Chapter IV: Part 4

"Back!" said the king, and he was obeyed; but the door to the knights' hall remained half open, and ere the guard arrived to fetch the prisoner. Archbishop Grand had taken a bold resolve. He hastily seized the crucifix, upon which he had gazed so long, and with this holy symbol in his hand, before which all were forced to bow, he advanced with long powerful strides into the middle of the knights' hall; here he halted, and turned suddenly towards the king, who stood on the threshold, amazed at this sight, and seemed about to issue orders for the seizure of the prisoner.

"Anathema!" shouted the archbishop, in a terrific voice, and raising the chained hand which bore the crucifix. "King Eric Ericson of Denmark! I pronounce the sentence of excommunication upon thy head. I announce to thee, and every Christian here present, that thou art fallen under the church's awful ban--"

"What? audacious villain! seize--gag him!" exclaimed the king, stepping over the threshold.

"Anathema!" shouted the archbishop still louder.--"He who lays hands on me is accursed.--Thou art cast out of the community of believers and of saints.--Thou hast no longer any power over Christians, King Eric! In virtue of my holy office, and the apostolical authority of St. Paul, I give thee over, as the enemy of God and the church, to Satan, and to the destruction of the flesh." So saying, he described the stroke of forked lightning in the air with the crucifix, and looked around him with flashing eyes.

All stood as if petrified by terror and amazement. The king appeared once more about to speak; but he had grown deadly pale, and it seemed as if his voice was choked by anger. Ere he was able to speak, the archbishop again burst forth with a deafening voice, while he turned to the knights and courtiers: "Fly, Christians! leave the pestilent one! pollute not your souls by intercourse with the excommunicated one! accursed is now the hand which brings him food, accursed the servant who serves him with fire or water, accursed the tongue which comforts him with a single word, so long as his soul is given over to the Evil One. He who ten days hence still serves and obeys this foe of the church I give over with him to Satan and to the destruction of the flesh, that the soul may be saved at the day of the Lord Jesus! Amen!"

On finishing this speech he made a genuflexion, kissed the crucifix, and handed it to the chaplain of the castle, who stood trembling nearest him among the king's suite, and bent his knee, while he pressed this so fearfully abused symbol of blessing with a look of sorrow to his heart. "And now, excommunicated king!" added the archbishop, with a triumphant countenance, and with the mien of an exulting martyr, tearing the mantle from his emaciated breast, "now may'st thou, if thou darest, order to be torn asunder the church's anointed, who announced to thee the sentence of the Lord. My body is, perhaps, in thy power, but the spirit is God's, and his is the power throughout all eternity."

A death-like silence reigned throughout the hall, the greatest terror was depicted in the faces of the knights, while their eyes turned with sorrowing sympathy towards their excommunicated sovereign. It seemed for a moment as if the lightnings of excommunication had struck the young king with the power of real lightning, and smitten him with lameness. He had staggered back so dizzy that he was forced to support himself by the door-post; but he now summoned up all his strength, and stepped forward with quick and passionate strides among his knights and courtiers.

"A regicide stands in the midst of us, and would give us over to the Devil, to whom he himself belongs," he burst forth, in a tone of the highest exasperation; "he who is himself accursed presumes to pronounce the Lord's judgment upon men. On this unfortunate St. Cecilia's eve my father's blood cried aloud from the earth, and accused this criminal before the Lord's tribunal. His head should long since have fallen under the axe of the executioner, and now he would judge and excommunicate us; he would destroy my immortal soul, had he the power; but no! each word he hath spoken is lifeless and powerless--his curses fall back on his own guilty head. The Holy Father shall judge between us! The King of Denmark recognizes no sentence as lawful which is not confirmed by 'the Father of Christendom. Away with the miscreant!"

The knights and courtiers appeared able to breathe freely again, on hearing these words from the king. They looked on him with confidence and devotion, yet still appeared to hesitate, and no one prepared to seize the dreaded prisoner, who stood erect and haughty among them, and seemed to triumph in the spiritual power he had exercised even in chains.

"Hence with the criminal!" repeated the king; "until he recalls the ungodly ban he sees not the light of day. Guards! halberdiers! why tarry ye? hath this miscreant's words struck you deaf and lame? Fear ye to obey your liege sovereign?"

The guards and halberdiers now surrounded the archbishop, but with manifest trepidation. The terrific prisoner stood immoveable, with his eyes turned upwards, towards the roof of the hall, and no one as yet dared to lay hands on him. But the king again broke silence. "I still bear crown and sceptre," he exclaimed; "I shall know how to defend myself and my loyal subjects against this monster! I swore by my father's bloody head to uphold the rights of the crown and the insulted dignity of majesty against every power on earth whether spiritual or temporal, and by all the holy men![13] I will keep that vow. Will not the loyal Danish nation, will not Denmark's chivalry stand by me undismayed in my fight for truth and justice? Then, indeed, will Danish loyalty be a theme for mockery, and Danish courage for scorn. Are ye true and valiant Danish men, and do ye let yourselves be scared by a mad traitor into betraying your liege sovereign?"

All doubt and apprehension seemed now to have disappeared among Eric's knights and courtiers. The hall resounded with shouts and loyal acclamations. The archbishop vainly strove to speak again. The indignation against him was general, and without hesitation the guards laid hands on him to lead him back to prison. But ere they reached the door it opened, and Prince Christopher, accompanied by the Margrave of Brandenborg, entered with the papal legate between them, followed by their train of ecclesiastics and laymen. All started at the sight of the tall foreign prelate with his cardinal's hat and withered visage. He stepped with an authoritative air before the prince and the margrave, and bowed to the king, and towards all sides of the hall, in silence, and with the air of a superior, as if appropriating to himself the loud acclamations which were heard on his entrance, but which were now suddenly hushed. He seemed startled on perceiving the chained prisoner in the Cistercian mantle. He nodded, and the guard stepped aside. The captive archbishop felt himself suddenly freed from the sturdy grasp of the men-at-arms. "Gloria in excelsis!" shouted Grand, as he raised his fettered hands, and kneeled at the cardinal's feet. "Blessed be thou, thou messenger of the Lord!" he continued in Latin. "See here, how an archbishop in Denmark is treated! See, and judge, in the Holy Father's name, O thou, his high ambassador! I have, in virtue of my holy office, published the church's ban upon this presumptuous king, because of his defiance to the law of the Lord and the church! Confirm it in the Holy Father's name, Lord Cardinal--or see Archbishop Grand expire of wrath and ignominy at your feet!"

"Arise, my venerable brother, and be comforted," answered Isarnus, also in Latin. "I bring with me authority from his Holiness to enforce the constitution--'Cum Ecclesia Dacianae.' Read this document aloud to the king and the court, in the language of the country, worthy Abbot Magnus." As he said this he reached a large parchment letter, with the papal seal, to the aged Abbot of Esrom, who had accompanied him. The abbot opened it with a trembling hand, but as he glanced over it a flood of tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks.

"I _cannot_," stammered the old man; "he is my liege and sovereign! I conjure you, my lord, by the all-merciful Creator! use not the power here given you to our king's and our country's destruction. This is a matter which demands the highest consideration. This authority is not unconditional, either," These last words were spoken in Latin, and appeared to startle the cardinal.

The unexpected entrance of the papal legate at this critical moment, his singular appearance, as well as the mysteriousness of his conduct, and the speaking in a foreign tongue, had once more inspired the bystanders with a feeling of consternation which deprived them of the power of speech. Even the king appeared for some moments to have lost his self-possession and the consciousness of royal authority, while the attention of all present was rivetted upon the terrific stranger. Eric now stepped forward a few paces, and seemed about to assert his authority by a commanding address; but at the same moment the fettered archbishop snatched the document from the abbot's trembling hands. "Here is papal authority for ban and interdict," he cried, "praised be the Lord! his judgments are righteous. Enforce your authority, most reverend sir! Anathema and the church's ban upon the king, and those his accomplices in guilt!" So saying, he raised his fettered hands both towards the king and Prince Christopher, who appeared to be in great consternation at this sudden and unlooked-for blow.

"Not a word more here, on pain of instant death, impudent miscreant!" exclaimed the king, in a loud tone, and in the highest exasperation. "Take that mad criminal to prison, halberdiers! Let every one leave this place! We will inquire in our council with what authority this stranger is empowered to treat with the king of Denmark. When he proposes it, and it suits our convenience, we will talk with him in our private chamber." So saying, the king returned to his own apartment. Not another word was heard in the knights' hall; even the archbishop found it expedient to be passive as the two halberdiers and the guard approached to lead him out of the hall. All the knights and courtiers, as well as Prince Christopher and his train, departed in silence. The halberdiers who were on guard, alone remained behind. They snatched up their halberds, and ranged themselves in their customary order without the king's apartments. Abbot Magnus had also left the hall, and Cardinal Isarnus stood almost alone in the middle of the floor between his amanuensis and interpreter. He looked with surprise around the suddenly deserted hall.

It was not until he had announced himself through his interpreter in suitable form to the captain of halberdiers, and requested an audience with the king, that he was received with the demonstrations of respect due to a papal ambassador. His arrival was formally announced, and he was shortly afterwards admitted to a private interview with Eric.

What had passed had thrown every one into the greatest suspense and uneasiness, and an anxious stillness reigned in the castle. The foreign prelate quitted not the king's private chamber until the night was far advanced. The king did not make his appearance, but, according to his orders, the strictest court etiquette was to be observed. Arrangements were made in the castle for the protracted sojourn of the cardinal and his train. He was to be honoured as a princely guest. The return of the Swedish ambassadors was postponed. The following day another long and private conversation took place between the king and the papal legate. The presence of this dignitary, and his over-awing authority, banished all gaiety and cheerfulness from the castle.

CHAP. VII.

On the evening of the second day Drost Aage had not as yet returned from his expedition, as the protector of Marsk Stig's captive daughters. He had conducted them without impediment to the king's castle at Vordingborg; but as he was about to ride into the arched gateway he was attacked from behind, and dangerously wounded, by an unknown hand. Aage was carried, in a state of insensibility, into the castle, while his huntsmen vainly pursued his stealthy foe, in whom they thought they recognised the same tall horseman in peasant attire, and mounted upon the little Zealand horse without a saddle, whom they had several times seen on the road, but who always vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and who they conjectured must have followed their track by secret paths from Esrom.

The commandant at Vordingborg had received the wounded knight, with great alarm; he instantly recognised in him the young Drost, and the favourite of the king. As soon as Drost Aage had recovered his consciousness, he informed the commandant of the rank and position of the two ladies, and also that they were to be considered as state prisoners, for whose security he would be responsible, although their stay here was to be rendered as agreeable as under such circumstances it was possible to make it. The commandant instantly ordered the gates to be barred, and sentinels to be stationed; but he threw open the interior of the castle without reserve to his guests, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the king of what had happened.

Meanwhile the assembled party at Sjoeborg were in some degree tranquillised, when on the noon of the third day the king again made his appearance at table, where he sat, with a calm and almost cheerful countenance, between his brother Christopher and the papal legate. Their secret negociation seemed to have taken a friendly turn, and great reliance was placed in King Eric's manly sense and political wisdom. Report said that the Italian prelate seemed to bear our northern climate excellently well, and perhaps might not be disinclined to take up his abode here, if the king should come to an agreement with the papal see, and the archbishoprick of Lund became vacant by the deposition of Grand. It was conjectured that the formal annulment of the archbishop's authority, and of his own self-empowered sentence of excommunication, had been the subject of the king's conferences with the unfathomable Isarnus, and it was reasonably hoped that the cardinal would grant this important condition of the archbishop's release, ere the king fulfilled the demands of the pope. But some days elapsed without any apparent decision being taken. Meanwhile, no change took place in the condition of the captive archbishop, who remained in close confinement.

Although neither the king nor his loyal and devoted subjects recognised the validity of the sentence of excommunication pronounced on them by the archbishop, so long as it was not formally ratified by a papal decree, this awful procedure had nevertheless taken place, and with such publicity that it could not but be generally known. The rumour quickly spread throughout the land, and terrified the people. The threats against those who should not within ten days withdraw all help and companionship from the king had struck terror into many, and several of the domestics, and of the guard of halberdiers absconded from Sjoeborg. The tales recounted of the ecclesiastical captive's skill in the Black Art now contributed still more to alarm his guard. At every unusual sound from the dungeon in the night the turnkeys stole from their posts, and the bravest men-at-arms dared scarcely remain without the prison door, where with trembling voices they often sang valiant battle songs to keep up their courage. The prisoner was guarded with still increasing anxiety. A very suspicious rumour rendered watchfulness still more necessary. Some fishermen from Gilleleie, who supplied the castle with fish, had related in the kitchen that a foreign bark was constantly sailing to and from the coast. The persons on board appeared to be fishermen, and were busied during the day with nets and fishing-tackle, but during the night they landed, and a tall knight in disguise, accompanied by some seamen of suspicious appearance, were seen to lurk in the neighbourhood of the castle. This report had not indeed reached the ears either of the king or the Marsk, but orders were issued that the guard should be doubled in the captive's tower, and that the steward should answer with his life for the archbishop's security. The lower classes now believed that the king would pass sentence of death upon him, and command him to be executed.

With the expression of fear and anger in his countenance, as well as of fatigue from a night's watch, the steward one morning descended the stairs of the tower prison with the keys in his hand. "All folk seem possessed here," he muttered. "I shall now have to watch myself to death over that confounded Satan."

"Did I not always say so, master? He will drive us all crazed at last," sounded a merry well-known voice in his ear, and Morten the cook stood before him in the twilight at the bottom of the tower stairs.

"Morten! thou crack-brained vagabond! is it thou?" called the steward; "where in all the world hast thou been? Folk said thou wert surely bewitched, and gone to the devil, and I began almost to think so myself. The whole pack of them here are losing their wits, and one after another runs off from me. Speak, man! where the devil hast thou been?"

"Ah! dear master," sighed Morten. "Thank St. Hubert that you are so pious and virtuous, and condemn not a weak worldly-minded fellow who hath been forced to do hard penance for his sins' sake. Ye have doubtless observed how I delight in dancing and singing. In former days I was not afraid of a little drink, either; but on St. Vitus's day it behoves us to be cautious. As a punishment for my ungodliness in a drunken bout, I was afflicted with St. Vitus's dance, and I thought I should have danced for a whole year, as hath chanced to many a poor sinner before. Perhaps you or other virtuous folk have prayed for me, for I got off for a few weeks' sickness; but in all that time I was not able to give any account of myself, and I have so danced the country round that I can hardly hang together."

"Indeed!" answered the jailor, looking at him suspiciously; "hast thou had that sickness? It is a rare one, though, and many will have it that it is nought but an idle superstition."

"Dear master! remember ye not then how it seized Claus Spillemans last year? He ceased not dancing till he dropped dead in Sjoeborg streets."

"Well, that is true enough; he went mad, no doubt, on St. Vitus's day; but it was not upon _that_ day thou did'st kick up such a riot, and did'st run off from the turnkeys. Be honest, Morten! hast thou not suffered thyself to be seduced by the bishop to run errands for him? Thou hast tramped the country sturdily round, that I see right well, and if thou now hast a fancy to be hanged for thy zeal in the service, thou comest in the very nick of time; both the king and the Marsk are here, and when the one passes a sentence, the other is at hand to execute it."

"Dear pious master! what do you take me for?" answered Morten, putting on a look of astonishment. "Had I run errands for such a traitor I must have been stark mad indeed to come back again now, and let myself be hung for it. No, trust me, master, I am not so brutishly stupid. To tell you the whole clean out, I was drunk beyond all bounds that evening; whether it was St. Vitus's day or not I do not quite exactly remember, but I have had neither sense nor recollection since. I must have doubtless scoured the country round like a madman. I have now come to my senses for the first time, and found the way to Sjoeborg again. Here's been fine excommunicating work between the bishop and the king. If I can be of any use to you, say the word! I could break the archbishop's neck with the greatest pleasure in life if I could thereby save king and country. If you have any doubt of my honesty, I will only just fetch my traps, and take myself off with all reverence."

"No, stay; I will believe thee, because of thy honest face, Morten," said the steward, hastily, and casting a sharp look at him, while a new and daring thought seemed to flash across his hangman's soul. "I have never needed thee more than at this very time. My new cook hath also run off. I have only one turnkey left. I must myself be every thing and every where."

"That is more than can be required of any Christian soul, master. The Devil himself can hardly take that upon him."

"Drunk and mad thou must surely have been," muttered the keeper, still looking narrowly at him. "Hum! _so_ long a drunken fit, though, have I never heard the like of. St. Vitus's dance? Truly that is an ailment akin to madness; no man can answer for what he does in that state. Hum! since thou art come to thy senses again, Morten, I will even take thee again into service. In the day thou may'st be needed in the kitchen, and in the night--well, we can talk of that afterwards. Old Mads the turnkey is good for nothing; he hath now got his nephews to help him, and I count not on them either; and those foolish men-at-arms are afraid of being excommunicated or bewitched."

"If I can help you with the night watch that shan't stand in _my_ way," said Morten; "whatsoever I can do to plague and anger the bishop I do with hearty good will. I would only counsel you not to set me to watch in his chamber, for if St. Vitus's dance come over me I were in a case to dance to the devil with him. It is a kind of cramp, you must know, and I might easily squeeze the life out of whomsoever I get hold of."

"Well, well, Morten; there is no need for that. Thou art now perfectly well and reasonable," muttered the keeper, with a grisly smile. "I must have some one to help me, or I shall go mad myself. One misfortune follows another. The king is a violent man, and the junker has no great weight with him. It is an easy thing to get into trouble when one has a devil to watch, and stern masters to account to. Now comes that confounded report of the vessel at Gilleleie, which plys to and fro to help the bishop to flight."

Morten turned quite pale. "Our Lady preserve us!--say they so?" he exclaimed, hastily; "then, by my troth, master, there _is_ need of watchfulness; yet it is just as dangerous to loose as to tie a mad dog."

"It will cost me my life if he escapes, Morten. I have the king's own most gracious word for it. I never let the prison keys out of my hand. The king's people are on guard, but I dare not trust them. I carry my life in my hands. I will now depend upon thee. Come!" So saying, the agitated steward took Morten by the arm, and led him across the yard towards the kitchen. It was a fine clear winter's morning. It had frozen so hard during the last few nights that a part of Sjoeborg lake was covered with tolerably hard ice. As the steward and the cook crossed the castle yard they saw all the king's huntsmen, with horses and hunting equipments, waiting before the castle stairs, and the royal car drove up. "What is agog now?" asked the steward.

"We are off with the king to the chase at Tikjob," answered one of the hunters. "The great lord from Italy wants to go to Esrom. He will surely either ride, or be borne on our shoulders."

"When come ye back?" asked the steward.

"Faith, I know not," answered the huntsman. "To-morrow we shall have to go with the king to Esrom. There is a great council to be held there, they say."

"Then it surely concerns the life or death of him yonder," muttered the steward, pointing to the prison tower. Morten the cook became attentive, and stopped; but he soon hasted towards the kitchen door, where he stood, half concealed, as the door of the castle stairs opened, and the king and Prince Christopher came forth, and mounted their horses, together with the Marsk, the two Swedish lords, and a numerous company of knights. The king and his train halted, and when Cardinal Isarnus, with his famulus and his clerical train, also descended the stairs, the huntsmen and attendants bowed low whilst they took their seats in the royal car. The train, headed by the king and Count Henrik, then issued forth out of the castle gate, amid the joyous sound of the hunting horns. Morten continued standing by the kitchen door. He had gazed on the young chivalrous monarch with a mingled feeling of fear and admiring interest, and a secret struggle seemed passing in his mind, as his glance turned from the noble and kingly form which had just passed him, to the gloomy prison window from whence he thought he heard a distant and smothered sigh. The steward had already twice called to him without his hearing; he now called again, with a round oath. The cook hastily passed his hand over his face, and struck up, in a shrill voice, one of his merriest ballads, as, with jest and laughter, he joined the domestics in the kitchen. During the rest of the day a monastic stillness reigned in Sjoeborg castle. When the evening closed in the steward appeared unusually friendly and confidential, and treated his cook to a flagon of good wine from the king's travelling store. Before he sat down at the drinking table he had convinced himself with his own eyes that his dangerous state prisoner was under close keeping, and that the old turnkey and his comrade, as well as the guard without the prison-door, were at their posts. When he had fortified himself with some cups of wine, he began to unburden his heart to the cook. "I am an unfortunate man," he sighed forth. "I have not closed my eyes to sleep these three nights. Each time I shut an eye it seems to me the bishop hath fled, and I am dangling from the gallows. It hath not fared much better with the king himself," he continued; "if he now condemns him to death, despite pope and clergy, he and the whole kingdom fall into trouble. If he lets him slip hence alive, matters are just as bad. I once dreamed the bishop had hung himself in his chains. Oh! would it had pleased the Lord it had been so indeed!"

"A pious wish," answered Morten. "I would willingly lend a helping hand towards the fulfilment of that dream; of course, master, I mean in all pious secrecy; and I blame you not for this. In your case it would be almost a necessary act of self-defence, and, at the same time, a good deed for king and country. Is it not so?"

"Art thou mad, Morten! it might cost me my neck," muttered the steward; "for ought I care he may hang himself, in the Lord's name, whenever he pleases, if I only know nothing of it. If any good friend would lend him a helping hand, it might indeed, as thou say'st, save king and country, and deserve a rich and royal recompence; but I may thank my Lord and Maker if I can save my own life. Had I but a faithful fellow who durst watch in the chamber with him to-night I should sleep in quiet. Hast thou not courage enough for that, Morten?"

"Oh yes; why should I not, if I get well paid for it? If he gives me any trouble, it were an easy matter to make away with him, without any one seeing or knowing aught about it."

"Art thou serious, Morten? Hast thou really courage to----"

"To make an end of him, master?"

"Hush! No; I say not that. St. Gertrude preserve me from tempting any one to do that deed, even though it might be a benefit to state and country, and might make a poor fellow happy for life. No; that was not my meaning. Darest thou let me shut thee up with him to-night?"

"Yes, on one condition, master."

"What is it?"

"That you will not be wroth and complain of me if perchance you were not to find us to-morrow morning in the same trim as to-night."

"Pshaw, Morten; it matters not to me in what trim I find you. I will pay ten silver pieces for every night you watch beside him, and a hundred for the LAST."

"But even were that pious lord, through his witchcraft, to get loose after a fashion, I should surely get the blame of having let him slip."

"Ha, ha! thou art a merry wag, Morten," muttered the steward, with a horrible laugh. "The liberty thou canst give him, when I have locked the door after thee, shall not disturb my night's rest. Of course," he continued, with an uneasy and inquiring look, "thou must first let me search thy garments, to see that thou has not a file or any other tool with thee; that is a precaution I have ever used when I let any one watch with him in the chamber."

"That is but reasonable. You are a conscientious man." So saying, Morten pulled off his jerkin, and turned his pockets inside out. "But now I think of it, master, it won't do after all. If St. Vitus's dance should come over me."

"Pshaw! thou art quite well and hearty."

"But I am too hot-headed, master; and the bishop is wrath with me from former times. I have now and then plagued him a little, as you know, and should he take it into his head to insult me, or get hold of me, and I were forced to defend myself, it might cause a little stir, and set the guard and the whole castle agog."

"That needs not be. Thou art a bold fellow, Morten. Come! The guard shall not stand too near the door, and disturb thine and the bishop's rest, and shouldst thou get into a dispute with him about the state of souls after death, or such like learned matters, lay folks shall not be the wiser for that. Drink a cup of wine to a good night, and then let's away. I want rest, and so doth the bishop. It is late." Morten nodded, and drank.

With a horrible smile on his coarse hypocritical countenance, Jesper Mogensen snatched up a lantern, and descended the staircase leading to the prison door, accompanied by the cook. He paused once or twice with uneasiness and suspicion, and held up the light towards Morten, who followed him with a cheerful countenance.

"Thou look'st as well pleased as if I were leading thee to a jolly night revel," he muttered; "go on before. I cannot endure that rustling behind me."

Morten obeyed, and assumed a thoughtful look.

"Let not the guard smell a rat," he whispered, and pointed to a cord which was twisted round his waist. The keeper nodded, and seemed reassured. He ordered the guard to move further from the door, which he then half opened, and peeped in, holding the lantern before him. As soon as he had seen the captive lying quietly with his hands fettered, he pushed Morten into the chamber.

"A good and _quiet_ night," he said, with a grim smile, clapping to and locking the door behind him; he also carefully barred it without, and then descended the stairs. The nearest sentinel observed that he often looked timorously behind him, as if his own footsteps sounded suspiciously in his ear. "The stupid devil!" he muttered. "What he doth he shall himself answer for; it is no concern of mine."

When Morten entered the murky prison, he stood in silence, until the sound of the locking and bolting of the door had ceased, and until the hollow tread of the steward's iron-shod boots died away on the stairs; he then approached the captive's couch, and was about to speak, but he now heard singing and loud voices in the upper chamber. It was old Mads the turnkey making merry with his nephews and the young fellows from the village who were to keep watch with him. Morten listened in silence. He perceived from their inarticulate voices and drowsy songs, that the mead and Saxon ale he had secretly brought them had been greatly to their taste. Through a little hole in the ceiling above there fell a ray of light from their lamp upon the archbishop's couch, and lit up his long pale visage. He lay with closed eyes without stirring, apparently in a sound sleep. Morten seated himself upon the damp stone floor, and interrupted not his repose until the noise of the carouse had entirely ceased, and he heard in the stillness of the night how they were snoring overhead. "Sleep you, venerable sir?" he whispered, as he rose up from the floor.

"No, thou faithful servant of the Lord!" answered the archbishop, in a weak voice, and raised his head. "I and the Lord's vengeance do but _seem_ to sleep, until it is time to wake and act."

"Now is the time to show clean heels," continued Morten. "Is all ready here?"

"Long since. Thou hast tarried long; yet even that was an ordering of the Lord. I was destined even in my chains to become a chastising rod in the Lord's hand; but I was well nigh believing thou had'st failed me, or wert betrayed."

"You thought, then, I was either a fox or a sheep, reverend sir. Have you the rope ladder?"

"Here--but be cautious, Morten. Tie it to the thickest bar in the grate; that is secure. Take the others out; they are filed through--but make no noise! I can rid myself of the fetters. Thy file was blunt, but the Lord sharpened it in my hand. His angel hath struck mine enemies both deaf and blind."

"But now comes the _knotty_ point, pious sir," whispered Morten, as he lingered, with an ambiguous smile. "Now all depends upon whether the Lord's angel will help you still farther. Up to the window he hath indeed taught you to creep, but we have to descend thirty-six feet from thence to the tower wall, and then we still have that confounded castle wall besides. Over the moat and lake the Lord hath indeed laid a bridge. See you this cord? Were I now to strangle you with it I might perhaps make my fortune; but I am too pious a fellow for that. I will but fasten it to the slip knot, that we may be able to draw the ladder after us. I will go down first to aid you. Look now. I will answer for the ladder, if you can but keep your hold, till I can reach you from below. But----"

"With the Lord Almighty's help"--whispered Grand, in an anxious tone, and looking at the jolly cook, with a half suspicious glance--"assist me first up to the window, I am weary and weak. Now, what art thou thinking of, Morten? Haste, or we are betrayed."

"A little scruple has just entered my head, venerable sir," whispered Morten. "I am a good Christian, and I know well enough both you and the pope have my soul and the souls of all Christians in your pockets. You have saved my life, do you see, and therefore have I promised to free you, whatever it may cost; but I am also a Danish man, and you cannot ask that, for your sake, I should betray state and kingdom, or plunge our young brave king into misfortune. Had I seen _him_ sooner, and known he was so noble a lord, I might perhaps have thought better on what I promised _you_. I know you have excommunicated him, and given him over to the Devil, but by my soul he is too good for that, and if I am now to set you free you must promise me, by our Lady and St. Martin, that you will recall the ban, and do no harm to him or any other man in the country."

"Dost thou rave, Morten?" exclaimed the archbishop, greatly surprised and enraged; "would'st thou ape the tyrant, and prescribe conditions to me? If thou doest not that thou promised me, I will excommunicate thee also, and thou shalt be eternally damned."

"In that case, reverend sir," whispered Morten, hastily creeping out of the window to the rope ladder, with the loose end of the cord in his hand, with which he could slip the looped knot that fastened the ladder,--"In that case I will bid you good night, and take the ladder with me to hell."

"Morten! good Morten! betray me not," whispered the archbishop, in a beseeching tone, climbing with haste up to the window. "I will not deal harder by the king or any one here than I am compelled for the Lord's and the church's and my conscience sake."

"Then will you loose him from the ban as soon as you are free and in safety yourself?" asked Morten, still keeping his stand on the ladder.

"Yes, surely; yes, surely; only be silent, and help me."

"Then I will believe you for the present," whispered Morten, and crept down the ladder. Its last step was still ten feet from the ground, but the dexterous cook clung fast to it with his hands, and jumped down without any great difficulty. The archbishop had now also got out of the window, and with much effort held fast by one step, while he groped with his foot for the other. But on lifting his foot from the last step, to his great dismay he discovered that the ladder was much too short, and that in all probability his life would be endangered should he come to the ground without assistance.

"Help me, help me, Morten!" he entreated in a low tone. "In the name of the all-merciful Creator, help me!"

"Yes, if you swear to keep your word, on pain of excommunicating yourself to burning hell, venerable sir," answered Morten, extending his arms to catch him in case he fell.

"Yes, assuredly, by all the saints and devils!" stammered the alarmed captive; "only catch me; I must let go my hold!"

"Let go then! in the Holy Virgin's name!" whispered Morten; "if you are a pious man of your word you shall assuredly not dash your foot against a stone."

The archbishop now relinquished his hold of the last step of the ladder, and let himself drop, but though instantly caught in the cook's powerful arms, he was unable to repress a smothered burst of pain and sorrow, as his swelled feet struck hard against the stone pavement, and when Morten withdrew his support, he fell speechless and breathless to the ground.

"You have surely not sworn falsely in your heart, venerable sir," whispered Morten, anxiously. "This is no time, either, for swooning. If we delay a moment longer the guard may come, and lead you back from whence you came." As he said this, he drew down the ladder, and rolled it up with care. The archbishop yet lay as if lifeless on the ground. Without any longer demur, Morten put both arms round his waist, and carried him in this manner across the back yard of the prison to the high castle wall which encircled the tower and was surrounded by a moat. It was possible to mount the inside wall in case of need, and by dint of great exertion Morten carried the almost senseless prelate up to the top of the wall. There he secured the rope ladder, while the bishop recovered his consciousness, and gained strength to pursue his flight. Without delaying and alarming the fugitive by further stipulations, he assisted him to descend this wall also, and then drew the ladder after him. They passed the frozen moat of the castle; but that part of the lake which they had to cross was as smooth as glass, and the archbishop often fell and bruised himself. With Morten's help he at last got over the ice, but now threw himself despairingly on the frozen ground. "I cannot go a step farther," he exclaimed. "If I am to reach the shore thou must get me a horse."

"Will you give me absolution then, venerable sir, if I can steal you a horse out of the stable here?"

"It is a holy loan, which will bring thee a blessing," replied Grand.

"Good! But if you understand aught of the Black Art, pious sir, forget not your Latin now, but say a charm over the dogs, so that they bark not, and over the grooms in the stable, so that they wake not."

"I will pray to the Almighty to be with us. Haste thee!"

Morten crept towards the neighbouring stable. He went across a dunghill to the stable door, upon which a large cross was marked in chalk by way of safeguard. The usually watchful mastiffs did not bark. It seemed to Morten as if the cross on the stable door gleamed in the moonlight. The door of the groom's chamber he had to pass stood ajar. He peeped in, and saw three men in a deep sleep. In the stalls close by stood two small horses. He untied their halters, and led them out. The stone pavement of the stable and without the back door was covered with horse-litter, and he succeeded in leading the horses out without the slightest noise. He led them slowly towards the sea shore, and often looked behind him, but no one pursued--no dog barked, and the whole seemed to him to be almost miraculous. He found the archbishop where he had left him, in an attitude of prayer. With unwonted solemnity, and with a respect which, however, seemed mingled with a kind of dread, Morten, without saying a word, assisted the prelate to mount one of the horses; he himself vaulted upon the other, and they rode in silence at a rapid trot down to the shore. There a tall grave knight and the two Lolland deserters awaited them with a boat which they had stolen from the fishing village. The knight and both the wild Lollanders bent the knee reverently before the archbishop as he extended his fingers to give them his blessing. With Morten's aid he dismounted, and stepped into the boat. Morten turned the strange horses loose, and seated himself on a rowing bench. With a few powerful strokes of the oar they reached a vessel with a black flag and pennant, which was waiting for them at some distance from the shore. They entered the ship, and let the boat float away. The day had not dawned when the vessel with the black flag sailed with a fair breeze through the Sound, bearing off without impediment the dangerous man, who, even in his chains, had dared to excommunicate Denmark's sovereign.

CHAP. VIII.

Sjoeborg castle, which in the latter months of the year 1295 was honoured by the presence of royalty, and had been the theatre of such important events, stood desolate and deserted on the morning of the following new year. The gate was shut, and the floating bridge removed. The sentinel was no longer on guard on the battlement over the gate; within, no sounds of gaiety and occupancy were heard; without the southern rampart and the narrowest part of the lake which insulated the site of the castle stood a gallows, at the end of what was called the king's garden, where the roads met from Esrom and Gilleleie. On the gallows hung a lifeless corpse in a short sheep-skin coat, and with a pair of shaggy boots on the legs. A pair of ravens flapped their wings over the sinner's head, and around the stiff frozen body fluttered a flock of screaming crows.

The aged Jeppe, the fisherman from Gilleleie, who on fast days was accustomed to bring fish to Esrom, and to the kitchen of Sjoeborg, was returning at day-break from the ferry, opposite the closed castle gate, with his flat fish basket at his back, and stood almost under the gallows ere he was aware of it. His servant, a young fisherman, followed him also with a basket at his back.

"It was true then, after all," said the old man; "they have made quick work of it here. The bird hath flown, and the cage stands empty. Our young king hath been wroth in earnest--by my troth, he does nothing by halves. We may now carry our cod to Elsinore. But what the devil ails the birds to-day?"

"Look, look, master!" shouted the lad; "there he hangs."

"Our Lady preserve us!" exclaimed Jeppe, and stopped. "Ay, there he hangs, indeed, in his old sheep's skin, and in the boots I brought him from Skanor fair, those he squeezed out of me for the freight and the sixteen marks. Why, the soles are whole as yet! I told him not to wear them out with his courtier-like scrapings. Faugh! he looks ugly in the face. 'Tis no wholesome sight on a fasting stomach. Let's take a sup, Ole." He took a little wooden flask out of the basket, drank, and reached the flask to the lad, while they gazed with mingled curiosity and dread on the corpse.

"By our Lady! a foul human carcass is truly soon provided for," resumed the old man, clearing his throat after the strong drink, while he crossed himself, and put up the flask. "Well, I say now what I said before; paid as deserved. He who deals against law shall be dealt with without law. One should otherwise, it is true, speak well of the dead; and this I _must_ say, Jesper Mogensen was in some sort a pious man; he neglected neither mattins nor mass; he went to confession every other day. That we none of us do. But the crow is never the whiter, let her wash herself ever so often, and I would not have given a rotten herring's head for all his piety. What said I the other day to boatman Soren? 'Mark,' said I, 'that craft will one day run aground under the gallows.' That one could see with half an eye. We will pray an honest prayer for his soul, however, Ole, although he _hath_ haggled many a shining piece from us, and cheated the king out of more pecks of silver pieces than the ravens have now left hairs on his sinful head. Would it might fare somewhat better with him where he now is than it fared with his prisoner at Sjoeborg! _Much_ better it were a shame to ask, for a pitiless master he ever was, and graceless rulers are shut out from the Lord."

"True, master," answered the young fisherman; "but might one not almost say the same of our young king himself, to say so with all reverence and respect?"

"Of the king? Art thou mad, Ole?" exclaimed the old man, with warmth; "art thou clean devil-blinded and possessed? Is that the Christianity thou learn'st in the monastery? Thou art a pretty fellow, truly!"

"Be not wroth, master!" answered the lad; "but truth is truth, nevertheless, whether it be sour or sweet, or whether it tweak the nose of high or low, says Pater Gregor, and we Danes are a free folk who dare to speak out in council[14], whether it be against great or small; that you know as well as I, master. The king, by my troth, is not the man to put mercy before justice where the outlaws or their kindred and friends are concerned. Now, there, are Marsk Stig's pretty daughters; he has pent them up in the maiden's tower at Vordingborg, only because their father was an outlawed man; that's not very merciful. Then there's the bishop they have so long plagued and tortured; that's a bad business, says Pater Gregor. Whether or not he was leagued with the outlaws or the Slesvig Duke no one knows or can prove; but, however that may be, he was a mighty man of God, whom none but the Lord and the pope could condemn, says Pater Gregor."

"Ay, indeed! He talks too much, that Pater Gregor," muttered the old man, seating himself thoughtfully on his fish basket. "Those pious sirs of the cloister may say what they will; but this I know, that a more just-dealing king we have never had in Denmark. As to his stringing up that fellow----"

"It was a good deed, master, that I will never deny," interrupted the lad. "If the steward did not exactly help the bishop on his road,--which, no doubt, was what he was hung for,--he still richly deserved the halter for many other things. The king did him no wrong; but that poor turnkey Mads, and his nephew, I am sorry for them. They are pent up, under bolt and bar, at Flynderborg, only because the ale was a little too strong for them that night-watch in the tower. He who helped the bishop but," he added, with a rather sinister roll of the eye, "was surely none other than that gallows bird, Morten the cook. It was both boldly and piously done, says Pater Gregor, and therefore doubtless hath holy St. Martin saved his life, and helped him out of the country; but he is an outlawed man not the less for that, and if the Devil hath not an eye on his soul I am no honest Dane."

"Hark, Ole!" resumed the old man, in a stern voice, and rising from his seat; "take care what thy beardless mouth utters, especially when thou speak'st of the Devil, or of our Lord, or of the king! Touching Morten the cook, I have also a word to say to thee; but first, of the king. 'Tis a bad hand that will not protect its head, they say; the king is the people's head, see'st thou, and when the head aches all the limbs ache also; that hath every true Danish man in our time learnt soon enough. Our young King Eric hath gone through much trouble, from the time he was no higher than my knee, but our Lord hath been with him till this hour, and preserved both his soul and his body, despite archbishop, and pope, and clergy. We are a free folk, 'tis true; each man may speak out the truth boldly and freely, whether it be against high or low; but he who speaks an ill word of the king shall account for it to me, as surely as I have a tongue in my mouth and fists to my oar. Thou art a greenhorn, Ole; thou knowest but little of what passed in the country while thou wert in thy swaddling clothes. Had the outlaws murdered thy father when thou wert riding thy stick thou would'st hardly have taken them to thy arms when ye rode with a troop of horse."

"There, by my troth, you are right, master!" answered the youth, eagerly. "Life for life! I would say, and strike off their heads wherever I met them; it were an honest deed and righteous wrath. But, nevertheless, 'Vengeance is our Lord's,' and a king should be somewhat cooler headed and wiser than any of us; he should rather suffer injustice than put state and country in peril, by standing up so stiffly for his right."

"Old woman's chatter," interrupted Jeppe; "would the egg teach the hen? Justice shall stand, though all the earth should perish. Thus should a king think. He should not bear the sword in vain."

"But, dear master! there is Pater Gregor, and all the pious monks at Esrom, and many wise men in our town, they all of them think the king pushes his zeal and obstinacy too far, and only brings himself and the whole country into trouble; for this he hath now fallen under the archbishop's ban; yet he still will kick against the pricks, and goes just the same to mattins and mass as heretofore."