Chapter II: Part 2

"Pshaw! Kyste; who says thou art to suffer it, and leave him in the lurch?" interrupted Morten. "We all want to have him out; but we would not be as fools, trying to burst open the doors with their own thick skulls. Force will not help us here--do but as I bid thee, and keep thy courage until we want it."

"Morten is right, Kyste," began the other Lollander, with a hideous grin, which displayed his projecting teeth. "Thou art a mad bull, and art ever ready to push with thy horns. Why haste so desperately to get him out? he was a good and generous man of God while he was in power, 'tis true, but since he hath lain in Sjoeborg we have heard no great things of him, and have not been blessed with the sight of a stiver from his hand."

"Dull cod-fish!" replied Johan Kyste, hastily; "believest thou not what honest Morten hath vowed and promised us in the bishop's name? As soon as we get him out we are his steersmen at Bornholm, and get leave to catch what we can throughout the king's dominions."

"Hold, comrade," said Morten, correcting him. "It is only so long as the breach lasts between the king and the archbishop, that he gives you leave to drive that trade: it is only in the service of the church, and the pious bishop, that it may be lawful and Christian for a time; afterwards ye must content yourselves with what he gives you of his own, and lead quiet lives: but ere this day twelvemonth, you may feather your nests finely. Now begone, and neglect not what ye have taken upon ye, for the sake of other desperate pranks! I will not have you longer with me: if any one caught me in such fair company, they might take a fancy to hang me up by the side of you, for honest companionship's sake."

"Ho! ho! wouldst _thou_ play the lordling, Morten?" said the one-eyed; "what higher honour couldst _thou_ look for, thou turnspit!--But hark! what was that? are there hunters in the wood so early?"

The sound of hunting-horns, the tramp of horses, and the baying of hounds, was heard in the neighbourhood: the three wanderers hastened forward a few paces, but soon suddenly sprang aside in different directions.

"S'death! the king and all his courtiers!" exclaimed Morten, sheltering himself behind a large beech tree by the road side, while both his suspicious-looking comrades hid themselves among the thick brushwood.

A numerous hunting train drew near; at the head rode the young king, between the Drost and the Marsk: it was a noble sight to see the young chivalrous King Eric on horseback. He rode a tall milk-white horse, which seemed proud of its burden, and often fell into the artificial dancing-pace to which it was used in the tilt and tournay. Its bridle and saddle accoutrements glittered with gold and precious stones: the silken rein with which the king managed his steed was the only compulsory means to which it would submit; the slightest touch of the golden rowel in the king's spur caused it to rear almost upright, and for any other than the king it seemed rash and dangerous to bestride the proud animal. The king himself was a noble-looking youth, with a manly and determined, almost a stern, cast of countenance; but his long fair locks imparted a softness to this expression, which, in Eric's milder moods, called to mind the portraits of the Saviour's best beloved Apostle, leaning his head on his Master's breast. The young king had a dignified and chivalrous deportment, the effect of which was heightened by the almost dazzling splendour of his attire, which appeared indeed unsuited to a hunting party. The tall white plume in his hat sparkled with small silver stars; and the green hunting dress, bordered with ermine, was so richly broidered with silken lions, and golden hearts, that it resembled a shining suit of armour.

The splendour in which the young king appeared to delight was also conspicuous in his train. Drost Aage, who rode at the king's right hand, was of the same age with King Eric, and had not yet attained his twenty-second year. He had been the king's playmate and confidant from childhood upwards, and now possessed his entire confidence and favour. There was a mild but almost melancholy seriousness in the expression of Drost Aage's countenance, which gave him the appearance of being older than the king. He had thrown his dark blue mantle over the back of his smoking palfrey, by way of covering; and his rich silken dress was besprinkled with the foam of the king's restless and chafing steed, upon which he appeared to keep a watchful eye.

Marsk Niels Oluffsen, who rode at the king's left hand, was a tall strong-built man, of about thirty years and upwards, with a sharp, rough, warrior-like countenance, and stiff deportment. Next to Drost Aage, he was the king's most indispensable counsellor, and was an exceedingly brave and doughty knight; but there was a tinge of haughtiness and severity in his looks and manner which frequently aroused the feelings of independence, and wounded the self-love, of his inferiors. Even the king and Drost Aage, who were fully his equals in knightly prowess, and far surpassed him in tact and talent, often felt unpleasantly repulsed by his rough and blunt bearing, of which he was himself so unconscious that nothing astonished him more than whenever his uncouth roughness and self-confidence drove friends as well as enemies from him.

Among others of the king's train were two celebrated German minstrels--Master Rumelant, from Swabia, and Master Poppe the Strong, who, in their national dress of German minstrels, attracted much attention. Master Rumelant's stature was insignificant, but he had a lively and enthusiastic expression of countenance; he was a lover of argument, into which he was ever ready to enter with warmth and vehemence, especially on theological subjects, on which he entertained his own very peculiar opinions. His countryman, Poppe the Strong, well deserved his cognomen: he was a gigantic figure, with long coal-black hair and beard. His appearance often terrified old women and children, by whom he was even sometimes taken for a wizard. He spoke in a tone of emphatic decision, which would have better beseemed a commander-in-chief. He rode a lean grey horse, and always wore a black feather in his hat, in token of a sorrow he desired should be noticed and respected by others. These two strangers had been for some time the honoured guests of the young Danish monarch, who himself possessed a knowledge of the arts, and showed special favour to talented artists and men of learning. The king was also attended on this excursion by the famous Danish philosopher, Petrus de Dacia, who was accounted the greatest astronomer and arithmetician of his time, and was as renowned for his theological learning as for his eloquence and profound knowledge of Greek and Latin philology. Clad in his black canon's dress, he rode a quiet palfrey, between the two German minstrels; and always acted as mediator when, in the heat of argument, they became vehement, and seemed disposed to exchange hard words. He was still in the prime of life: on his journey through Germany he had become acquainted, at Cologne, with Christine Stambel, the nun, so renowned for her sanctity; and the enthusiasm with which he always spoke of this lady would have subjected him to the suspicion of a secret passion, had he not in his writings, as well as in his conversation, lauded with still greater enthusiasm the blessed Virgin Mary, as preeminent in beauty and sanctity, and exalted her to supreme rank among the saints in the calendar. He had proved, with irresistible eloquence, that the gracious confidence the Lord showed to St. Peter, in intrusting him with the care of his flock, was even vouchsafed in a far higher degree to St. John, the beloved apostle, who, as the Lord's best-loved disciple, was appointed the protector and guardian of the blessed Virgin.

His vehement theological controversy on this point with the learned and famous Aldobrandino Papparonus Venensis, of the Dominican order, was in a great measure the foundation of the esteem in which he was held by the learned. It was only when the conversation turned on this his favourite theme that his equanimity was ever disturbed; excepting when this occurred, his discourse was calm, clear, and collected. The latent energy which lay in his full and ardent eye, with its expression of somewhat visionary enthusiasm, was calculated to inspire kindly attention and confidence, and (what was a phenomenon among the learned of his time) he was altogether free from pedantry and pride.

The king and his train now approached the cross road and the tree behind which Morten had concealed himself: from this spot opened the finest view on Esrom lake. "Halt!" said the king, springing from his horse: "this is a lovely spot; we will tarry here and take our repast. They will surely come this way from Elsinore."

"No doubt they will, my liege," answered Marsk Oluffsen, while he and the Drost dismounted at the same time from their horses, and gave them into the charge of the king's groom. "Here lies the high road to Esrom and Sjoeborg. But, if I know the margrave right, he will not ride through Elsinore ere all the pretty maidens are awake and can admire his fair presence and horsemanship. As yet, his head is full of nought but love adventures and such nonsense."

"Call you love 'nonsense,' my brave Marsk?" interrupted the king. "Do you forget I am a bridegroom? and I trust not one of the coldest."

"Bridegroom, my liege?" answered the Marsk: "in Danish we call no man a bridegroom until his marriage day, and much must be done ere that day comes."

"Much?" rejoined the king, and his joyous animated countenance became suddenly stern and grave--"well! much may be done in a short time, but if they make the time too long, the day I long for may come when I will."

"The Lord and our blessed Lady forbid!" said Drost Aage, in an under tone, casting a glance at the king, full of anxious and heartfelt sympathy.

"Let the horns play, Aage," said the king, as if desirous to prevent more exclamations of this kind, which seemed to displease him. "The day will be fine: we will begin it joyously."

At a signal from the Drost, the musicians, who followed the hunting train, struck up the air of the well-known ancient ballad of "Axel Thordson and Fair Valborg,"[8] which they knew was a favourite with the king.

"Well, this is sweet music if it be not lively," said Eric: "where are Rumelant and Poppe? 'tis pity they cannot sing Danish; their skilful lays are but ill-suited to these tones."

"They are disputing again on spiritual matters," said the Marsk. "They are better fitted for a council of clerks than a hunting party."

"Let us listen," said the king: "I dare wager Master Poppe is in the right; but Master Rumelant nevertheless will be victor in the controversy."

While the music continued, and the attendants converted a low pile of wood into a table for the repast, the king's attention was attracted by the dispute of the two eager minstrels: each stood with the bridle of his horse in his hand, and spoke in a loud tone, while the grave Master Petrus sat calm and attentive on his palfrey, gazing on the lake.

"I will defend my opinion before the whole body of clerks, and all true believers in Christendom," said the vehement little Rumelant, striking his saddle with the handle of his whip as he spoke: "our sinfulness is assuredly better security for our salvation than all our paltry virtue--that is as true as that our blessed Lady's prayers avail in heaven, and she shows us no _favour_ when she obtains grace for us; she shows us love and _gratitude_, which she is downright owing us for our sin's sake, for it is not the world's virtue, but its sin alone, she hath to thank for all her honour and glory."

"What are you driving at, my good Master Rumelant?" shouted the gigantic Master Poppe. "How is the holy Virgin honoured by our being a set of sinful scoundrels? that is no honour to us, or any one else."

"Not so, my self-sufficient sir!" shouted his opponent; "truly the case is clearer than the sun: it is assuredly not of our perfection we should boast, but, on the contrary, of our weakness. Would our dear blessed Lady ever have become that she became, had not Adam and Eve sinned, and all of us sinned too in them?"

"No, assuredly not, my dear friend: but how the devil----"

"Ergo, she hath man's sin to thank for her honour and glory! and ergo, she would be most ungrateful were she not to protect sinners, and bring us all likewise to honour and glory for our sin's sake."

"You drive me mad. Master Rumelant," shouted Master Poppe, stamping in wrath; "I know not what to answer you, but you are wrong, by my soul! as I will, like an honest German, show you with my good sword if you desire it. What if I should now commit the sin of slaying you on the spot, would the blessed Virgin bring me to honour and glory because _of that_? or would it be so small a sin that it could not be imputed to me as a great merit?"

"Worthy sirs," interrupted Master Petrus, gravely, "talk not of spiritual things with sophistry, or in an angry spirit; least of all of our blessed Lady, who is truth and heavenly calm itself. You exchange spiritual for temporal weapons, Master Poppe; and you darken the fountain of light, Master Rumelant, when you would make grace to proceed from sin on earth, instead of from incomprehensible love and mercy in God's kingdom."

"It seems to me it is of sin and grace those learned disputants are talking," said the king, seating himself by the side of Drost Aage on the trunk of a tree at a little distance. "Well, that is a never-ending chapter, and truly one I ought to reflect on when I wend to Sjoeborg."

"Most certainly, my liege," answered Aage, looking with glad sympathy on the king's noble countenance. "When we think on the great mercy we all need, we should wish rather to be able to forgive our enemies than to execute the most lawful sentence upon them."

"_Him_ thou meanest will I not forgive throughout all eternity!" burst forth the king impetuously. "He sat chief in council among my father's murderers, he ought to sit lowest among criminals in my kingdom. If the pope will not condemn him, _I_ will. His blood I ask not, but outlawed and dishonoured shall he remain all the days of his life."

"The pope, however, hath alone the right to pass sentence on him, my liege," observed Aage. "So long as he remains captive here he cannot defend his cause before his lawful tribunal, therefore it seems to me but reasonable----"

"No, Aage!" interrupted the king, "neither just nor reasonable would it be to let loose the captive murderer, that he may perjure himself, to go forth free and honoured among his equals; but it were _wise_ perhaps for my own peace and happiness."

"And perhaps for state and kingdom also," replied Aage. "This much is certain, my liege: so long as that dangerous man is detained captive at Sjoeborg, neither Drost Hessel nor Counsellor Jon can obtain the dispensation for your marriage; and if I understood the wily Isarnus aright, he is already privately empowered by the pope to enforce the unhappy constitution of Veile against both you and the kingdom."

"And were it so," said the king, rising, "think'st thou I and the kingdom would be really harmed by it? Would Denmark's bishops and priests dare to excommunicate their king, and all their countrymen? Hast thou not thyself, because of thy love to me, been for two years already under the ban of the archbishop? And art thou not well and sound notwithstanding? Hath any priest in Denmark dared to shut the church door against thee when thou camest by my side, or to deny thee the holy sacrament in my presence?"

"My sentence is not yet confirmed by the holy father," said Aage; "and yet, my liege! I shudder, notwithstanding, to think of it--many of my noble countrymen regard me with looks which sadden and well nigh dismay me. The thunderbolts of the church are dreadful even in the hand of the chained criminal---they would have crushed me to the earth, did I not even yet hope that the ban, which a regicide hath proclaimed against me, is not accounted of by the merciful Lord in heaven. The holy father also will surely be moved by the righteousness of my cause, and by your intercession in my behalf, to recall it."

"He shall, he must do so," answered the king with warmth, "or I will teach thee to defy the might of injustice--perhaps also, my faithful Aage, I and all Denmark may have to share thy fate! but, with the help of the Lord and our blessed Lady, we will not therefore be cast down, or stoop to humiliation. I stake my life and crown upon it!"

"For heaven's sake, my liege!" exclaimed Aage, in alarm; but what he was about to utter was suddenly cut short by a significant look from the king, who, at that moment, had caught a glimpse of a round ruddy face, peering forth with a look of rapt attention from behind the tree beside which they were standing. "Who is that?" asked the king. "It is none of our huntsmen--art thou playing the spy, countryman?"

"A stranger!" exclaimed Aage; "come hither; who art thou?"

"Would ye aught with me, good sirs?" said Morten, the cook, stepping forward. "I thought ye spoke to me. I am deaf, ye must know; if ye have any commands, ye must shout at the top of your lungs."

"Who art thou?" asked Aage, raising his voice, while he gazed on him with a searching look. "What wouldst thou here?"

"_Fear_?" said the cook, assuming a simple look. "I will not deny I was somewhat afraid of your horses, and cared not to meet them on a fasting stomach."

"A poor crazy fellow," said the king, "let him go his way in peace, Aage; had he even heard what we spoke of, what would it signify?"

"Yes, by my troth, horses do signify something!" said Morten, looking at Eric with evident interest. "The white horse signifies victory and speedy judgment on the Lord's enemies--says Father Gregory."

"So much the better!" said the king, gaily, giving him a couple of gold pieces. "Go thy way in peace, I would fain hope thou hast spoken truth in thy simplicity. The white horse is mine."

"But the dark red signifies rebellion and the yellow pestilence," continued Morten, seemingly touched, as he received the king's gift, and kissed his hand. "Mark, it was therefore I got frighted, when I saw ye between those two beasts. I am otherwise a poor sinner, at your service. I am going a pilgrimage for my own and other folks' sins. I will now pray for a blessing on you, noble sir!"--so saying, he strode hastily across the road, and disappeared in the wood.

"How would he interpret the red and the yellow horse?" said the king, gravely. "Those pious men of the cloister fill our country and people full of superstition."

"The fellow perhaps was neither deaf nor half-witted," answered Aage; "to you he naturally said fair words, in order to escape. Our stern Marsk is not liked by vagrants; the bay horse he rides to-day is one he lately got in exchange from your brother Junker Christopher. My cream-coloured horse is well known, and since I fell under the church's ban the people look on me as the emblem of pestilence and misfortune by your side."

These serious comments on the cook's words were now interrupted by the sudden baying of the hounds, which dashed forward in couples towards a thick bush of white thorn, in full cry.

"Game! game!" shouted the huntsman; but, instead of the supposed deer, the two concealed wanderers sprang out of the bush: they had cast aside their peasants' mantles and their bundles, in order the more easily to save themselves by flight in their light cuirasses, but by so doing they had betrayed themselves, and awakened suspicion. By order of the Marsk they were instantly seized, and brought before the party of hunters.

"What means this?" called the king in surprise: "we are not come hither to hunt men."

"A couple of deserters from your Lolland horsemen, my liege," answered Marsk Oluffsen. "I know them; we have long been on the look-out for them; it is they whom the Count of Lolland hath sought after as robbers and murderers."

"Then send them to Flynderborg[9] to await their doom!" commanded the king. "What would they here! they shall be strictly brought to account."

The captured deserters were instantly led off to be bound and conducted to the fortress. They had until now stood still and downcast, like convicted criminals; but, on finding they were to be bound, they suddenly started forward and defended themselves with all the desperation of despair. They wounded three of the king's huntsmen with their daggers, and, amid the confusion and tumult occasioned by their unexpected onset, contrived to tear themselves loose, and instantly plunged into the lake. Some hunters pursued them on horseback, and a couple of hounds, trained to hunt the wild-duck, were let loose after them; but the fugitives dived and swam with such skill and vigour that none could see them until they landed on the opposite shore of the lake, where they quickly disappeared in the brushwood.

The king and his train had gone down to the water's edge to look at this singular sight. Some hunters were ordered to ride round the lake, in order if possible to overtake the fugitives. Drost Aage would also have despatched some one after the pretended deaf man, whom he now believed to be in league with the deserters.

"No!" said the king, "he shall not be pursued. I use not to put gold into a man's hand one hour, and fasten iron round it the next."

The party now returned to partake of the repast which was spread for them. As soon as they had refreshed themselves they mounted their horses, and were about to proceed further, but the sound of hunting-horns was now heard on the road from Elsinore, and three riders in rich attire, with several knights and huntsmen, approached at full gallop. It was the king's brother, Junker Christopher, with the young Margrave Waldemar of Brandenborg, who was at this time the king's guest, and the brave Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, who had lately entered the king's service as commander of the army. They had been at Elsinore, where Prince Christopher had received a Swedish royal embassy on the part of the king. The margrave, it was said, had accompanied him for his amusement, and to enjoy the beautiful scenery of Elsinore, but had in reality joined the expedition at the request of Prince Christopher, who anxiously courted the young margrave's friendship. The prince seemed inseparable from him, and generally contrived to secure his companionship whenever he was charged with any important mission by the king, that it might give him opportunities, which he eagerly sought, of raising his consequence in the eyes of the people.

Prince Christopher, or the Junker, as he was generally called, was two years younger than the king. Though tall and strongly built, his figure was far from being so well proportioned as his brother's. His large features and long visage, shaded by coarse long black hair, had a gloomy and sinister expression, which reminded the people but too much of his detested father. His brother, the king, on the contrary, bore a greater resemblance to his mother, the fair and talented Queen Agnes, who, during the king's minority, had been for the most part at the head of state affairs, but who now led a happy private life with her second consort, Count Gerhard of Holstein, at the castle of Nykjoeping. The popularity which the chivalrous King Eric had enjoyed from his childhood appeared little pleasing to his brother, and many believed that the prince secretly exerted himself to form a powerful party of his own in the country. In the event of the throne becoming vacant, he was in fact the member of the royal house who might first expect to be called to the crown, but of this there was no reasonable prospect. Notwithstanding that some differences had existed between the brothers on the affair of the archbishop's imprisonment, King Eric was so far from showing any mistrust of his brother, that he even promoted his consequence by investing him with considerable fiefs in the country. But Drost Aage strongly suspected the prince of entertaining ambitious and treacherous projects, and the Drost's suspicions of Christopher were rather increased than diminished by the zeal with which, the prince seemed to enter into the negociations respecting the king's marriage. As well on this subject, of such moment to the king, as on that of the Swedish King Birger's marriage with the king's and Christopher's sister Merete, there were at this time frequent communications between the Swedish and Danish court. The young King of Sweden was only in his sixteenth year, and wholly dependent on his state council, which was composed of men of very opposite opinions, and Drost Aage feared that Prince Christopher's object in receiving the embassy was to increase if possible the obstacles to this double alliance. Aage was, however, deterred from imparting his doubts to the king by the fear of occasioning a dangerous misunderstanding between the brothers; and Eric was so far from suspecting his brother of any dishonourable design, that he considered his anxiety to meet the Swedish embassy as a proof of fraternal affection. The young king welcomed both Christopher and the margrave with much friendliness; and as soon as he had greeted them, and the gay Count Henrik, turned towards the Swedish ambassadors, who, with some Danish knights, followed the princely comers. In the most dignified of the two Swedish nobles Eric joyfully recognised King Birger's faithful counsellor, the Swedish regent and Marsk, Sir Thorkild Knudson, a tall middle-aged man, of a grave and noble countenance; but it was not without a feeling of uneasiness that the king beheld his companion, a withered shrunken figure, whose cold and wily countenance wore a perpetual smile, and whose grey, staring ostrich-like eye had an expression of sinister scrutiny. It was the Swedish statesman and Drost, Sir Johan Bruncke, who, next to Thorkild Knudson, was the most influential statesman in Sweden, and appeared to stand as high in favour with the weak King Birger as with his ambitious brothers, while he gained a knowledge of the individual foibles of each, and well knew how to work upon them for his own advantage.

When the king had greeted the strangers, he proceeded with his augmented train to Esrom monastery, where he conversed with the ambassadors, and received letters from King Birger, Princess Ingeborg, and his sister Merete, who, according to an earlier agreement, had been brought up, as the future Queen of Sweden, at the Swedish court. Eric seemed unusually joyous and animated after he had perused these letters. His anxiety to hasten his marriage, and to have it fixed for the ensuing summer, had met with the entire approbation of the royal house of Sweden, and Princess Ingeborg's letter breathed the most tender and devoted affection.

The difficulties and objections stated by the ambassador principally regarded the misunderstanding with the court of Rome, and the dispensation which was yet withheld, to which the king, misled by the ardour of his feelings, did not attach the importance it deserved.

He invited the ambassadors to be his guests for some weeks, as he hoped very shortly to remove all difficulties. The afternoon was spent pleasantly in hunting, and in the evening the king, with the whole of his train, repaired to Sjoeborg, where several cars, conveying the cooks of the royal kitchen, and domestics of every description, had arrived during the day.

CHAP. III.

The ancient fortress soon presented a scene of splendid festivity. The spacious halls glittered with regal pomp, and resounded with the stir and bustle which are the accompaniments of a court. With the exception of the tower, the whole of the castle had been recently fitted up as a royal residence. The king's principal counsellors had accompanied him, and though he occasionally hunted, he did not therefore neglect state affairs, which frequently occupied him until the night was well nigh spent.

The king never inquired after the captive archbishop, whom he appeared to have forgotten. A reconciliation, on suitable conditions, with this important personage, was, however, doubtless the secret object of the king's sojourn at Sjoeborg. The adjustment of this vexatious affair was never of more consequence than at this juncture, as it was not only a present hindrance to his marriage, but threatened to prove dangerous both to state and kingdom. The king, however, was desirous that no one should know the real purport of his visit, least of all the captive archbishop, who would probably take occasion thereby to raise his demands to the uttermost. Besides, Eric himself appeared not to have decided what course to pursue in this matter. Although revenge had never been his failing, and on the contrary he had often manifested the most generous temper, the remembrance of his father's murder had rendered him stern and almost implacable towards everyone connected with the regicides, and he felt it was impossible for him to make the first advances towards a reconciliation with Archbishop Grand. He apparently expected the haughty captive would himself petition for an interview, and pave the way to reconciliation by a humble acknowledgment of his guilt. One week after another, however, passed away, without any thing of this kind taking place. The number of guests was daily increasing at Sjoeborg. The presence of the Margrave of Brandenborg and the Swedish ambassadors, as well as that of the hunting party and Prince Christopher's retinue, imparted an appearance of life and gaiety to this otherwise dreary castle, which almost painfully contrasted with its gloomy destination, and the many dark recollections connected with the place.

One day in November, a singular procession approached the castle of Sjoeborg. From two Hanseatic merchant vessels, which had anchored off the fishing station, there landed a number of foreign seamen, who, carrying the Rostock flag, and with large broad swords at their sides, proceeded to the castle, amid the dissonant sound of pipes and trumpets. At the head of the procession marched a tall stout man, in a burgher's coat of fine cloth, trimmed with broad borders of costly fur. It was the rich trader, Berner Kopmand of Rostock, well known at the great fairs of Skanoer and Falsterbo, whither he was wont to bring rich cargoes of cloth and costly spices. He was notorious for his authoritative and overbearing deportment, and for the ostentatious pomp by which he sought to acquire the reputation of a merchant prince. By his side walked the almost equally noted Henrik Gullandsfar of Visbye, also one of the most influential Hanseatic merchants, and an adroit and politic negociator between the Hanse towns and the northern princes,[10] They announced themselves at the castle as Hanseatic ambassadors, and were admitted into the upper hall, while their train was served with refreshments below.

A long conference took place between the king and the foreign merchants, in the presence of the Drost and council, during which Berner Kopmand was especially loud tongued, and the king preserved his patience for an unwonted length of time. The great privileges which had been granted by the king to the Hanseatic towns four years before, and which he had since augmented and confirmed at Nyborg, had not satisfied the expectations of the Rostockers; who demanded besides, the recognition of their self-assumed right, to pronounce and execute sentence of death on board their own vessels upon every Danish subject who had injured them, and fallen into their hands. The Vandal towns, together with the merchants of Mecklenborg and Lubec, were unanimously agreed, on their own responsibility, and without distinction, to hang every knight and noble who should molest them on their journeyings through Germany.

"Enough," said the king, at last, breaking off the conference, and rising in wrath, "I wanted but to hear how far ye would push your impudent demands, and therefore let ye have your say. This is my answer. My former promise to the towns I have hitherto kept; if they content ye not, we Danes may easily learn to fetch what we want from foreign lands, and export what we want not. When guests and strangers are injured here they can complain; there is law and justice in the land; but they who take the law into their own hands on Danish ground or on the Danish seas shall be condemned as traitors and robbers, whether they be knight or burgher, whether they be native or stranger." So saying, the king turned his back upon the merchant ambassadors. Without heeding their angry looks, he hastened to join his princely guests, and the Swedish lords who awaited his coming, to set out on a hunting expedition, and left the Hanseatic burghers to the care of the Drost.

The incensed merchants instantly quitted the castle with their followers, who had become intoxicated and unruly during their stay in the lower hall. The Marsk (to the merchants still greater annoyance) had taken upon himself to disarm them, as with bold presumption they had ventured on liberties which outraged both law and custom. Their weapons, however, were returned to them on reaching the shore, whither Drost Aage and some other knights accompanied them, with cold courtesy, partly to protect them from the assembled rabble, which had crowded round the intoxicated seamen, to gaze at and deride them. On their way to the strand the wrathful traders spoke not a word, but the blood appeared ready to start from Berner Kopmand's crimson visage, while there was a calm cold smile on the countenance of Henrik Gullandsfar.

When these important personages, with their reeling train, had entered the boat, and pushed off from the shore, in order to row to their ships, the portly Rostocker suddenly raised his voice, and shouted with unrestrained wrath and bitterness, "Bring King Eric Ericson our parting greeting, Sir Drost! Tell him from me, Berner Kopmand of Rostock, and from Henrik Gullandsfar of Visbye, in our own and in the name of the great and mighty Hanse towns, that we threaten him with deadly strife, as the enemy of our liberty and of all noble burghership!"

Henrik Gullandsfar nudged his colleague's elbow in alarm; but the proud choleric Rostocker continued, "Tell the King of Denmark, dearly shall he rue the scorn and contempt he hath this day shown us; he shall rue it, as surely as I am called the rich Berner Kopmand of Rostock! and as surely as I am the man to ask what is the price of this state and country, and how many pounds a king is worth, in our times, when the lightnings of excommunication play above his head!"

"Such greeting and defiance you may yourself bring my liege and sovereign," answered Aage, "if you fancy being sent back to Rostock with your hands tied behind you like a madman." So saying, he turned contemptuously on his heel, and returned with his knights to Sjoeborg. He afterwards joined the king and the hunting-party, but made no mention of this impudent defiance, which, though it seemed to him indeed to be paltry and powerless, he yet could not but regard as a striking instance of the insufferable pride of these monied aristocrats, and of the boldness with which the equivocal position of the king at the court of Rome had inspired the ill-affected and discontented.

After a hard chase the king rode back in the evening to Sjoeborg, with Drost Aage by his side. It was already dark. The cold November blast whirled the fallen leaves around them as they rode through the forest. The moon now rose behind the trees, shining with an unsteady light from out the flying clouds, through the leafless boughs of the forest. Behind them rode Marsk Oluffsen between Henrik of Mecklenborg and the Swedish regent, whose return to Sweden was fixed for the following day. Some hunters followed with the game caught in the chase. The rest of the train remained at Esrom monastery. The king, as well as Drost Aage, had been remarkably silent during the day. Since the arrival of the Swedish ambassadors, tidings had been daily looked for, but in vain, from the Danish embassy at the papal court. The king had not as yet taken any step towards a reconciliation with the captive archbishop. The journey of the Swedish ambassadors could no longer be delayed, and the obstacles to the king's marriage were not in any measure removed. The king and his faithful Aage now rode in silence by each other's side, apparently occupied with a presentiment which they could not banish from their minds, but to which neither liked to give utterance. It was the unfortunate St. Cecilia's day, which yearly brought with it to the king bitter recollections of the dreadful murder of his father at Finnerup. Marsk Oluffsen appeared not to remember what day it was; he jested merrily, after his fashion, with the German and Swedish guests, and lauded the pious and frugal manner in which King Birger's tutor, a certain Carl Tydsker[11], had a few years since restored his young sovereign to health, namely, by making the same vow to three saints at once, and afterwards drawing lots to determine to which of the good saints the vow should be kept. "I have since wondered," said the Marsk, laughing, "whether the victory over the Kareles[12] was thrown into the bargain, and was one of St. Eric's miracles; if so, I must acknowledge that Carl Tydsker was worth his weight in gold." By this unlucky jest the Marsk wounded at the same time the national pride of both his German and Swedish companions, without appearing himself in the least to perceive it.

"When my countrymen as well as myself serve your king here in the north, Sir Marsk," answered the brave Count Henrik, "I feel we deserve thanks, and not mockery, whether we help him with prayer or with sword." As he said this he struck his hand with some violence on the hilt of his sword.

The Marsk looked astounded. He was silent; but his perplexity increased on Thorkild Knudson, also addressing him in a serious tone. "Deem ye my victory over the brave heathen to be a miracle, Sir Marsk?" said the Swedish knight, with a calm smile. "Every thing is a miracle, if ye will. Without heavenly aid no victory is won on earth; that even your victorious King Waldemar was forced to acknowledge, yet that detracts not from his glory. I reckon the victory of Wolmar with the heaven-sent banner, to be that which gained him his fairest laurels. Our times are more chary of laurels. Sir Marsk! we will not rob each other of those we win with honour."

"By all the martyrs!" exclaimed the Marsk, with wide oped eyes and crimson cheeks, "who ever thought of offending either you or the brave Count Henrik? By my soul! I understand ye not," he continued in an impatient tone; "were my brains as dull as those of other people, I should be badly off indeed."

Count Henrik could not suppress a good-natured laugh at the absurd contrast between the Marsk's words and his angry tone. The misunderstanding was soon set to rights, and the conversation turned on former and recent warlike expeditions.

Without thinking of what might awaken bitter recollections in the king's mind, especially on this day, the Marsk now talked in a loud voice of the feud, with Marsk Stig, and the taking of Hjelm, at which he himself had been present, under David Thorstensen's banner.

"Yet you took not the daring Marsk Stig, either dead or alive," said Count Henrik; "'tis a strange story they tell here of his disappearance."

"His death, as his life, is shrouded in darkness and mystery," observed the Swedish knight. "With us also he hath a dreaded name."

"He was a great general, though," said Count Henrik. "I would have given much to have seen him. Was he as tall as Sir Niels Brock or the Duke of Langeland?"

"He had a finer presence than either Niels Brock or Duke Longshanks, if he measured not the same length. In that point, perhaps, both you and I might have been his match; but he was a very devil of a fellow,--truly, I believe neither Germany nor Sweden could boast of one like him."

"It is true we cannot boast of so highly esteemed a regicide," said Count Henrik, in an offended tone. "I desire not to rival his fame."

"But, by all the martyrs! what is the matter now?" exclaimed the astounded Marsk; "think ye I wished for aught better in the world than to have knocked out his confounded brains? Therefore I may surely say without offence, that neither you nor Marsk Knudson have seen his match."

"For that both Count Henrik and I should thank the Lord," said the Swedish knight solemnly. "The country which gives birth to such heroes may have to pay dearly for the boast. In our country we have storms also, at times; and alas! have to deplore the devastations they cause. It is the same case here probably? I suspect that Denmark hath dearly bought this sad experience, and learnt that one daring hand can make a deeper wound in a nation's heart than a whole century can heal."

A rather embarrassed silence ensued. The king had heard the conversation which had been carried on by the party behind him, and sighed deeply.

"It was on _this_ night, Aage," he said, in a low voice. "For nine years have I now borne Denmark's crown, and as yet I have not fulfilled that I vowed when I saw _him_ last."

"Whom, my liege?" asked Aage, absently.

"My murdered father!" said the king. "Rememberest thou not the hour they lifted the lid from his coffin in Viborg cathedral, and laid the sacrament on his bloody breast? It was then I bade him my last farewell. What I vowed to him was heard only by the all-knowing God; but assuredly I will either keep that vow, or lose my life."

"At that time you were, as I was, a minor, my liege. If your vow to the dead was other than a pious and Christian vow, you ought not now, as a knight and sovereign, to keep it."

Eric was silent. The moon shone full on his noble form, and as he sat calm and erect on his fiery steed, with the white plume in his hat, and the purple mantle over his shoulder, he almost resembled the chivalrous St. George, about to strike his lance into the dragon's throat. His manly countenance was pale, and expressive of lofty indignation. "That I vowed to the dead I must perform," he said, after a thoughtful pause. "A wise monarch should disperse the ungodly."

As the king uttered these words an arrow whistled past his breast, and stuck in Drost Aage's mantle.

"Murderers! traitors!" shouted the king, drawing his sword, while he reined in with difficulty his restless steed. Aage rushed with his drawn sword to that side of the king whence the arrow was sped; the three other knights rode up in alarm. "An arrow! robbers! traitors!" was echoed from mouth to mouth. They looked around on all sides of the moon-lit road, but no living being was to be seen.

"Accursed traitors!" shouted Marsk Oluffsen, and dashed in suddenly among the bushes on the left side of the road, where he had perceived some white object moving. A shriek was heard, apparently from a female voice, and the Marsk's horse started aside. At the same moment two young maidens, in the dress of peasant girls, with long plaits of fair hair hanging low over their shoulders, ran, hand in hand, across the road, while a man of almost giant stature, in the dress of a Jutland peasant, with a large broad sword in his hand, sprang forward, and placed himself between the Marsk and the fugitives.

"Keep ye to me!" shouted the man. "It was I--it was Mads Jyde who shot. I mean not to show a pair of clean heels: let the maidens flee, they have done no ill, but I am the man who dares tilt with ye all." So saying, he brandished his sword wildly around, and wounded the Marsk's horse on the muzzle. The animal reared and snorted.

"Yield thee!" shouted Oluffsen, vainly aiming to strike his daring and gigantic foe; "Yield thee captive, or thou diest!"

On hearing this affray, the king would instantly have hastened to the spot, where he saw swords glittering among the bushes in the moonshine; but Aage and the Swedish knight sought to detain him, while Count Henrik immediately surrounded the copse with the huntsmen, and dispatched a party of them after the fugitives. The Marsk had sprung from his intractable steed, "Cast thy sword from thee, stupid devil! Seest thou not thou art caught?" shouted he to the tall Jutlander.

"By St. Michael will I not," retorted the man. "None shall take Marsk Stig's squire alive; keep but your ground, Sir Knight, and thou shalt feel what Mads Jyde is worth." He now rushed frantically upon the Marsk, but the warlike chief was his superior in swordsmanship, and after a short but desperate fight the Jutlander fell, with his skull cloven, to the ground. He half-raised himself again, and tried to lift both his hands to his wounded head. "It was for thee, little Margaret," he gasped forth; "let but my master's children flee, and you are free to----" More he was unable to utter; his hands dropped from his head, and he fell back lifeless on the ground.

Meanwhile the king and his train had ridden to the spot. Some of the hunters had overtaken the fugitive maidens, and brought them captive into the circle of the king's train. All looked at them with surprise, for as they stood there in the moonshine they had the air of princesses in disguise. Their peasant's attire could not hide the delicate fairness of their complexions and their singular beauty. The taller of the two, who seemed also to be the elder, held the lesser and highly agitated maiden by the hand, as if to protect her. She was herself calm and pale. She looked in deep sorrow on the dead body of the man at arms, and appeared not to heed the standers by. The younger maiden seemed to be both frightened and curious. Though she could not be considered a child--for she appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age--her deportment was quite childlike. She hid herself, weeping, behind her sister, from the sight of the king and his knights, while she nevertheless occasionally peeped, with looks of eager observation, at their splendid attire.

"Speak out--who are ye?" asked the king, riding up to them.

The younger maiden drew back, and seemed preparing for flight, but the elder held her fast by the hand, and turned to the king, with calm self-possession, looking him steadily in the face with her large dark blue eyes. "King Eric Ericson," she said, "thine enemy's children are in thine hand: we are fatherless and persecuted maidens; no one dares to give us shelter in our native land; and our last friend and protector hath now been slain by thy men. Our father was the unhappy outlawed Marsk Stig."

"Marsk Stig's daughters!--the regicide's children!" interrupted the king, casting on them a look of displeasure. "Ye meant then to have completed your father's crime? Are ye roaming the country round with robbers and regicides?"

"We are innocent, King Eric!" answered the maiden, laying her hand upon her heart. "May the Lord as surely forgive thee our father's death, and the blood which flows here! Vengeance belongeth to the Lord. We wished but to quit thy kingdom."

"And ye would also have me depart this world," interrupted the king. "They must be taken to Kallundborg castle," said he to the huntsmen. "The affair shall be inquired into; if they can clear themselves they may leave the kingdom. Away with them; I will not look on them." So saying, the king turned his horse's head to avoid the sight of the fair unfortunate, who for an instant appeared to have softened his wrath.

No one had viewed the captive maidens with more compassion than Drost Aage. "My liege," said he, in an under tone, "how could the innocent maidens help----?"

"That the arrow slew none of us?" interrupted the king hastily. "I dare say they were not to blame for that. Wolf's cubs should never be trusted; they shall meet with their deserts. Away with them."

"Then permit me to escort them, my liege," resumed Drost Aage. "If a knight's daughters be led to prison, knightly protection is still owing them on their way thither."

"Well, go with them, Drost," answered the king aloud, waving his hand as he spoke. "They shall be treated with all chivalrous deference and honour; ye will be answerable for them on your honour and fealty." The king then put spurs into his impatient steed, and galloped off, followed by the Marsk, the Swedish knights, and the whole of the train, with the exception of Drost Aage and four huntsmen.

The elder of the captive maidens still held her sister's hand clasped in her own. She had approached the body of the slain squire, beside which she knelt, bending over his head. Drost Aage had dismounted from his horse, and stood close by with the bridle in his hand, and with his arm on the saddle-bow. It seemed as though the sight of the kneeling maiden had changed him into a statue.

The restless movements of the younger maiden did not attract his attention; his gaze dwelt only on the kneeling form: she seemed in his eyes as an angel of love and pity praying for the sinner's soul. He observed a tear trickle down her fair pale cheek, and could no longer restrain the expression of his sympathy. "Be comforted, noble maiden!" he exclaimed, with emotion; "no evil shall befall you. The man you mourn for may perhaps have been true and faithful to you, but (were he not struck with sudden madness) he fell here as a great criminal. Carry the dead man to Esrom," he said to two of the huntsmen; "entreat the abbot in my name to grant him Christian burial, and sing a mass for his soul." They instantly obeyed, and bore away the body. The kneeling maiden arose.

"Let me provide for your safety," continued Aage. "Ere your case has been inquired into according to law, you cannot quit the kingdom; but I pledge my word and honour King Eric will never permit your father's guilt to make him forget what is due to your rank and sex."

"If we are really your prisoners. Sir Knight," said the elder sister, "then, in the name of our blessed Lady, lead us to our prison; promise me only that you will not separate us, and that you will not be severe to my poor sister."

"Neither for yourself nor for your sister, noble maiden, need you fear aught like harsh treatment; and if you, as I hope and believe, can justify yourselves, your captivity will assuredly not be a long one."

"Our life and freedom are in the Lord's hand--not in man's," said the eldest sister, in a tone of resignation. "In this world we have now no friends. Our father's meanest squire sacrificed his life for us; he whom he made a knight forsook us in the hour of need," she added in a low voice.

Drost Aage now gazed with increased sympathy on the calm pale maiden, and was cut to the heart by the expression of dignified sorrow in her countenance, called forth by the consciousness of her desolate condition.

"I will be your friend and protector so long as I live!" he exclaimed with visible emotion. "That I pledge myself to be on my knightly word and honour."

"The Lord and our dear blessed Lady reward you for that," answered the fair captive. "You seem to wish us well; but if you are King Eric's friend, you must certainly hate us for our father's sake."

"Assuredly I am King Eric's friend!" said Aage, the blood mounting to his cheek as he spoke, "but I cannot therefore hate you. If you, as I fully believe, are innocent of what hath just now happened, as a knight and as a Christian also I owe you and all the defenceless friendly consolation and protection."