration of war, grounded on the demands which he himself, and his brother Prince Erik, advanced for the possessions of Svendborg and Langeland. The duke and the Norwegian had agreed to commence the war with their united fleets and armies; but the impatience of the duke would not allow him to wait the arrival of the Norse fleet; and he ran out boldly with his own, which he conducted into Grönsund, between Falster and Möen.
Sir John and the council resolved to take advantage of this imprudent step, and immediately issued orders to man a number of long-ships and cutters, for the purpose of attacking the duke. This fleet, with young King Erik himself on board the long-ship Old Waldemar, early one morning ran out of Issefiord, and proceeded through the Great Belt to Grönsund, where the vessels of the duke had come to anchor on the Falster coast. Sir John and the chancellor were on board the king's ship, together with the royal trabants, and a numerous body of knights, who, in full armour, only knew each other by their helmet jewels and armorial bearings.
Close to the king's vessel followed Count Gerhard, in his own long-ship, accompanied by a few sloops from Kiel, manned by brave Holsteiners. Thorstenson himself commanded one of the largest long-ships, and, in conjunction with Sir John, directed the movements of the whole fleet.
The commanders still pursued the ancient Danish mode of attacking a hostile fleet, seeking to break the position of the enemy by a vigorous and combined movement, and, by coming as soon as possible to close quarters, to allow the fate of the engagement to be decided, as in land battles, by numbers and personal courage. To this end, they immediately ordered the whole royal fleet to form in order of battle under the coast of Möen, and opposite the duke, bringing all the ships together in a single compact line, in the centre of which was the royal vessel, from whence the position of both fleets, which were nearly of equal force, could be easily seen. The duke, however, put only his largest long-ships into line, and these he brought into an advanced position; whilst he allowed the lighter and smaller sloops and cutters to remain behind, with sails unbent, close under the coast of Falster.
In all the vessels of the king's fleet, the awning was then taken down which served to protect the deck from the inclemency of the weather. On the poop of the Old Waldemar, surrounded by the most valiant of the royal knights, himself the tallest and strongest amongst them, stood the standard-bearer, holding aloft the royal banner--the dark parti-coloured standard of the murdered king, with its numerous keys, wheels, and other remarkable symbols. The hold was filled with the common soldiers, who, besides sword and javelin, were armed with bows and slings, while a portion of them had the superintendence of the heavy war-machines; and at the stern, having the command of the whole vessel, stood the steersman, whose office, in the king's ship, was filled by old Sir John.
The young king, who, with the Chancellor Martinus, stood by his side, now exclaimed--
"Explain to me, Sir John, why the duke allows his sloops to lie detached behind the long-ships? Drost Peter, I remember, once informed me that Waldemar Seier and old King Waldemar did the same, when they had to deal with a stronger foe, and feared to hazard their whole force at once. But cannot the duke now surround us with his sloops, and fall upon our rear?"
"We will not give him time for that," replied Sir John. "When we have first saluted him at a distance, we will row rapidly forwards, working our slings and rams; and when we are once alongside of him, the engagement can be terminated sword in hand."
"The Almighty grant us victory!" exclaimed the chancellor. "Before you give the signal for battle, Sir John, we must permit our people to think of their souls, and to pray the Lord of victory to aid us."
"In God's name! But let it be soon and short, for there is little time to spare, and the Lord shields his own."
The chancellor then, accompanied by several ecclesiastics, began a war-hymn, in which all the soldiers and fighting-men joined; whilst many, including the young king, followed the example of the chancellor and clerks, and reverently bent the knee.
Scarcely was the solemn war-hymn ended, before the standard-bearer, at Sir John's order, gave the signal for battle by waving the royal flag three times over his head; and in a moment, although it was clear noon, the sky was darkened with the arrows and stones, projected simultaneously from every sling and bow on board the royal ships. This attack was answered by a similar discharge of missiles from the duke's fleet, the foreign soldiers in which now sent forth their wild war-cries.
Sir John had ordered a shieldburg[45]to be formed around the young king and the clergymen, through which, however, many arrows pierced, while the stones and other missiles rattled on the bucklers with a frightful din. On the royal vessel there alighted such an enormous mass of stones, that it was evident the duke had concentrated his attack on it alone. A few men fell, and many were wounded; but the distance was still too great for these missiles to take much effect.
On board the king's ship, the standard-bearer now again waved the royal banner, and the entire fleet rowed rapidly forward, while the heavy engines of war were put in preparation. At the stern of the king's vessel was placed an immense prow-hog, which, with its spiked and sharp iron crest, broke into the centre of the duke's fleet, and, at the first blow, parted two long-ships, thus forcing the duke to fight his own vessel without aid from the others.
At the same instant, the sea-rams were vigorously worked. These consisted of heavy beams, cased in iron, which, suspended by chains from the masts, were swung with crushing effect against the enemies' vessels. The duke possessed no such heavy machines; and it was soon apparent that the royalists had gained a considerable advantage in this first assault, great confusion having been produced in the enemies' fleet, the line of which was already almost entirely broken.
It was, however, speedily evident that the lighter arms of the duke were not less dangerous. He seemed not yet desirous of boarding, but, with his light vessels, evaded the advancing line of heavy battle-ships; whilst, besides arrows, stones, and bolts, he continued to shower upon them great numbers of caltrops, and of fire-pots, filled with pitch, brimstone, and oil. The latter were set on fire with tow, and, as they fell, cast forth flames, which, seizing upon the sails and cordage, created great damage and confusion in the royal fleet.
The duke immediately availed himself of this to order an attack on its rear by his smaller vessels. When he heard, by the shouting, that this was in execution, and became sure that the royalists would have to fight in opposite directions and with divided strength he no longer avoided the attempt to board, but ran his own long-ship close up to that of the king.
Thorstenson, who had quickly perceived this cunning manœuvre, commanded the cables by which the royal ships were bound together to be immediately cut asunder, in order that he might secure a more advantageous position; but the caltrops had produced so much disorder, and the fire-pots taken such effect, that the men were fully occupied in extinguishing the flames, and in defending themselves against the boarders, who now threatened them on both sides.
In this extremity young Erik, who stood by the side of the chancellor, with his sword in one hand and a javelin in the other, observed the duke near him, preparing to leap on board the blazing vessel. The sight of the duke enraged him. "'Twas an unchivalrous piece of cunning, Duke Waldemar!" he cried, at the same time dashing at him his javelin, which struck the feather of the duke's helmet, and carried away its jewel.
At this a shout of delight broke forth on board the king's ship, and, abandoning their efforts to extinguish the fire, the whole crew rushed forward, to repulse the duke's boarders.
"Be calm, brave countrymen!" shouted Sir John. "Let us first quench the fire, and then reckon with them for our house-warming!"
Both fire and attack raged most fiercely at the prow, and the standard-bearer, forced to defend himself, had been obliged to fix the banner in a plank by his side, where it was soon caught by the flames, and fell hissing into the water. This incident, while it raised a wild shout of joy on board the duke's fleet, greatly disheartened the royalists, who regarded it as an unlucky omen.
"My father's banner has fallen!" exclaimed the young king, in a tone of melancholy; "no good fortune attended it."
"That of your great ancestor was always victorious, my royal master!" exclaimed the chancellor.
"But it, alas, lies in the duke's stronghold in Sleswick," sighed the king. "The Lord, however, can still aid us."
"His help is near when we call upon Him," replied the chancellor: "therefore be comforted, sir king!--But see you yonder fisherman, and in what he is engaged?"
While the king was gazing in the direction indicated by the chancellor, the duke saw with astonishment that the crews on board his vessels were slipping and reeling about like drunken men; and he now first perceived, running boldly to and fro among his fleet, a small fishing-boat, in which stood a tall man, in a black leathern mail, casting pots of soap on board the ships. On some of the vessels, too, fell pots of finely powdered lime, which blinded the fighting-men; while, to increase his dismay, some of the vessels began to fill and sink. In the midst of the terror and confusion thus occasioned, a daring black-haired swimmer was seen, with a large auger in his hand, diving here and there under the ships.
"Shoot the accursed fisherman! crash the swimmer's head!" furiously cried the duke. "Board--storm--all hands!"
The boarding soon became general. No one could any longer stand on the slippery deck of the duke's ship; and as the fire had fortunately been extinguished in that of the king, there then commenced a hot and serious conflict, in which the combatants fought man to man, and in which many fell on both sides. Thorstenson, in whose long-ship the battle also raged furiously, fought heroically, many falling by his hand. Count Gerhard, too, reaped laurels. His ship lay opposite to that of Duke Erik of Langeland, Duke Waldemar's brother, and generally known as Duke Longlegs. By the side of his master, in the equipments of a squire, stood the old jester, who, when the duke appeared on the point of boarding them, exclaimed--
"See! there comes my illustrious namesake with the long legs! Hide your lady's veil, stern sir, that it may not be again torn!"
Count Gerhard, in the spirit of chivalry and as a defiance to Duke Waldemar, had attached the queen's veil to his breastplate; but, that he might not now lose it in the fray, he took the advice of his jester, and placed it under his mail.
"We shall not run now from hares or cats, stern sir," said the jester, while a roguish smile dispelled the gravity of his countenance.
But this remark touched his good-natured master in the tenderest point, by reminding him of an unfortunate encounter with the Ditmarshers, wherein his troops were really first thrown into disorder by a hare or cat.
"Now, by Satan! Longlegs, I shall strike thee dead!" cried the count, as he furiously brandished his sword.
"Spare your wrath for the proper Longlegs--see, here he is!" replied the jester, as he stepped back, and pointed towards the forecastle, where Duke Erik came storming onwards.
"The fiend take all the Longlegs!" shouted the count, as he rushed forward to the combat.
The royal ship continued to be closely pressed upon from every side. Old Sir John had some trouble to protect the young king, who insisted on leaving the shieldburg to take part in the fray. The duke himself had struck down the standard-bearer, and, springing on board at the forecastle, he was now, backed by his bravest knights, fiercely engaged on the rowing-deck with the royal trabants. At every stroke he seemed to cut out for himself a path, by which he was advancing nearer to the king.
Sir John had placed himself in the narrow passage that led from deck to deck, where with calm energy he defended the entrance to the poop, where stood the king, between the chancellor and Squire Aagé Jonsen, in front of the ecclesiastics. A vigorous stroke from the duke at length reached Sir John's helmet, which fell cloven from his gray head, while the old man himself sank bleeding between the rowing-benches.
At this sight the king sprang forward. "By all holy men!" he exclaimed, "that stroke you shall atone for with your blood, most treacherous duke!"
He became furious, and, shaking off all restraints, rushed forward, and had slightly wounded the duke, when, in his eagerness, he stumbled over a bench. The trabants, who had each an opponent to encounter, did not observe the imminent danger of the king; but his squire, Aagé Jonsen, darting forward, now closed with the duke, while Chancellor Martinus placed himself, with his mass-book in his hand, between young Erik and the combatants. Soon, however, the youthful monarch stood again prepared for battle, but the chancellor restrained him. Squire Aagé, unable to cope with the duke as a swordsman, and bleeding from many wounds, was already beginning to give way, when the chancellor, who had raised his hands and eyes towards heaven in supplication, suddenly exclaimed--
"Behold, behold! Danebrog, Danebrog! The Lord sends us victory--hoc signo victoria!"[46]
The joyful shout of "Danebrog! Danebrog!" was now raised by the royalists; and the duke, on looking up, perceived before him, on a rowing-bench, the well-known Danebrog flag, in the hands of a tall knight, clad in steel blue harness, and with open visor. It was Drost Peter, in whom, with mingled rage and fear, the duke recognised the blue knight of the tourney, and saw the well-known lion-hilted dagger gleaming in his uplifted right hand.
"Ha! thou--my deadly foe!" he cried, rushing madly towards him; but his vision forsook him, and he heard but the clash against his breastplate of the dagger, which, glancing aside, remained deep in his left shoulder. Uttering a cry of terror, he let fall his sword, and reeled backwards.
"Fly, fly! God has doomed us!" he cried, wildly, as, with a desperate leap, he regained his own ship.
His knights followed him, and, perceiving the battle was lost, quickly hoisted sail and took to flight, leaving the victory in the hands of the royalists.
The sudden appearance of the Danebrog seemed to have rendered every man of the king's soldiers invincible. From Thorstenson's ship arose a loud shout of victory; and Count Gerhard had also so entirely cleared his decks, that the severely wounded Duke Erik, finding himself nearly alone, sprang overboard, and saved his life by swimming to his brother's vessel. The royal ships were filled with slain or captured foemen; whilst of the duke's fleet, which was altogether broken up, a number of vessels were sunk, and others captured--the duke himself escaping with great difficulty and danger.
Old Sir John, whose wound had been bound up, now received, with feelings of pleasure, the thanks of the king for the brave defence he had made. His wound was not dangerous; although the heavy blow had stunned him, and he felt with regret that he could no longer wield his sword as in his youthful days. From the poop, and over the heads of the king and the aged knight, waved the sacred Dannebrog banner, which had been entrusted to the custody of the trabants by Drost Peter, whilst he hastened to aid Thorstenson in completing the victory. In the tumult of battle, only a few had recognised him.
"The Almighty be praised!" cried the chancellor, kneeling, and raising his folded hands towards heaven, as, with a loud voice, he began to chaunt theTe Deum laudamus, in which the ecclesiastics joined, and during which the king and Sir John, with all else on board, continued reverently kneeling.
Scarcely was the solemn hymn of victory ended, before the chivalrous Drost Peter and Thorstenson were observed in a fishing-boat, hastening towards the king's ship, accompanied by old Henner Friser and Skirmen. The drost sprang on board, and congratulated the king on his victory, whilst, with a loud exclamation of delight, the young victor rushed into his arms.
"Thou it was--thou it was!" cried young Erik--"thou broughtest me victory with my ancestor's banner."
Drost Peter bowed his head, and raised his hand solemnly towards heaven.
"Yea, the Lord be praised! for from Him alone comes victory!" exclaimed the king, with emotion, whilst he again embraced his faithful friend.
Drost Peter was greatly exhausted by his hurried journey. He had been fearful of arriving too late for the battle, and had also suffered much, after his escape from prison, in his exertions to obtain possession of the important banner, whose singular influence on the people, ever since the days of Waldemar Seier, was well known; it being their pious belief that, with this their national standard, and with confidence in God, they were sure to conquer. Its effect on Duke Waldemar had also been of vital importance. His right arm was paralysed from the moment when Drost Peter returned him the traitor-dagger, stained with the heart's-blood of King Erik Christopherson, and it was now with reason hoped that he would never more raise it against the crown of Denmark.
Drost Peter's unexpected arrival produced great joy on board the king's ship. All crowded around him, while he briefly related how old Henner, with Aasé and Skirmen, had contrived to procure his escape from Nordborg Castle, and assisted him in obtaining possession of the national standard. He then presented to the king the faithful old Henner and the active squire, both of whom had contributed to the victory--the latter by boring the holes in the enemy's vessels; while the idea of the soap and lime, which the king considered more novel than chivalrous, belonged altogether to Henner, who had pretended to the drost that he had a design of trading in these articles.
"Kneel!" said the young king, turning to Skirmen: "I shall dub thee a knight, for thou hast merited the honour, and I exempt thee from the usual proofs."
With tears of joy in his dark eyes, and an exclamation of gratitude, the brave squire knelt and received the stroke of knighthood in the name of God and the Holy Virgin.
The king then beckoned to Aagé Jonsen, whose numerous yet not dangerous wounds had, meanwhile, been bound up. "Thou, too," said the king--"thou hast defended my life today like a hero, as thou didst at Tornborg."
Aagé knelt in silence, and arose a knight.
"I desire not knighthood on account of the soap-pots, sir king," said old Henner; "but, by my troth, the soap was capital--and the carls required it much."
"If thou canst not be a knight, ingenious old man," replied the king, "thou canst be a steersman, and such from this day thou art."
Old Henner was greatly affected: he spoke not a word, but bent his knee, and kissed the hand of the young king, who, however, hastily withdrew it, for a tear which had fallen from the old warrior's eyes had scalded him.
In the midst of the general joy, Count Gerhard had come on board, when, after having heartily embraced Drost Peter, both he and Thorstenson received the thanks and commendations of the king, who now heard in detail how matters had fared in the count's ship, and how Duke Longlegs had sprung overboard.
"Take the fleetest boat, Count Gerhard," said the king, extending his hand to him, "and proceed to Helsingborg, where my mother, the queen, is expecting tidings of us. Carry her the account of our victory, and I promise you that you shall then obtain what you have so long and so ardently desired."
On hearing these words, the brave count could no longer constrain himself. He embraced the king, Drost Peter, old Henner, the jester, and, in fact, every one around him, and with difficulty refrained from taking the young king in his sturdy arms, and dancing with him on the poop.
"Shame befall me," he cried, "if there shall not be a dance at Helsingborg, in which I'll share." And in an instant he stood in Henner's fishing-boat. "Sir Steersman Henner," he exclaimed, "you shall take me to Helsingborg. Nobody steers a boat like you."
"Right willingly," cried Henner, following him into the boat. "I promised you good luck, and you see I have kept my word."
The boat was already leaving the king's ship, when one long leg, followed by another, came sprawling over the gunwale: the long-shanked jester would follow his happy master.
The rumour that the great sea-fight was expected to take place in Grönsund, had reached Helsingborg the same day on which it was fought. On that evening Queen Agnes, in great anxiety, sat in her closet, and every other moment quitted her seat to gaze out over the Sound. That the young king was with the fleet she knew; and that her devoted knight and suitor, Count Gerhard, who had gone to his aid, would dare the utmost, she felt certain. On leaving Kiel to join the fleet, he had sent to her a formal declaration of his love; and her affectionate answer to his letter now lay on the table before her, ready to be forwarded to him on the following day. She had despatched three fleet skiffs, one after the other, to bring her intelligence from Grönsund; but they had encountered a storm in the Sound, and were now all three beating about off Dragoe, when Count Gerhard, in Henner's little fishing-boat, passed them.
"The cross shield us--they will perish!" cried the seamen from Helsingborg, when, by the moonlight, they perceived the little fishing-yawl driven by, and every instant threatened with destruction by the surging billows.
The queen was ignorant of this her lover's danger; but the violence of the storm augmented her apprehensions concerning the battle. To conceal her anxiety, she had directed her ladies to retire, and, in her present loneliness, she felt as if her own and Denmark's fate depended on the message she that night expected. All the gloomy images of her chequered life seemed united in one single event, which threatened entirely to crush her heart, and banish that bright hope in which she had found a recompense for all her losses, and a comfort for all her misfortunes. If the battle were lost, and the young king slain, then would there be an end of Denmark's freedom and of her own maternal joy; and, if the trusty Count Gerhard had fallen, then was her letter to him, which now lay before her, but a mournful testimony of the great and true happiness she had lost.
The night passed on: the wax-lights flickered on the table, and the storm howled in the chimney, but the queen still sat, sorrowfully contemplating her letter to Count Gerhard, in the seal of which she was represented as kneeling in a church before a virgin and child, with a winged cherub holding a crown above her head.[47]
"Take the crown, Lord, and guard it," she sighed, "but let not the angel fly away. Leave him to watch over me, and over him who is dearer to me than all the crowns in the world."
She had drawn forth her diary, in which the dearest of all her heart's confessions was not yet expressly inscribed, although in the latter portions of it Count Gerhard was mentioned oftener than herself, especially from the time when she had presented him with her veil, and chosen him her knight and protector.
The image of her faithful knight had subdued every anxious thought in the heart of the fair queen, when suddenly there arose an unusual noise from the gardens beneath her window. She approached the balcony, and, by the moonlight, perceived a crowd of people on the quay, where the pilots were engaged in dragging a small boat through the surf; and in the next moment she heard the shout of "Victory, victory! The count--the one-eyed count!" She uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving, and, overcome with joy, tottered to a seat in her inmost apartment.
Shortly after, the palace resounded with the joyful tidings of victory; and, within an hour, the queen, surrounded by her entire court, stood in the brilliantly illuminated audience-chamber, where the fortunate bearer of the intelligence knelt, and laid at her feet his sword and the banner of the vanquished enemy.
Whilst the whole palace shone with light, and re-echoed with sounds of mirth and festivity, Count Gerhard learned from the queen's own lips what was contained in the letter with the red seal on her table, and his happiness was complete.
The joy created by this victory was soon after increased by the tidings, that the fortress of Hunehal, in Halland, had been stormed by the royalists, and the proud Count Jacob taken prisoner. The victory itself was followed by important results; for the Norwegian king, who, with his fleet, had arrived too late, abandoned altogether his expedition against Denmark; and shortly after a friendly meeting between the two monarchs took place at Hindsgavl, where a truce was concluded preliminary to a treaty of peace, which in its conditions should be equally honourable to both kingdoms. Duke Waldemar, too, through his ambassadors, had proposed terms which could be accepted; and, after the convention of Hindsgavl, no further measures were taken against the outlaws, who, however, were strictly forbidden ever to show themselves in the presence of the King of Denmark.
On a fine clear day in autumn great festivities and rejoicings were held at Helsingborg Castle. It was the bridal day of the fair Queen Agnes and Count Gerhard, whose sister, the dowager Queen Hedvig of Sweden, together with the entire Danish and Swedish courts, were present. The rejoicings, which were intended to celebrate at once a victory, a peace, and a marriage, were attended with a tournament, in the tilting of which, however, Count Gerhard took no part. He sat in the royal balcony, by the side of Queen Agnes; and although he seemed in some constraint in his fine bridal suit, yet the joy that sparkled in his honest eye showed him to be supremely happy; whilst, from the noble features of his majestic regal bride, beamed an expression of unsurpassed sweetness.
Next to her, and as Denmark's future queen, the little Princess Ingeborg was the object of universal admiration and knightly homage. During the tourney she sat, well pleased and happy, by the side of the young, chivalrous King Erik, where they conversed together with all the tenderness of brother and sister. Sir John had to dash away a tear of joy from his aged eyes when he looked upon this youthful pair, who, with innocent childish glee, were playing only, as it were, at bridegroom and bride, unconscious of any other affection than that which they felt, with mutual ardour, for the land and people over whom they were destined to rule.
With similar feelings the Swedish knights and nobles regarded the young King Berger and the little Danish Princess Mereté, who, also, as parties affianced, sat side by side, witnessing the tournament.
On this occasion, the prize was won by Drost Peter Hessel, who, bowing profoundly, received it from the hand of the fair Queen Agnes, whilst, as his eyes glanced over the brilliant ranks of dames, they rested with a look of intense affection on the tall lady who occupied the chief seat among the damsels of the Princess Ingeborg. It was Jomfru Ingé Little, whom he had not seen since they parted in Kolding Fiord. Her father, he was aware, still lay a prisoner in Kallundborg Castle, it being only in tenderness to the feelings of Sir John that the king had so long deferred his sentence, because his treason was manifest, although his participation in the late king's murder yet wanted proof.
Jomfru Ingé had been absent from the tournament until that moment, and Drost Peter had inquired for her in vain. Great was his joy, therefore, on now beholding her; but it soon changed to anxious grief, when he perceived the impress of a deep sorrow on her beautiful countenance; while her look, cast on the ground, seemed studiously averted from his. He hastily left the lists, and retired, to indulge his melancholy, near the Sound, whilst the royal parties and their respective attendants re-entered the riddersal, where the nuptials were farther to be celebrated with a ball and sumptuous banquet.
Drost Peter stood long by the Sound, gazing steadfastly in the direction of Flynderborg. The days of his childhood came before him, and his thoughts reverted to the time when, as a knight and drost, he had again seen his childhood's bride, and heard her sing with animation of--