Chapter I: Part I

Marsk Stig he out of the country rode
To win him fame with his good bright sword;
At home meantide the King will bide
In hope to lure his heart’s ador’d.

The King sends word to the Marshal Stig
That he to the fields of war should fare;
Himself will deign at home to remain
And take the charge of his Lady fair.

In came the Marshal’s serving man,
And a kirtle of green that man he wore:
“Of our good liege the little foot-page
Is standing out the gate before.”

Up stood the young Sir Marshal Stig,
By the side of his bed his clothes put on;
And to speak the boy, the King’s envoy,
Down to the gate is the Marshal gone.

“Now hear thou, Marsk Stig Andersen,
’Tis truth and sooth what I say to thee;
Thou must away to the King’s palay,
Then mount thy horse and follow with me.

“Oh, I know nought of my Lord King’s thought
That I to thee can now declare,
Except that thou to the war must go
And there thy sovereign’s banner bear.”

Then in at the door Sir Marsk Stig trode,
And a wrathful man I trow was he:
“By the Saints I swear, my Lady dear,
Fulfill’d my dreary dream will be.

“For of late I dream’d that my noble horse
To chase the wild mare ran away;
And that must mean that I shall be slain,
And that my steed will tramp on my life-less clay.”

“Now hold thy tongue, my noble Lord,
And do not talk thus foolishly,
For Christ can protect thy life, reflect,
The blessed Christ who dwells on high.”

It was the young and bold Marsk Stig
Came riding into the Castle yard,
Abroad did stand the King of the land
So fair array’d in sable and mard.

“Now lend an ear, young Marshal Stig,
I have for thee a fair emprise,
Ride thou this year to the war, and bear
My flag amongst my enemies.”

“And if I shall fare to the war this year,
And risk my life among thy foes,
Do thou take care of my Lady dear,
Of Ingeborg that beauteous rose.”

Then answer’d Erik, the youthful King,
With a laugh in his sleeve thus answer’d he:
“No more I swear has thy lady to fear
Than if my sister dear were she.

“Full well I’ll watch Dame Ingeborg,
And guard and cherish her night and day;
As little I swear has thy Lady to fear
As if thou, dear Marshal, at home didst stay.”

It was then the bold Sir Marshal Stig,
From out of the country he did depart.
In her castle sate his lonely mate,
Fair Ingeborg, with grief at heart.

“Now saddle my steed,” cried Eric the King,
“Now saddle my steed,” King Eric cried,
“To visit the Dame of beauteous fame
Your King will into the country ride.”

“Hail, hail to thee, Dame Ingeborg,
If thou wilt not be coy and cold,
A shirt, I trow, for me thou’lt sew,
And array that shirt so fair with gold.”

“Sew’d I for thee a shirt, Sir King,
And worked that shirt, Sir King, with gold,
Should Marsk Stig hear of that he’d ne’er
With favour again his wife behold.”

“Now list, now list, Dame Ingeborg,
Thou art, I swear, a beauteous star,
Live thou with me in love and glee,
Whilst Marshal Stig is engag’d in war.”

Then up and spake Dame Ingeborg,
For nought was she but a virtuous wife:
“Rather, I say, than Stig betray,
Sir King, I’d gladly lose my life.”

“Give ear, thou proud Dame Ingeborg,
If thou my leman and love will be,
Each finger fair of thy hand shall bear
A ring of gold so red of blee.”

“Marsk Stig has given gold rings to me,
And pearls around my neck to string;
By the Saints above I never will prove
Untrue to the Marshal’s couch, Sir King.

“And when Sir Marsk Stig left the land
Thou unto him, Sir King, didst swear
Thou wouldst tend me and defend me
E’en as if I your sister were.”

It was the fair Dame Ingeborg,
So great, so great was her vexation;
Early and late, sunshine and wet,
The King he sought her habitation.

It was Erik the Danish King,
A damnable deed the King he wrought;
He forc’d with might that Lady bright,
Whilst her good Lord his battles fought.

It was the young Sir Marshal Stig
Came home again from the battle field.
To him then sped such tidings dread,
His very blood those tidings chill’d.

And when he came to his country home,
Away to his castle Sir Stig he rode;
Then Ingeborg Dame for very shame
No word of welcome on him bestow’d.

It was the young and bold Marsk Stig,
So swiftly in at the door he hies;
His beauteous dame for very shame
To welcome the Marshal could not rise.

And long stood he, the young Marsk Stig,
And thus within himself thought he;
“Now wherefore shows my beauteous spouse
No more respect or love for me?”

Then answer’d fair Dame Ingeborg,
Whilst tears adown her features pour’d:
“Welcome, I say, from the battle fray,
Marsk Stig my bosom’s dearest lord.

“Now do thou hear, young Marshal Stig,
Of a dreadful wrong I must complain,
The King accurst has my body forc’d
And my matron honour from me has ta’en.

“When thou didst leave the land, I was
The honour’d Dame of a simple knight;
Now am I Queen in Denmark green,
With a stain that makes me hate the light.

“The time that thou from the land didst go,
I was but the wife of a Noble brave;
Now am I Queen in Denmark green,
Longing to hide me in the grave.”

It was then the young Marsk Stig
He grasp’d amain his dagger knife:
“If truth it be that thou tellest me,
’Twill cost the traitor King his life.

“Never will I sweet sleep enjoy,
Lock’d in thy snowy arms, my fair,
Till ruin I bring on the traitor King
Who laid for us this deadly snare.

“And never, never, O Ingeborg,
By thy snowy side again I’ll lie,
Till I out-pour the reeking gore
Of him who has wrought this injury.”

Long, long stood the bold Marsk Stig,
Musing with look so stern and grave:
“If on the King I’d avenge this thing,
Notice from me he must quickly have.”

Marsk Stig he arms his courtiers good,
Arms them in hauberks glittering,
And he rides on the morrow to Skanderborough
To summon King Erik to the Ting.

It was the Danish Queen so fine
From the window high a glance she cast:
“Across the wold comes Marsk Stig bold,
Why rides the Marshal Stig so fast?

“And yonder prances the Marshal Stig,
And hither from Sonderbrook rides he;
Each plumy swain in his galloping train
Is like a bonny grey dow to see.”

It was the young and bold Marsk Stig,
So stately stepped the threshold o’er;
The Danish Queen so sharp and keen
She straight began to scoff him sore.

“Thrice welcome, thrice welcome, Dus Van Hus,
Welcome, thrice welcome again, I cry;
Thou bear’st the brow like a King, I trow,
Yet little good thou wilt gain thereby.”

“Madam! my name is not Dus Van Hus,
How dar’st thou beard me in this strain,
When I know one, Black Haddingson,
Who oft, full oft, on thy breast has lain?

“Gain I no other recompense here
Than scoff and scorn from a thing like thee,
Before the crowd I’ll complain aloud
Of the wrong and injury done to me.

“First I will state my injuries great,
Which man nor woman cannot deny;
And unless I’m given amends, by heaven
Another game will the Marshal try.”