"That is a matter of secondary importance, my noble knight," observed Drost Peter. "In our anxiety to secure a freebooter, let us not forget the far more important object for which we are here."
"You are right," said Thorstenson: "in thinking of the infernal viking, I had almost forgotten everything else. Respecting the duke, it is rather a dangerous undertaking. If we allow him to cross the Sound, we may chance to have him in our power; but, if it so happen, it is then extremely doubtful whether we are not doing exactly that which the king and the friends of the country would prevent. Think you not that such apparent violence, towards so powerful a vassal, would give a vent for the general dissatisfaction, and arm every traitor in the country?"
"It is a hazardous but necessary step," replied Drost Peter; "and, after what we have now seen, is nowise unjust. Besides, if this exalted personage is in league with the country's open enemies, and even with outlawed criminals, like Niels Breakpeace, we should be quite justified were we to seize him on the spot. Were that possible, we shall not exceed our authority one single step."
"Could we but lay hold of the algrev at the same time, it would not so much matter," began Sir Thorstenson, after a pause, his eyes flashing with passion. "Since the cursed sea-hound is so saucy as to risk himself on land, before our very eyes, I can scarcely refrain from giving him chase, even before we deal with the other. It were shame and a scandal should the notorious algrev be permitted to pass through Zealand, instead of being hanged on a gallows by the way. There is scarcely a sea-town in Denmark that he has not plundered: he has committed more atrocities in the world than he has hairs on his curly head."
"Do you know anything of him beyond report?" inquired Drost Peter. "Craft and courage he should not lack."
"I know him better than any clerk or bishop knows the foul fiend," replied the enraged knight. "He passes for a hero and a great man, both in Norway and Sweden; but here he passes, with good reason, for a vile sea-rover, an incendiary, and a ravisher. And yet such a fellow brags of his princely descent, and scorns an honest and irreproachable knight! Know you not that it is he who, with Justice Algot of West Gothland, and his powerful sons, is guardian to Prince Svantopolk's daughter, and the cause of all my misfortunes?"
"I know you speak reluctantly about this affair, my noble knight. You were inclined towards the prince's fair daughter, and she gave you her troth against her kinsman's wish; but, as far as I am aware, it was not the algrev, but Justice Algot's son, who carried off the Lady Ingrid."
"It was by the algrev's help, then; and not at all from true affection, but from pride and a love of rapine. The whole of this haughty race are in conspiracy against us. Chancellor Peter and Bishop Brynjalf of Sweden wished to force her into a convent; but the algrev would give her to Sir Algotson, that half her fief and estates might remain in his riever claws. My only hope now is in the bold Swedish king, and in seeing this algrev on a gibbet."
"But, my dear, brave Thorstenson, do not you make too large claims on kings and princes, when you set your eyes so seriously on a prince's daughter?"
"I am as doughty and wellborn a knight as Algotson," replied Thorstenson: "but, were I even the meanest scullion, and loved an emperor's daughter, by Him who lives above! I would show the world I was worthy of her, and lay my life on winning her, spite of the world and all its rulers."
"You cannot, however, entirely despise the limits that birth and station oppose to our wishes," continued Drost Peter, with friendly interest. "However highly you may esteem a free and independent nature, my valiant friend, you must still admit, that there is something higher and greater than in blindly following its instincts to happiness. You cannot be ignorant of the great law of self-denial: that law, the powerful ones of the earth ought most of all to obey. Those who stand nearest to kings, part with heart and fortune, my friend; yea, the heart must be silent, where a higher voice speaks."
"The fiend take your higher voice and law of self-denial!" replied Thorstenson. "That law may do for reigning princes. They are bred and born to be the victims of state policy, and of their people. For that, they bear the crown and sceptre; for that, they rule over us, and hide their miseries in purple; but free, noble-born knights cannot recognise a necessity at variance with the ordinances of God and of nature. I well know what has possessed you with this fancy, my brave friend: it is respect for a deceased father's last foolishness. Such respect is, no doubt, very proper; but the usurpations of fathers and kinsmen over our childhood can never constitute a sacred obligation to sacrifice our own freedom and happiness, and stifle the best feelings of our nature. You may be glad that your foolish juvenile betrothment is at an end; it now behoves you no longer to befool yourself with fancies."
"I was not thinking of myself at the moment," replied Drost Peter, with calm animation, lying back on the green height, his clear blue eye resting on the deep vault of the spring-heaven over his head. "I was thinking of our young heir to the throne, and the little Princess Ingeborg of Sweden. They are already, one may say, bride and bridegroom, although they are yet both children. They played together at that tourney festival where the proud Ingrid gave you her troth, and you, with grave self-confidence, believed you could determine your fortune. It was to me a wonderful thought, when I saw the children playing together, that I knew what neither of them yet could dream of--that these two innocent beings were already secretly destined for one another, and chosen to become the bond of union between two kingdoms and people. It did not in any manner move me: it occurred to me, not as an audacious interference with the designs of Providence by a cold, calculating state policy, or as an unnatural usurpation, as you term it, by short-sighted men; it appeared to me as a mysterious carrying out of God's will, and as if these children had been destined for each other before any of the individuals were in being by whose plans and counsels it should be accomplished. I will not defend these views: I know you will call them fanatical, or even superstitious and foolish; but in the same manner has my own dim destination hitherto come before my eyes. This fanaticism, as you may readily term it, has, thanks to God! preserved me from a bewilderment of heart, that might have driven me mad, or, what were worse, have lost me my peace of mind, here and hereafter."
"I believe I guess what you mean, my brave friend," said Sir Thorstenson, heartily shaking his hand. "I will not enter into argument with your pious fancies. Your heart has the least share in your aristocratic bigotry; for, fortunately, your fancies have juggled the heart into a slumber. But ask not that I should regard, in the same calm manner, the dull obstacles to my happiness as a wise ordination. I esteem you fortunate that you really do not experience that vehemence of passion you seem to dread, and which would destroy your world of fancy, quick as a stormblast destroys the glittering cobweb."
"All hearts are not alike," replied Drost Peter; and his manly voice trembled, from a deep, suppressed feeling. "When it boils and tosses in you, as in the mighty ocean, in my soul it burns deep and still. If, then, I could not fix my eye on the great, calm, eternal depth above, and find peace in its contemplation, I should waste in secret; whilst you find relief and consolation in wild outbreaks."
They continued to converse together for some time, in a familiar and friendly manner. They had long been friends, notwithstanding the great difference in their modes of thinking, as well as in their nature and dispositions. The zeal and fidelity with which they both served their king were grounded upon a far from common opinion of the sacredness of the crown and of the kingly power. A steady regard to this made Drost Peter what he was with respect to the crown and kingdom; and his earnest hope to be able to support a tottering throne, and to preserve the crown untarnished for its hopeful and legally chosen heir, gave him strength for every sacrifice.
With Sir Thorstenson, it was the idea of honour, and the inviolability of a knight's promise, which alone bound him to a king he could neither love nor respect. He shared, in many points, the contempt of the discontented noblemen for a kingly power, which, circumscribed as it was, was still so frequently perverted to unjust and arbitrary ends; but he hated, in almost an equally high degree, the pride of birth, and the imperious conduct of the aristocracy, as well as the efforts of the ecclesiastics to establish a spiritual tyranny. He was, consequently, disposed to justify the rebellious spirit of the oppressed commoners, and was an ardent admirer of the Swedish king, Magnus Ladislaus, who guarded the privileges of the commons, while he tamed the most powerful of the nobility with violence, and, at times, with cruelties. On this subject he had again entered into a warm controversy with Drost Peter, who, since the cruel execution of the Folkungar,[16]without form of law, had a strong aversion to the Swedish king, which he expressed without reserve, and considered Denmark, with all her miseries, fortunate in not having such a sanguinary tyrant and upstart monarch for a ruler.
"Nay, my good friend," cried Thorstenson, starting up: "rather an able tyrant, who treads every law under foot, than a vile turncoat, who gives laws every day and keeps no law himself. Rather an active, hardy warrior, who hacks off heads like cabbages from their stocks, than a mean craven, who can only run after women in the dark, and cannot look an honest man in the face in open day. Nay, nay," he continued, striking his sword on the ground: "I consider Sweden fortunate in her Magnus, even were he to lay one half of it waste in order that flowers and glory might spring up in the other. Rather a despotic ruler, with a determined will, who dares to wrest a crown from a crazy head, and defend it, than a legitimate madman, a dullard, without head or brains, and wrinkled like a clout under the symbol of majesty. We serve the vilest master in the world," continued he, with subdued vehemence: "that we cannot gainsay. You are true to him, Drost Peter; but, to defend him with a true word--that you leave alone. I must make free to say of him what I please, if even you are angry thereat; but he has once had my word, and he may rely on my fealty, though he is not worthy to have an honest dog in his service. Great honour no one earns here, either as knight or warrior: that you must yourself admit; but what honour I have, I shall take care to keep, notwithstanding. If, now, we have to make war on Sweden, as I respect my knightly word, I shall not sheathe my sword until I have washed the stain from the hand that gave it me, with the blood of heroes who now, with reason, despise us."
Drost Peter sprang up with warmth. "With reason, no one can despise us," he said; "and, without reason, no one shall dare to do so with impunity. The days of Denmark's glory are over, it is true; but honour even our worst foes shall leave us untouched. If we scorn the master we serve, we scorn ourselves," he continued. "The faults and errors of the king I cannot defend: it were despicable to respect them; but, as faithful servants, we should cover them with the cloak of charity when we can, and not place our glory in revealing his shame."
"To you, and between ourselves, I can state my mind without disguise," replied Thorstenson. "On this subject, you know, I am silent before strangers; and, were a stranger to venture to say to me what I have just been saying to you, I would break his neck on the spot, without a moment's hesitation.----But how is this? The wood is full of people!" He sprang hastily to his feet. "And where are our horses? They are not where we left them grazing."
Drost Peter looked round him in astonishment. They heard many voices, and the noise of hunters and hounds, on all sides; and now they perceived, beside them on the height, a tall gentleman, of knightly appearance, attired in a green doublet, and mounted on a light brown horse.
"Who are you?" shouted the huntsman, in a stern, commanding voice. "Rievers have landed hereabouts, and I have a right to make the demand: I am the king's captain at Tornborg."
"We have sought you in vain, Sir Benedict Rimaardson," replied Drost Peter, taking off his red cap, and at the same time handing him the king's authority. "Who we are, this will inform you, if you have not already recognised us."
"Drost Hessel! Sir Thorstenson!" exclaimed the knight, with surprise, and springing from his horse: "who would have expected you in this guise?" He extended a friendly hand to them, and cast a hasty glance over the document, while Drost Peter pointed it out, and laid his finger on his lips.
Although the huntsman had, apparently, some trouble in reading it, he quickly understood its meaning. "So, so! teeth before the tongue!" said he, in a tone of surprise, and handing back the parchment to Drost Peter. "I have something better to do, then, than to hunt after these horse-stealers. But still it was an accursed piece of impudence in them," continued he, enraged. "Did you not see a gang of long-bearded fellows, looking like shipwrecked seamen? A little while since they carried off all our horses, almost to the one I luckily sit upon. They did it in a twinkling, as my huntsmen were taking their morning's meal down by the moss."
"Our horses, also, have disappeared," said Sir Thorstenson. "Here there is no time to be lost. But, first, procure us three horses."
"Are you more than two, gentlemen?"
"My squire is on the outlook, down by the road," replied Drost Peter: "see, here he comes."
Squire Skirmen bounded forward like a hart. "They are coming!" he exclaimed: "there are four on horseback. I know the duke's red mantle, and the little Norse gentleman's burly beard."
"The algrev!" cried Thorstenson: "death and destruction! let us after him!"
"That illustrious individual is not to be stopped here, if I understand the pothooks rightly," said the huntsman; "but we must be certain whether it is him. How fall you upon the algrev? Follow me, gentlemen: I know the wood. They shall pass close by us without seeing us."
While Skirmen held the huntsman's horse, he led the nimble Drost Peter and Sir Thorstenson into a thicket of white thorns and young beeches, close by the roadside. By his advice, they laid themselves on the ground, having in sight, before them, a portion of the road from Korsöer. They had not waited long in this position, before they heard the trampling of horses close at hand. Drost Peter bent the boughs aside, and Sir Thorstenson made a hasty movement.
"Still! keep still, my good sirs!" said the hunter: "game of this sort must not be frightened. Here we have them. Bight: it is the duke and his drost. The pompous little gentleman, with the bullock head, I do not know; and yet--"
"The algrev! Mindre-Alf!" interrupted Thorstenson, in a low voice, as he was on the point of starting up.
"Remember the main business, and restrain your vehemence," whispered Drost Peter, holding him back.
"Let them only get in advance, and we are sure of them," whispered the hunter. "But who is that heavy fellow, in the squire's mantle, who rides behind? He does not look at all like a fine gentleman's attendant."
"Niels Breakpeace, the Jutland rover," answered Drost Peter, softly: "but let him pass on. In the duke's livery, he has now free convoy through Zealand."
The four important travellers passed, and the knights arose.
"It is hard enough," said Rimaardson, "that I, as chief of Tornborg, should see two such notorious robbers pass along, under my very nose as it were, and dare not stop and seize them. If it was their marauding band that took our horses, there is no more security in the country for the present. Permit me to ride on before you to Tornborg, gentlemen. Measures shall be taken instantly. We may still reach Slagelse before the duke has left it. We must keep at some distance, and be not too numerous, or he may apprehend mischief."
As he spoke he hastily mounted his horse, which Skirmen, at his sign, had brought him, and rode off at a gallop towards the castle. The knights and Skirmen followed him with rapid steps.
Sir Benedict or Bent Rimaardson was about forty years of age, with a brave huntsman's countenance, embrowned by exposure to the sun and open air. He was tall and spare, and exceedingly nimble in his movements. All his paternal ancestors were Danes; but, on the mother's side, he was related to the Margraves of Brandenburg and Queen Agnes. In consequence of his fidelity to the king, he was at variance with his younger brother, Sir Lavé Rimaardson, who had been deprived of his estates, and outlawed as a traitor and fomenter of rebellion among the peasants. These family cares severely depressed the otherwise bold and lively knight; for his wild, unruly brother was still dear to him, and it often wounded him deeply to hear the name of Rimaardson associated with those of the most audacious transgressors of the laws of the land. He lived, unmarried, with his brother John, as chief of Tornborg, where he watched over the security of the coast with great strictness, and constantly lay in wait for the Norwegian freebooters. He was a distinguished sea-warrior, and had often been successful in capturing pirates with his longboat. What sometimes interfered with his vigilance was his passion for the chase--his only recreation at this lonely castle.
That a Norwegian pirate-vessel had arrived at Korsöer, and landed rovers, whilst he thought the seas secure, and was diverting himself with the chase, provoked him highly; but this recent mission, with which the king had entrusted him, gave him something else to think of. In a few minutes he had reached the castle; and, when his guests arrived, they found the horses already saddled in the court-yard. They allowed themselves no time to inspect the famous castle, from which the place derived its name, or even to refresh themselves. The chief, having entrusted the care of the castle to his brother John, dispatched a troop of huntsmen into the wood in search of the rievers; and then, along with his guests, mounted his horse, without changing his green doublet. He ordered four jagers to follow them at a short distance, and started from Tornborg at a gallop, in the direction of Slagelse.
The road between Korsöer and Slagelse, in the western part of Zealand, is crossed, at Vaarby, by a rivulet, running between tolerably high banks, and was, anciently, broad and deep enough to be navigable for small vessels. Between Vaarby Banks the road gradually became narrower, and a wooden bridge led across the river where it was deepest. This bridge was not wider than what would allow a wain to drive over: it rested upon upright beams, taller than a ship's mast, and, as was usual, was unprovided with rails at the side. The river at this spot was very deep, though it did not rise nearly so high as it did when the bridge was built; from which it has been inferred that, from the bridge to the surface of the stream, there was a depth of more than six fathoms. Several large, almost rocklike stones, rose above the water on both sides, the remains, apparently, of a stone bridge, which had been swept away by the violence of the current: a proof that the river had formerly swollen into a mighty torrent. The steep banks were overgrown with brushwood, which almost concealed them.
Here, Niels Breakpeace's twelve daring robbers, with nine well-armed Norse freebooters from the pirate-vessel, together with the stolen horses, were concealed in a thicket. In order to deceive the huntsmen and coast-guards who had pursued them, a smaller number of the Norse pirates had fled, with much noise and clamour, in an opposite direction, and had gained their ship before their pursuers could come up with them; when they immediately hoisted sail, and bore away to the south, under Egholm and Aggersoe.
In the thicket near Vaarby Bridge, the shaggy-bearded fellows, stretched on the grass, held a short council, at the same time making good cheer from one of the huntsmen's wallets. A tall young man, with a knight's feathered hat over his handsome brown locks, but otherwise dressed as a seaman, in coarse pitched wadmel, alone stood up among them, and appeared to be their leader. He had an expression of daring in his features, which yet presented a fine noble outline, and a pair of dark eyes flashed audaciously from under his bushy eyebrows.
"There is no time now for stretching and lounging," said he, in an imperious, commanding tone. "Give heed, fellows! To-day, I am both count of Tönsberg and Niels Breakpeace; and he who dares to disobey me, I shall cut down on the spot."
The fellows seemed to understand this discourse, without being at all intimidated. They appeared to expect such a speech; and only half rising from their recumbent position, regarded him with silence and attention.
"Over this bridge," he continued, "not a living soul from Korsöer crosses to-day, were he even king of Denmark. Whoever sets foot upon the bridge is our prisoner. If he resists, we cut him down, or pitch him into the river, without more ado. I remain at this side, with my Norwegian bears; you, Morten Longknife, with your own men, shall guard the other end. If you budge a foot when it comes to the pinch, it costs you your neck. To Korsöer may travel who will; but not a cat to Slagelse. Do you understand?"
A tall, red-bearded fellow, with a knife an ell long in his belt, had sprung up, with ten others, sturdy and dirty-looking enough. "That is easy to be understood, stern knight," said he, in the dialect of a Jutland peasant, and nodding his head. "You and the northmen break backs to-day, and we Jutes cleave brainpans. For that I can be depended upon: it is a token that you know us."
"You are to lie quiet in yonder thicket until I whistle, when you shall spring up, and close the bridge in three ranks. As soon as I call out, 'Hack away!' cleave to the foot whoever comes. Now, off to your post!"
Morten Longknife nodded assent. With his ten men, he went immediately over the bridge, and disappeared in the thicket on the opposite bank of the river.
Drost Peter, in the meantime, rode between Sir Thorstenson and Bent Rimaardson, at a brisk trot, along the road towards Vemmelöv and Vaarby. They were silent, and seemed to be considering the most prudent way of accomplishing their difficult undertaking.
Squire Skirmen followed upon a lean hunter, and sorely grieved for the loss of his norback. But he soon got into a lively conversation with Sir Rimaardson's four huntsmen. They related to him many of their master's daring exploits, when he allowed freebooters to land, that he might catch and hang them. In return, Skirmen told them of his master's feats in the Sleswick war, and at tilts and jousts, and gave them a description of the magnificent tournament at Helsingborg, which he had himself seen. Thereupon, he struck up a lively tourney song, and jigged on his saddle as he sang:--
"There shines upon the fourth shieldAn eagle, and he is red;And it is borne by Holger Danske;Who killed the giant dead."
"There shines upon the fourth shield
An eagle, and he is red;
And it is borne by Holger Danske;
Who killed the giant dead."
"My master bears an eagle on his seal," he added. "Were I in his place, I would set the eagle in the shield, instead of the red bend. Do you know what I shall have on my shield, when once I am a knight? It shall be Folker Fiddler's mark. But there must be more than that: of my shield it will be hereafter sung:--
"There stands a maiden in the shield,And a sword, and fiddle, and bow;And it is borne by bold Skirmen,Who will sing, not sleep, I trow."
"There stands a maiden in the shield,
And a sword, and fiddle, and bow;
And it is borne by bold Skirmen,
Who will sing, not sleep, I trow."
While the young squire thus gave expression to his pleasing expectations, they had passed Vemmelöv, and were approaching Vaarby Bridge. The neighing, as of a foal, was presently heard from the copse by the river-side, and Skirmen exclaimed, with surprise--"My little norback!" In a moment he was by his master's side, and communicated to him his discovery.
Drost Peter stopped his horse. All was still. "If my squire has heard aright," said the drost, "we shall, without doubt, meet our horse-stealers here. They have probably riders with them, who will oppose our progress. If they have ascertained who we are, and the errand on which we ride, it was not imprudent of them to occupy this important post."
Both knights paused, and regarded the long, narrow bridge with an air of thoughtfulness.
"With twelve men, I could defend the bridge against a whole army," said Sir Rimaardson. "We have two choices: either we must proceed at a gallop, and endeavour to cut our way through; or we must ride hastily down, and see if our horses can swim across. To ride back, and delay ourselves by bringing aid, I will not propose to such valiant gentlemen. Besides, at this moment, I have not a single able horseman at home."
"Let us cut our way through at a gallop," said Sir Thorstenson. "But there is not a soul to be seen."
"If Skirmen is right, we shall soon see more than we may care for," replied Drost Peter. "Swim your horses well, Sir Rimaardson?"
"The two that you and your squire ride I will answer for, if it be not too muddy," replied the knight; "mine and Sir Thorstenson's are too heavy: they will stick fast where there is the least mud."
"There is no choice, then," said Drost Peter: "we must onwards, and, in God's name, may cut our way through. Follow close after us, huntsmen."
"Off!" cried Thorstenson, already spurring his horse.
"Stay a moment!" exclaimed Drost Peter: "whether we may get over the bridge alive, is uncertain; but our warrant must be secured. My bold squire's dexterity I can depend upon; and it will not be difficult for him to swim over, whilst we give the robbers something more to do than to think of stopping him. If you agree with me, good sirs, we shall entrust him with the king's letter and warrant: if we receive any hindrance, he takes it to the governor of Haraldsborg, or destroys the letter if he cannot escape."
"You are cautious, noble knight," said Sir Rimaardson; "but I grant you are right: we must be provided against every accident."
"Good!" exclaimed Thorstenson. "If we must make our wills, let it be done speedily. My fingers itch to get at the hounds."
"There, my trusty Skirmen," said Drost Peter, giving to his squire the carefully wrapt-up letter. "You perfectly understand us? This concerns the security of the crown and royal house. If I demand not this letter from you on the other side of the bridge, account to me for it beyond the greatest bridge." He pointed gravely towards the heavens, and was silent.
The blood mounted into the brave squire's cheeks. "I must flee, then, like a frightened wild goose, and not fight my way, gaily, by your side? It is a hard command, sir drost; but you will it so, and I obey. God be with you! We shall certainly meet beyondthatbridge." Again came a neighing from the thicket. "My norback!" cried Skirmen, joyfully; and, spurring his horse, he rode hastily down a little by-path that led into the thicket near the river.
At the same instant the three knights started, at a rapid gallop, and with drawn swords, towards the bridge.
"One at a time, or we shall throw one another into the river," cried Thorstenson, taking the lead.
They had almost reached the bridge, and not a soul was to be seen.
"A false alarm!" cried Thorstenson: "there is no one here."
"On, on!" shouted Drost Peter, riding past him.
"That was not my meaning," grumbled Thorstenson; angrily, endeavouring to regain the lead.
But the first horse-shoe already clattered upon the narrow bridge, and Sir Thorstenson was obliged to rein in his steed, lest he should plunge his friend into the river. To their surprise, no one opposed them: the seventh horse had already his forelegs on the bridge; and Drost Peter, having arrived within a few paces of the opposite bank, began to think their suspicions were groundless, when the shrill blast of a whistle was heard in the rear. A gleam came suddenly from the thicket, and a threefold impenetrable wall of gigantic, bearded men, with uplifted halberds, stood at the end of the bridge, and barred the passage. At the same instant, a similar barrier of Norwegian pirates was formed behind them, and a powerful voice shouted--"Hold! or you are dead men!"
Drost Peter's horse reared before the bright halberds, and was nearly falling backwards into the river.
"On, on!" cried Thorstenson, getting to his left side, and seizing the rearing horse by the bridle: the animal plunged to the very brink of the bridge, and appeared in imminent danger of falling into the gulph. "On, on!" still shouted Thorstenson; but both he and Drost Peter vainly sought to urge on their shy and strange steeds. This sudden stoppage brought all the horses in the rear close together, and in the greatest disorder, so that none of them could now stir without the certainty of forcing another over the bridge.
"Lay down your arms!" shouted the voice behind them, "or we pitch you over, one and all!"
Presently, Drost Peter's sword rang among the halberds, and Morten Longknife fell, as his long blade whistled past Drost Peter's ear.
"Throw them over, the dogs! hack away!" cried the young robber chief, behind.
With a wild shout, they commenced a furious onslaught from both sides at once. Drost Peter and Thorstenson fought a dubious fight on the brink of the bridge, in which their plunging horses were severely wounded in the chest by the long halberds. A frightful battle raged behind: the pirates pressed on, and the four huntsmen in the rear were hurled, with their backs broken, together with their horses, into the deep.
Rimaardson could now, for the first time, stir; and he dexterously turned his horse about, to avoid the same fate as his unhappy jagers. He was on the point of rushing upon the wild, shouting freebooters, when his eye fell on the young robber chief, who wore the knight's hat. The sword fell from his hand, and both grew pale.
"Hold, fellows! give place for them!" cried the leader of the pirates: "in Satan's name, let them ride on!"
In an instant, not a single rover was to be seen on the bridge. Drost Peter and Sir Thorstenson were relieved as by a miracle, and rode hastily over the suddenly vacated bridge. Sir Rimaardson followed them silently, and as pale as a ghost. They rode up the height above the thicket, and there drew up their tired and bleeding horses. Presently they saw the ten rovers take flight, with their dead comrade's body, and disappear in the thicket at the opposite end of the bridge.
"How was this?" asked Drost Peter: "did the angel of death fight on our side, and strike the murderers with terror? Are you also safe, Sir Rimaardson?"
"Safe?" he repeated, gloomily: "yes, in Satan's name, I am safe. Better for me that I were lying, crushed and mangled, with my huntsmen."
"What has happened to you? Are you wounded?" inquired Thorstenson. "There is not a drop of blood in your cheek, and you are not the man to grow pale in danger."
"I have received no wound in my body," replied the knight; "but a two-edged sword has entered my soul. The unhappy robber chief, with the knight's hat, was my outlawed brother, Lavé. God be gracious to his sinful soul! If he fall into the hands of my coast-guards, I myself must doom him to the rack and wheel."
Both the knights were amazed; and, whilst they could now comprehend the reason of their wonderful deliverance, they also felt, with horror, their fellow-traveller's bitterness of soul.
"Think no more of it, brave Sir Bent," said Thorstenson, at length, consolingly. "In these mad times, a young hot-head may easily go astray. If he was leader of these fellows, he deserves to stand at the head of an army of warriors. The ambush was craftily and boldly planned, if he knew us."
"If it was the sight of your loyal countenance that struck him with repentance and dread, noble knight," said Drost Peter, "there is still hope of his salvation. Our gracious queen's kinsman cannot be so deeply fallen but that, with God and the Holy Virgin's aid, he can rise again, if time be granted him."
Rimaardson shook his head, and was silent.
"Welcome, welcome to this side of the bridge, noble sirs," cried a cheerful, lively voice; and Squire Skirmen came along, waving his cap with joy. He was mounted on his little norback, and leading the horses of Drost Peter and Sir Thorstenson. In an instant he was on the height along with them. He dismounted, and returned his master the packet confided to him.
"Here is the king's letter, sir," he said, joyously: "not a drop of water has touched it, though there is not a dry thread on my body."
"My old dapplegray!" exclaimed Thorstenson, springing from his wounded horse, which he set at liberty. The tall, gray steed appeared delighted again to see his master, who patted and caressed him like a restored friend, as he swung himself gladly into his own saddle.
Drost Peter, having again taken possession of the king's warrant, extolled his trusty squire for his dexterity and management. He, too, had descended from his strange horse, which bled profusely, and could scarcely bear him any longer. He first examined the animal's wounds, and bound his scarf about its chest; then, turning him over to the care of his squire, he patted his own favourite brown steed, which pawed the ground impatiently. "It was skilfully done," he said to Skirmen, as he sprang into his saddle. "How did you get hold of the horses?"
"While you were all fighting, I did not wish to be idle," replied Skirmen. "I soon found my little norback: he nearly pawed me to death with joy, the dear fellow! The other two horses were also grazing by the river. Giving a smack to the hack I rode, I let him gallop home; and, had it not been for my little norback, I should have been sitting in the mud."
"Thou art a devil's imp!" said Thorstenson; "and, if it were not that thou art so stunted, there might be made a doughty wight of thee."
"You, too, were stunted once on a time," replied Skirmen, offended; "else Satan was the mother of you."
They were now all mounted, and Thorstenson was already several paces in advance.
"But my poor huntsmen!" exclaimed Sir Rimaardson, pausing: "might any of them yet be saved?"
"I saw them hurled over," replied Skirmen: "it was a shocking sight. I was already over the river, but I rode in again to save them. The black steed was nimble, and swam ashore; but the three Wallachians are in the mud."
"But the men--the unfortunate huntsmen?"
"Alas! that was the most lamentable part of the affair," replied Skirmen, with a light sigh: "they had neither life nor a whole limb. I had them drawn to land, and said, hastily, three paters and an ave for their souls. Their corpses an old female peasant promised me to care for."
"Brother, brother! this blood is upon thee!" sighed Rimaardson, with a choking voice, and giving his horse the spur.
They shortly overtook Sir Thorstenson, and pursued their journey in silence, and in earnest thought.
It was towards evening of the following day. In Flynderborg, which lay near Orekrog or Elsineur, and almost in the same spot as the present Cronberg, sat, in a large arched apartment, an elderly man in a brown house-suit. There was a chess-board before him, and, opposite, was a young and beautiful girl. It was Sir Lavé Little, and his daughter Ingé. She wore the then customary in-door black dress of ladies, with her rich, golden tresses bound with a fillet of pearls, worked in the form of lilies.
After his conversation with Drost Peter in the guard-chamber, and his short dispute with Chamberlain Rané, the anxious and wavering Sir Lavé had not had an hour's rest. In the face of his stern kinsman, old Sir John, he fancied he read that he was suspected of a private understanding with the rebellious noblemen. His conscience did not acquit him; and no sooner had he been relieved by Sir John from his post in the guard-room, at an unusual hour, than he hurried away from Nyborgand the Dane-court, that he might not be farther enticed into the dangerous projects there on foot. He was the royal governor of Flynderborg Castle, which, with huge wall-slings on its ramparts, protected the entrance of the Sound, and received the ancient Sound dues, as has since been more effectually done by the far more distinguished Cronberg.
Sir Lavé Little certainly had not been guilty of any act that could have been brought against him as evidence of treason; but he had been at the recent Möllerup meeting with Stig Andersen, and had there, for his friend and kinsman's sake, declared himself against the king with more decision than formerly. That this meeting and its transactions had been discovered, he knew; and he now feared, with reason, that he would be called to account for expressions he could not deny, or even be deprived, without legal trial, of his important post as commandant of this castle. This secret anxiety pained him the more, that he was obliged to confine it to his own breast. He held no familiar intercourse with any soul in the castle. He lived there as a widower, with his daughter, whom he regarded as still in some degree a child, and feared to entrust her too freely with his affairs.
This, his only child, he loved exceedingly, albeit she little agreed with him on many important public questions, in which she appeared to take more interest than might have been expected in a girl of her age. She was scarcely fifteen, but of a tall, erect growth; and already expressed her will so decidedly, as often to astonish her wavering, hesitating father. She was a granddaughter of the recently deceased, powerful Sir Absalom Andersen, who traced his lineage from Asker Bag and Skjalm Hvide, and who, in his testament, had duly remembered Sir Lavé Little and his daughter.
Proud Ingé, as the froward damsel was already called by the people of the castle, exceedingly resembled her high-souled deceased mother, and had not only inherited the genuine Danish exterior of her mother and the whole Absalom family, but also their ancient patriotic spirit, true love of country, and attachment to the legitimate reigning family, in inseparable conjunction. When she heard of the perils that threatened the crown and kingdom, her dark blue eyes flashed, and she wished that she could only, like her noble kinsmen, John Little, or David Thorstenson, or Drost Peter Hessel, watch over the safety of the throne and country with manly vigilance and vigour. Drost Peter's name she seldom mentioned, and; as it always seemed, with somewhat of dislike. That she had, from her childhood, been destined as his future wife, was to her an insufferable thought, and aroused her sense of freedom and womanly dignity to the bitterest degree. She could only faintly remember the drost as a handsome, kindly youth, whom she had played with when a child. At that time she appeared to have had some fondness for him; but, from the moment that she became aware that she was destined for his wife, his remembrance had become loathsome to her. It was as if an unseen power had made him her hereditary enemy, and he was the only man of whom she was disposed to think ill, without sufficient reasons. She could not, however, conceal the interest she felt in the many good deeds and excellent qualities she had lately heard ascribed to the active young drost, whose important services to the crown tended still further to elevate him in her estimation. Sometimes, indeed, she would even forget their hated relationship, and break forth into involuntary expressions of admiration. But the reports that, during the last year, had been circulated to the drost's prejudice, had also come to her ears. That he was much indebted to his comeliness and talents for his rapid promotion, was a general opinion among the people, even where they expressed themselves with the most delicacy and reserve; and the supposed taint on Drost Peter's honour, which envy was only all too zealous to exaggerate, converted Ingé's esteem for her preordained bridegroom into contempt, almost amounting to abhorrence. She had often, from that instant, begged her father rather to bury her in a convent for life, than wed her to a men who, with all his merit, she could never love and respect.
Until recently, the father had given only vague replies to these petitions, and begged her at least to suspend her judgment until she had seen him, and renewed her half-forgotten acquaintanceship. The drost, he told her, was a distinguished man, a true favourite of fortune, and that, except in case of absolute necessity, a promise made to a deceased friend should be held sacred. Moreover, its fulfilment had reference to the fortunes and future fate of two illustrious families, through their prosperity and influence. But, during the last half year, the father had frequently expressed himself dissatisfied with Drost Peter, and with his zealous efforts to exalt the misused power of the king.
On these points, however, proud Ingé warmly defended his conduct, and also extolled him as a brave friend to his sovereign and country; yet her joy was great when her father, on his return from the Dane-court, declared her entirely free from every engagement with respect to Drost Peter Hessel. He had given her his assurance that she should never be required to wed this zealous royalist, whom every open-minded Dane had the greatest reason to shun, though a certain degree of respect could not be denied him for his sagacity and bold uprightness.
Never had proud Ingé felt herself so glad and lighthearted as on that day; and she now seized every opportunity to evince her gratitude to her father for a promise that first gave her a full consciousness of her womanly dignity, and of being the free, highborn daughter of a knight. When needful, she played draughts and chess with him, and induced him to drive away his anxiety and discontent with a recreation to which he was exceedingly attached. She was careful, however, to conceal from him the slight interest with which she removed the taken pieces, whilst her thoughts flew over the whole free and glorious world she now saw opened up to her, and she joyfully recalled to her imagination a long line of famous ancestors, amongst whom the noblest women of Denmark had, from her earliest childhood stood before her eyes as glorious images of light.
Father and daughter were still sitting silently at the game of chess, and the Lady Ingé perceived that her abstracted parent heeded not his moves, and often lost his pieces. He seemed as if in a dream.
"But tell me, then, dear father," she said at length, breaking the long silence, "do you think it possible, as it was asserted when you were away, that King Waldemar's grandson, the foolhardy Duke Waldemar, really aspires to the crown, after the king's death?"
"Silence, child! Do not speak thus! It may cost us our lives," replied the father, anxiously, and looking round him. "It is mere silly talk. But those who bring such reports into circulation ought never more to see the light. Do not listen to such conversation, my dear, good Ingé, and give no heed to things you cannot understand. Discreet young damsels should not busy themselves with state affairs, but attend to their looms and household matters: I have often told you so. I rebuke you needfully, my good child; for your discourse frequently makes me anxious and uneasy."
"But when it concerns the country and kingdom, my father, we young damsels are as much Danes as the young knights and swains; and it is not the first time that Danish women have been obliged to think on affairs of equal importance. Had the Lady Ingé, and the proud Ingefried, not dared to think on something more than their looms and kitchens, they had not bored Swain Grathé's fleet, and sank it to the bottom; and then, perhaps, the great Waldemar had not been King of Denmark."
"Where get you these stories, my dearest child? Whom have you heard repeat these silly old tales that you have always at the tip of your tongue? You have never heard them from me--that I know."
"Ah, my mother related them to me when I was very young; and she, also, it was who taught me so many of our pretty old ballads."
"Ballads! There we have it! All ballads and chronicles lie, my child. They are but fables and superstitions, which people invent who have nothing to do but to please fools and children. When do you hear me relate stories or sing ballads? People who have serious matters in their heads, have other things to think about than such silly trifles."
"Truly, father, never have I heard you sing ballads or tell tales; but my mother loved the old songs much, and delighted to sing them, and to recite the pretty tales. If there were no true ballads, and if our wild young maidens did not sing about our old kings and heroes, and our true noble women, no great man or woman would be remembered longer than a lifetime. Then it were not worth living in the world, when the most glorious events that happen among us were mere passing show. What avails it that we are rich and powerful, if we perform nothing that deserves to be remembered when we are dead? and what to posterity would be the lives of the greatest of mankind, if people had not a pleasure in preserving their names and their exploits in songs and chronicles?"
"Ah, child, dearest child! this is only enthusiasm and superstition. Whatever is worth being preserved is remembered well enough without writing chronicles and singing songs about it; and in our times, people should have something better to think of than such trifles and old stories. Yet sing, in God's name, as much as you please, about old kings and warriors: it will do no greater harm than it has done; only, leave alone what happens in our own times. There is nothing in these worth singing or talking about. 'No one is happy until he is laid in his grave,' said a wise man; and it is a true saying. In these unsettled times, my child, one cannot be too cautious: a thoughtless word may do greater mischief than you dream of. Look out once more, and see, by the banner, how the wind lies."
Ingé rose, and looked, from the little round window, into the court-yard of the castle, where, over the arched gateway, waved a lofty banner, adorned with the two royal lions.
"The wind is gone towards the east," said Ingé, carelessly, again sitting down; "you expect some one from Scania, to-night, perhaps?"
"Not exactly so," answered the knight, rising. "An easterly wind--hem!--and it was north-westerly only an hour ago. With this wind no one can cross the Sound to-night. I must go and speak with the ferrymen. I expect some strange gentlemen, child--people of distinction, and my good friends. Should they arrive in my absence, receive them in a friendly manner, and set before them the best there is in the house. Entertain them as I know thou canst; but ask them neither their names, nor whither they journey: that would not beseem thee. Above all things, say not a word on state affairs, or of what thou thinkest or dost not think on such matters. This is something that thou must not have an opinion about. Now, now! redden not thus, my child! Thou canst not surely be angry with thy father? Understand me rightly. Thou mayest, in God's name, think what thou wilt--that nobody can forbid thee: but these are not the times to say aloud what thou dost think; and thou art never cautious, little Ingé: thou often talkest, loudly and boldly, things that I dare scarcely repeat to myself in my closet. Forget not, therefore, what I have been saying. I shall ride, perhaps, to meet the strangers, and be back again in an hour. If they come by another road than I expect, and arrive here before me, see to their wants, like a good housekeeper. The porter and steward know discretion; and, to-night, the castle stands open for every traveller, without any one being required to announce himself. Thou art not afraid to be alone, my child? Thou hast thy waiting-maids at hand, and the castle is full of servants."
"Afraid?" repeated proud Ingé, colouring still more deeply; "nay, father, of what should I be afraid? Thy friends cannot be thy daughter's foes. But thou art so strange, my father--so mysterious--and not glad, and at ease. Art thou unwell?"
"No, my child; but I have some unpleasant matters to think about, which thou canst not understand. But take no heed of this. Do not sit here alone, in the twilight. Get a light, and let thy maidens come in, and sing ballads with thee. Thou mayest sing ballads, my child: it is suiting to thine years. What I said about ballads I did not mean to refer to thee. Only, be cheerful now, and be not uneasy on my account. Nothing shall happen." With these words, he patted her kindly on the cheek, and departed.
It began to grow dark. Her father's mysterious inquietude and ill-disguised anxiety had made a singular impression on the young girl, who otherwise had never known fear; and, as she now sat alone, in the great gloomy hall, various alarming thoughts took possession of her mind. She had heard many, in part unfounded, rumours of pirates and robbers: these she cared little about. But that the land was full of secret traitors, who threatened the destruction of the king, and all his more trusty and attached friends, was a general, and, to the Lady Ingé, a far more distressing rumour. This important fortress had usually been kept strongly barred against every stranger who did not, in the first place, give his name and errand with much preciseness. Why an exception was to be made this evening, she could not comprehend; and why her father had been induced to leave the castle at a time when he expected important and distinguished guests, was equally inconceivable. From his uneasy attention to the direction of the wind, and his disappointment when he found it easterly, as well as from his command not to ask the strangers their names, or whither they were journeying, she supposed that he might be expecting some friends, who were eluding pursuit, and intended passing over to Sweden that night. Notwithstanding her father's reserve and cautiousness, she had observed that he took a zealous part in the quarrel Stig Andersen and his kinsmen were fomenting against the king. She was, however, only imperfectly acquainted with the reasons for this quarrel. That the king had outraged Stig Andersen's wife, and had been denounced by the powerful marsk, she had heard; but of the particular circumstances she knew nothing. According to her notions of a king, and the idea she had formed in her childhood, from her mother's descriptions of the great Waldemars, she entertained such a deep reverence for the name of royalty, that she could not conceive how a subject should be offended with his king, or that he should, in anywise, have a right to oppose himself to his sovereign. That her father should be induced, either from friendship, or on account of family ties, to forget his allegiance to the king, was a thought she dreaded to dwell distinctly upon; but now she secretly began to fear such a disaster, which, of all others, she considered the greatest; and, for the first time in her life, she felt herself in a state of anxiety. She looked round the gloomy apartment, and fancied she beheld a lurking regicide, with a gleaming dagger, in every corner. She hastily arose to call for lights; but scarcely had she risen, before the door was gently opened, and a rough, heavy male figure, closely wrapt in a coarse wadmel cloak, slipped cautiously and stealthily across the threshold. The last faint traces of expiring day revealed to her glance a wild, shaggy, filthy countenance, more like that of a savage animal than of a human being. She stepped back, and was on the point of uttering a cry of alarm; but, blushing at her fears, she controlled herself, and recalled to mind her father's instructions, that she should receive all his guests with a dignity becoming the mistress of the house.
"Welcome, stranger," she said, as boldly as she could, though her voice trembled, as she advanced a step or two. "My father will be here immediately," she added; "allow me to procure a light."
"Nay, no light, fair maiden. Are you alone, here, in the castle?"
This question, in a deep, gruff voice, which struck her with its subdued and mysterious tone, increased her alarm; and the tall, clumsy, gigantic form advanced a few steps farther into the hall. She stepped hastily back, and laid her hand on the latch of the kitchen-door, but again took courage, and remained.
"Alone?" she repeated. "Nay: I am, it is true, a knight's daughter, but I do not take upon myself to defend a royal fortress alone. If you wish to see the garrison of the castle, you may do so in one moment."
"Let me not frighten you away, fair madden," said the stranger, stepping back; "I have just come off the sea, and am not in train to appear before fine women-folks. I am only an humble groom, sent hither an my master's errand, to inquire whether Sir Lavé Little can shelter his friends to-night; and whether a couple of royal hounds have not arrived here this evening."
"My father's friends are welcome," replied the knight's daughter: "he has gone out to meet them, and will be here forthwith. Of the hounds I have heard nothing. If you are the strange gentleman's servant, you shall immediately be provided for in the servants' hall."
She was about to lift the latch of the kitchen-door; but the stranger raised his hand, almost menacingly. "Stay! No light. I go immediately," he muttered. "There are no strange guests here, then--no travellers from Nyborg?"
"Not that I am aware of," replied Ingé; "but the castle is large, and, although many royal soldiers be here, there is still room enough for guests who are true to their king and country."
"Good. I shall bear my master this answer; and, if he is satisfied with it, you shall soon see us. Farewell fair maiden. Although you do not seem to wish that I should approach near you, I dare, nevertheless, take my oath that you are as handsome as brave. You need not make an alarm on my account, nor call the garrison together. I come here as a good friend: my master's good friends are also thine." With these words, be hastily departed through the door by which he had entered.
To prevent his re-entrance before there were lights and other persons present, Lady Ingé first proceeded to lock the door after him. Then calling her handmaids, she caused them to light all the wax-lights, which were placed before bright shields, on the whitened walls of the large hall. In the round side apartment, she ordered a table to be spread for the mysterious guests who had been invited; and went, herself, through the kitchen, to the castle-wards, to see that the men-servants were present. She found them all, twelve in number, seated at the supper-table, and returned to the kitchen without betraying her anxiety. As soon as she had given the cooks and pantry-maids the necessary orders, she retraced her steps, with evident composure, to the lighted-up hall, withdrew the bolts from the front door, according to the hospitable usage of the house, and desired two only of her handmaidens to remain with her. They sat down, as usual, to their sewing-table, and drew forth the various articles of feminine handicraft they were busied upon. One of the maidens was a young, lively girl, always full of news, and having much to tell. She looked surprised at the numerous lights, and the sumptuous preparations, and asked, inquisitively, who were the guests expected so late, and with such unusual state.
"I know not," answered Ingé, in an indifferent tone. "But tell us something new, little Elsie," she added, hastily, and seemingly to amuse herself. "Have you heard anything lately concerning your sweetheart? Does he come over to take you away this summer?"
"It will be some time to that yet, lady," replied Elsie, and immediately broke off into her favourite topic. "He cares more about his valiant master, at Möllerup, than about me, or all the girls in the world. Since he has been with the marsk, in the Swedish war, he has become somewhat proud; but I don't blame him for that: he can still say he has helped to pull a king off his throne. You open your eyes, lady; but it is, nevertheless, true and certain. Was not the Swedish king dethroned? and by our valiant Marsk Andersen and his brave people? Mat Jute is the marsk's right hand: he is almost as tall as his master, and a daring fellow, you may trow. Shame fall it! were he not a poor peasant's son, he would one day be a knight. But if he does not soon let me hear from him," she continued, tossing back her head, "I shall be no leaning-stick, indeed. If he no longer cares for little Elsie, I shall bid him good-day, and look out for another. There are as brave and handsome fellows in Zealand, and I am not exactly going to fall sick for a Juttish landsknecht."
"You do not resemble your faithful namesake in the ballad," said Lady Ingé--"she who fretted herself to death for Sir Aagé."
"It must certainly have been a long time since that happened, you well may trow, my high-born lady. At present the world is wiser, and girls are not so simple. Were they to fret themselves to death, now-a-days, on account of young men's inconstancy, there would soon not be a living maiden in the country. Nay, nay," she continued, humming over a song:--