Chapter XIV: Part II (5)

While they were yet speaking, a horseman, in a gray cloak, and mounted on a gray steed, overtook and passed them at full gallop. None of them had seen him on the way, and they therefore supposed that he had issued from one of the quarries.

"Light the torches, carls," cried Drost Peter, dismounting. "We must search these robbers' dens before we go farther."

They lighted some of the torches which they had brought with them to illuminate the road, if the king should arrive late; and, whilst six of the house-carls were left with the horses, Drost Peter, with the others, proceeded to search the suspicious pits and holes. From the first quarry which they examined, they brought several weapons, and two gray cloaks and hood-masks; the other pits they found empty, and without any traces of having been recently used as a retreat for robbers. For perfect security, however, Drost Peter left behind four carls, as a watch over them, and, in profound thought, rode forward with the others on the way to Scanderborg.

The king, according to his appointment, had left the palace early; for, however frequently he might change his mind on other matters, he was extremely punctual with regard to journeys of pleasure. Drost Peter met him half way from Harrestrup; and when he informed him of what had occurred there, and mentioned the large booty which had been taken from the robbers, the king appeared much gratified, and continued his journey without delaying. Old John Little, as well as Chamberlain Rané, and a number of huntsmen, who accompanied the king, seemed to listen to the drost's relation with some doubtfulness; while his sharp looks detected an uneasy expression in Rané's countenance. But when the drost informed them that he had himself searched the Daugberg quarries, and set a watch over them, the doubts of the old knight appeared to vanish, and he laughed, and jested gaily, but at the same time kept his eye, unobserved, on every look and gesture of the chamberlain.

It was past midday when the king and his train stopped at the celebrated lime-quarry, which he had previously determined to examine, and which he could not now pass without some attention. When he perceived the armed house-carls before the pits, he started, and inquired of the drost if they were his people, and with what view they kept watch there, since the robbers had been seized, and the caves searched.

"It is still possible that we have not discovered them all, sir king," replied the drost. "Perhaps, too, they belong to a confederacy which it were important to root out. So long as your grace remains at Harrestrup, I consider it my duty to watch these lurking-holes closely."

The house-carls, with lighted torches, stood by the entrance to the largest pit, when the king, dismounting, advanced a few steps and looked timidly into it.

"It is not worth wasting time upon," he exclaimed, suddenly, and proceeded to remount. "Whoever chooses may descend. Run thou, Rané: it was thou who had so much to tell me of this lime-quarry."

"It is certainly worth seeing, sir king," replied Rané, as he zealously prepared himself to descend, along with a number of huntsmen and falconers.

Old Sir John had also dismounted; and, taking a torch, he examined the pit with much interest, but without venturing down.

"It was a good capture, Drost Peter," observed the king, as they rode leisurely on: "they were a daring and dangerous band. This famous Niels Breakpeace shall not again escape; for, before sunset, they shall all be executed. We can thus sleep soundly to-night, and begin the chase early in the morning."

Drost Peter remained mute.

"Why are you silent?" continued the king. "Have they not been seized by yourself in the open commission of robbery? Such fellows deserve not a long trial."

"They arc all punishable with death," replied Drost Peter, "but it is still desirable that they were allowed time to shrive themselves, and look to the salvation of their sinful souls."

"The time will not permit," replied the king. "I shall not sleep under the same roof with robbers and murderers. If I am to be your guest, Drost Hessel, these malefactors must sleep on the wheel to-night."

"If you command it, sir king, they can be conducted this evening to Viborg prison, and you need neither rest under the same roof with them, nor consign them to so sudden a doom. There are men amongst them born to something better than to end their lives so shamefully and unexpectedly."

"None are born to that," replied the king, musingly. "If one could know what was sung at his cradle, if it had any meaning," he continued, "I should be glad to learn what was sung at ours: it would be well to know that in these times. Is there any one of note among them?"

"There is one of them, at least, who belongs not to the outcasts of humanity--in whom there is still left a remnant of honour and of lofty mind; and whose soul, perhaps, may still be saved. His birth and rank are certainly now his strongest accusers: he is of high and noble blood, and from your own royal hand, sir king, he had the honour to receive the stroke of knighthood."

"That does not plead for him, truly. There you are right. He must die: a noble-born knight deserves to be punished with tenfold severity, when found among robbers and highwaymen. Who is he?"

"Sir Lavé Rimaardson--your noble queen's kinsman, and brother of the trusty Bent Rimaardson."

The king started, and drawing up his horse, he threw on Drost Peter a scrutinising glance, in which, as he blinked uneasily, a secret suspicion might be traced.

"The queen's kinsman, say you?" he exclaimed--"the outlaw, Lavé Rimaardson?--he who has dared to defy me, and to stir up the peasants to rebellion?--he whom you yourself assisted to adjudge an outlaw?"

"Even he, sir king."

"And you would now defend a rebel, and intercede for so vile a criminal, Drost Hessel?"

"Defend him I will not, sir king; but to crave mercy for a sinner, I still may dare. With the most righteous of all judges, clemency is the greatest quality. I pray you, my king, to consider his brother's services to the crown and country, and his relation to yourself and the royal house."

"No! I shall now prove to you, and to my faithful subjects," replied the king, with secret satisfaction, "that, in the exercise of justice, I have no respect to high descent and birth, nor even to those allied to me by consanguinity and princely blood. Sir Lavé Rimaardson I will myself see upon the wheel before the sun goes down. Onwards!"

The king set spurs to his horse, and all followed. Those who had been examining the pit, hastened to overtake him, and Sir John again rode by his side. The old knight had not heard the conversation just related, but he observed that the king was chafed and disquieted. He rode on in silence, for some minutes, with unusual rapidity, but not inattentive to the king's angry looks and Drost Peter's uneasiness.

"Why hasten you thus, sir king?" at length inquired the old knight. "Yonder you may see the tower of Harrestrup Castle, and the sun is yet far up in the heavens."

"So much the better!" observed the king. "Who is the executioner of felons here? Where resides the hangman of the district?"

"Daugberg-Daas is the place appointed for executions, sir king," replied Sir John, who was well acquainted with everything relating to the administration of law in the country: "that was the wheel, which we saw above the lime-quarries, yonder. The officer of justice you inquire for has free quarters in Daugberg."

"Good: let him be summoned immediately."

The old knight was surprised, but obeyed without replying, and instantly dispatched a huntsman back to Daugberg for the executioner. He then continued to ride silently by the king's side until he considered his momentary irritation was allayed.

"You do not intend to render your entrance to the castle of Harrestrup memorable by a sudden execution, sir king?" asked the old counsellor, as he now rode alone with him up the narrow pathway. "I do not intend to intercede for such gross offenders: severity is, in these times, highly necessary; but, when we have them securely captive, and there is no rebellion in the country, I like not such hasty justice."

The king was silent, and blinked uneasily.

"Such haste, my king," continued old John, "may easily lead to injustice, or be regarded as a sign of fear, which may weaken the confidence of your people in the power of the state. A giant, conscious of his strength, need not hasten, for his security, to slay a few captive pigmies. Besides, not even the greatest criminal ought to be sentenced without a legal trial."

"The crime is manifest," exclaimed the king, erecting himself; "the law is well known; and doom I now pronounce:--they shall be broken on the wheel. You shall conduct them to the place of execution, Sir John; and you will be answerable to me that the law and sentence are fulfilled, in all their severity, before the sun goes down. I will hear no objections--it is my royal will."

Sir John remained silent, and they rode slowly up the steep path to the castle, where Drost Peter dismounted, and placed himself by the side of the king's horse.

The train of attendants had stopped, and there was now heard, behind, the quick tread of horses, and the rumbling of wheels. The huntsmen and falconers looked back: it was the messenger Sir John had dispatched for the headsman. He approached at full gallop, with a little broad-shouldered companion, on a miserable hack. The stranger wore a hairy cap, and a short, blood-red cloak; and held a large bright axe in his hand, whilst a sword of unusual length hung over his saddle-bow. A couple of rough-looking fellows followed with a small cart, in which were chains, fetters, a wheel, and all manner of horrible instruments of death and torture.

With this fearful train, the king and his company ascended to Harrestrup Castle. Drost Peter was silent, and Sir John spake not a word.

Outside the gate, and unknown to her master, old Dorothy had erected a triumphal arch, which was adorned with wreaths of box, yew, holly, and all the flowers that could be procured at that season of the year; whilst she herself stood by the side of it, arrayed in white, with a large nosegay in her hand, and attended by her pantry-maids and milkmaids, prepared to receive the king in a fashion which she intended should please and surprise both him and her dear young master. Since the king had pardoned her, when she was condemned to be buried alive for her womanly honour's sake, she had never been able sufficiently to extol his clemency and graciousness; and now, on this extraordinary occasion, to show her gratitude, she had, for more than two months, been exercising all the servant-maids of the castle in a ballad, which they had never heard sung before, but which was necessarily joined to a popular old tune. This song, which she had received from her confessor, was a free translation from the Schwabian meistersinger, Reinmar von Zweter's, flattering verses on the king, wherein, however, some of the true features of royalty were caught.

Outside the arch, and opposite to Dorothy and her maidens, stood the warden Tygé, with a portion of the brave garrison of the castle. Dorothy had decked their helmets with silk ribands and green sprigs, and, with their bright halberds in their hands, they stood in a respectful posture, and as immoveable as statues.

When Drost Peter perceived these festive preparations, so little suited to his own frame of mind, and to the harsh appearance of the royal train, he was singularly and painfully affected. The slightly-built arch was not unlike a gallows; and the old nurse, in her white dress, reminded him of the so-called corpse-women, who conducted interments in commercial towns. At the head of the ridiculously dressed-up milkmaids, who were intended to represent fine ladies, Dorothy felt as dignified as a queen.

In a less serious mood, this spectacle would perhaps have extorted a smile from the lively young drost; but now it augmented most painfully his gloomy state of mind. The king did not appear to give much attention to these tokens of homage, which he was accustomed to see in every small trading town, and even where he knew that he was detested by the majority of the inhabitants. Such demonstrations of homage were most frequently got up by the crafty chamberlain, who sagaciously reckoned that, if these flatteries did not always obtain the king's applause, they seldom called forth his displeasure.

Notwithstanding the tastelessness and farcical character of this parade, it was apparent that it was prompted by simple good-nature and true respect for the king, when the old nurse, with her thin, tremulous notes, and accompanied by the grating voices of the Juttish milkmaids, offered to him, in Danish, the German meister-singer's homage:--

"I prize the king who wears the crown,
And brings the country great renown.

"He helps the widow in her need;
His bounty doth the orphan feed.

"He guards his land--his name is dear
To all his people, far and near.

"His heart is warm, and great his mind;
His speech to one and all is kind.

"His hand is just to great and small,
Nor riches do his heart enthral.

"And he whose fair renown I sing.
Is Erik, Denmark's famous king."

The aged but zealous leader of the songstresses now first fixed her eyes upon the king, and when she beheld his austere countenance and blinking eyelids, she became deadly pale. She stared at him, like a sorceress who had conjured up some fearful spirit, and was suddenly horrified on beholding the mighty unknown which her incantations had summoned forth. She involuntarily crossed herself, and turned away her look; but the apparition of the executioner and his rough assistants, who closed the procession, raised her terror so high that her senses forsook her, and, with a convulsive shriek, she fell to the ground. The king succeeded in curbing his startled horse, and rode hastily in with his retinue.

Drost Peter, who had not observed what occurred, hastened to assist the king from his saddle, and conduct him to the large riddersal, where stood a table magnificently spread, and where the king, by another of Dorothy's arrangements, was received with a burst of music more sprightly than harmonious. The band was composed of rustic fiddlers and shawm-blowers, who were wont to exercise their skill at the weddings and merry-makings of the peasants. They scraped and blew with might and main, until the perspiration stood on their foreheads. They bowed so profoundly, too, and were at the same time so zealous to please the king, that they produced the most woful discords. Drost Peter silenced them, and sent them away; whilst the irritated monarch held his ears, and Chamberlain Rané, with a malicious smile, praised Drost Hessel's ingenuity in providing so pleasant a surprise for his majesty.

"This device of my old foster-mother's is better meant than happily executed, sir king," said Drost Peter. "I hope you will excuse such an innocent blunder of my domestics, who are not acquainted with courtly manners."

The king, who had become absorbed in thought, made no reply.

"I am not very tenderhearted," observed Sir John; "but I confess that this cat-music has quite softened me, for I perceive that it was well and honestly meant." The king appeared not to hear this remark; and Sir John addressed himself to the drost: "Was it your nurse who sang to us outside, Drost Peter? I scarcely recognised her in her finery."

"I scarcely knew her myself," replied the drost: "in her simplicity, she wanted to surprise me, too, with all this pomp."

"She screeched like an owl; but, nevertheless, it was quite touching," said the old knight, in his usual gay and careless tone, desirous to bring the king into a better humour, and dispose him to defer the executions he had so suddenly determined on. "The good women sang your grace and clemency, my king," he continued; "but they lost their voices when they perceived the hangman in your train. Will you not, then, sleep on your resolution tonight, and allow us to send the prisoners to Viborg? Methinks it were better to partake of an enlivening meal here, than to dwell on such serious matters?"

This latter suggestion, which Drost Peter supported by pointing to the seat of honour, seemed to meet the king's approbation. He remained silent, but took his place at the table, and swallowed one or two goblets of wine. Old Sir John attempted to introduce some lively conversation, but failed in his design of putting the king into better humour.

In the court, opposite the window, sat the executioner on his raw-boned horse, awaiting, with his ferocious assistants, the king's commands. Dorothy was carried sick to bed; and the sight which had operated so violently upon her, had also made a singularly painful impression on the other domestics. Warden Tygé, in the meanwhile, attended to the huntsmen, falconers, and pages, who were sumptuously entertained in three different apartments. But throughout the castle as great a silence reigned as if a funeral company had been assembled.

The king suddenly arose. "I will see the fellows," he said, in a tone of determination: "there can be nothing wrong in that. Let them be brought hither, drost; but heavily chained, and under a strong guard."

Drost Peter immediately left the apartment to execute this order, and in a minute afterwards he again entered the riddersal. The king was pacing the floor with rapid steps, whilst Sir John and the chamberlain stood silently watching the changing expression of his countenance. Drost Peter had also been standing for some moments in silence before the king's eyes met his.

"They will be here instantly, sir king," he said, advancing. "Permit me yet one word. None of these men were taken in any robbery. They have not deprived me of my property; and Sir Lavé Rimaardson did not attack me until I challenged him to single combat. He cannot be condemned as a robber before investigation, and a formal trial, according to the laws of the country."

"Silence!" replied the king: "an outlaw has no rights. But here we have them: I shall examine them myself."

Niels Breakpeace and twelve chained robbers now entered, under guard of warden Tygé and his armed house-carls. The robber-chief stepped forward with an air of proud defiance, at the head of his comrades; but Lavé Rimaardson, who seemed to blush at being found in such company, remained in the rear.

"Who is your leader?" inquired the king.

"I!" answered Niels Breakpeace, looking so daringly at him that he retreated a step.

"What is your name?"

"That every child in Denmark knows," replied the haughty robber: "with it the mothers can still their cubs, if even they have a knife in their throats. My name is sufficient to scare into corners all the wenches in your kingdom, and many a big-nosed fellow, too. If I had but an arm free, sir king, I should not give you time to hear my name out. Niels Breakpeace I am called. If you were as able a king as I am a robber, it would be better for kingdom and country, and perhaps I should now have been at your right hand."

"You confess, then, you are a robber, and that these fellows are your accomplices?"

"Were we to deny it, we should be scoundrels and mean scurvy fellows," replied Niels Breakpeace. "Lies and deceit you are perhaps accustomed to at court. I and my comrades are still honest in this respect."

"Good!" exclaimed the king. "You all know, then, the punishment to which the law condemns you. Prepare yourselves, therefore, to die within an hour."

"As well first as last, sir king! We all go the same way. But if you will suffer me to live till to-morrow, I will tell you something that may be of service to you, and that will, perhaps, defer our otherwise speedy meeting in another place."

The king opened wide his eyes, and cast a glance at Chamberlain Rané, who gave him a secret wink, and pointed to the dirk-handle which projected from the breast-pocket of the robber-chief.

"Ah, indeed!" said the king, again turning to the robber. "So, fellow! you would raise fear and curiosity in me, to obtain a respite, that you might escape, and do fresh mischief. No, no! That trick is stale and worn-out. If you cannot hit upon something better, you shall not live out the present hour."

"'Tis well! Let me go before, and prepare your place. This service I shall do you for old acquaintance' sake. There, now, you need not look so lofty, your grace! We two will soon be the same height, on the straw. What you and your equals do in the great way, I and mine have done in the small, you see: that is all the difference. If, for that, you will make me your herald to the other world, I must submit; today, you have still the power to do so: but you will rue it, sir king! We shall soon meet again, and then you will confess that Niels Breakpeace intended better towards you than yourself."

"Put him aside!" commanded the king: "he shall be executed the last. If he does not confess that which he says he can acquaint us with, he shall be put to the severest torture: you hear, Sir John--the severest."

Sir John replied by a silent bow to this stern mandate. An expression of sorrow was visible in the countenance of the old knight; but he hastily drew his hand across his furrowed brow, and was again calm and composed.

"Come forward, Lavé Rimaardson," cried the king; and the wild and desperate youth advanced, with an air that awoke the utmost pity and compassion in all, save the king and Chamberlain Rané, both of whom regarded him with secret anxiety.

"It was you whom I dubbed a knight with this sword, three years ago," said the king; "and now the hangman of your native town shall break your knightly weapon, and suspend your shield, reversed, beneath the gallows. You confess that you have been associated with these audacious and notorious robbers?"

"Yes, King Erik Christopherson," answered the young robber; "I confess that, and more: had we two met in Daugberg quarry, half an hour since, you should no more have seen the sun go down than I now expect to do."

"Ha! a conspiracy!" exclaimed the king. "You are not merely robbers and highwaymen--you are traitors, and audacious regicides! Who has paid you for the King of Denmark's life?"

"I am not a hired assassin," replied Lavé Rimaardson, proudly: "I am a knight of princely blood, and no king shall offend me with impunity. In the hour that you adjudged me an outlaw, I swore your death and downfall, King Erik! And were my right hand now free, I should keep my oath, and this moment would be your last."

"Madman!" exclaimed the king, stepping back; "if, by such audacious confession, you think to gain a respite, you are mistaken: you shall not even have time to name your accomplices, if you have them."

"There you are wise, King Erik," replied Rimaardson, with a contemptuous laugh. "Be sparing of the moments you have yet at your disposal. You know not how few they are; and, when your hour of reckoning comes, you will have more to account for than the sinners you now condemn to the rack and wheel."

"Peace, wretch!" cried the king, enraged; but an uneasy blinking of his eye seemed to indicate a sudden change in his feelings. "Your life is in my hands," he continued: "you are an outlaw and a rebel, a robber and murderer, and have even sought the life of your king and master; but Drost Hessel has testified that there is still within you a remnant of honour and of chivalrous spirit. Your brother Bent, too, is a trusty and deserving man; and your ignominious death, in company with these felons, would cast a shadow even on my throne. Think you not now, that King Erik Christopherson could still show you favour?"

"Yes! with endless imprisonment in fair Sjöborg: is it not so?" replied the haughty prisoner. "No! I do not, by a perjury, sell my soul and salvation, or, to save my life, forswear my revenge: it shall and must arrive, if not by my hand, by another's! When the harvest is ripe, reapers enough are to be found--"

"Satan, speak out! What mean you?" cried the king, in painful uncertainty. "Wretched felon! know you not that I have racks at hand? Look through that window: there stands he who can unbind your tongue."

"It is unnecessary, King Erik," replied the prisoner, suppressing his voice, but raising his head and gazing on the king with a dreadful look: "your hangman need not cut me for being tongue-tied. If you will hear the truth, I shall not conceal it in my dying hour. However great may be my crimes," he continued, in a louder tone, "I am still superior to the nidding who betrayed and dishonoured the wife of his best friend, whilst he bled in the nidding's behalf in the field of battle. If the brave Stig Andersen does not take full revenge for his wife's dishonour--if the blind, crazy father of Fru Ingeborg has not sight and sense enough remaining, to guide his sword into the false heart of King Erik--then there is not an honest drop of blood in the hearts of Danish nobles, and they deserve no better king than they have got."

The king had become deadly pale, whilst he foamed with rage, and his hand convulsively clutched the hilt of his large sword. He plucked the weapon from its scabbard, and rushed furiously on the prisoner, who remained immoveable, and laughing wildly.

Drost Peter sprang between them. "This is no place of execution, sir king," he said, warmly; "and you are no executioner, to slay a defenceless prisoner. He is an insolent traitor, it is true, and I no longer intercede for his life; but my house shall not be stained by a deed unworthy of yourself and your crown. If you will and must have the blood of this youth, you have brought an executioner with you."

The wild rage of the king had suddenly abated. He angrily bit his lips, as he sheathed his sword, and cast a look at the daring drost, which plainly enough indicated that this was the last time he should suffer himself to be guided by such a bold adviser.

"Well, Drost Hessel," he said, coldly, "you are right: I had nearly forgotten my kingly dignity in the insolence of this daring criminal, and you have not been far from forgetting the respect you owe to your king. I shall, however, follow your wise advice. Have the prisoners conducted to the place of execution, Sir John. Lavé Rimaardson is the first who falls: that honour I award to his high birth. He shall die by the sword; but his head shall be placed on a pole, and the foxes shall tear his limbs to pieces. The others shall be broken alive on the wheel. Now, away!"

Sir John gave the warden a signal to lead forth the prisoners. Lavé Rimaardson cast a look of contempt towards the king. In going, he laid his wounded right hand upon his breast, and, with averted face, he silently pressed Drost Peter's hand with his left.

At the door, Niels Breakpeace sprang strongly upwards, rattling his chains. "Merry now, comrades!" he cried, with a shout of wild laughter: "let me now see you behave yourselves like men, and thrust out your tongues bravely until they are bit off. Follow my example till the last, and do honour to your chief. When you have seen them all on the wheel, sir king," he cried, in a tone of mockery, and once more turning round haughtily, "then comes the turn of those of greater note. If you come yourself, and, like a merciful headsman, give me my finishing stroke, I shall whisper a secret in your ear, of which you will know the truth when St. Cecilia's day is gone by." With these words he departed.

The king turned away with a look of contempt, but seemed discomposed by the parting words of the robber-chief. "Stay!" he cried. "Yet, nay, they shall not befool me, the crafty vermin! I know their tricks. With such mysterious talk has many a hardened villain escaped the gallows. Let my horse be brought forth, Rané. I shall observe, from a distance, whether they maintain their defiance to the last."

Rané went out, and soon afterwards returned, saying, "The horse is at the door, your grace."

"Your's, too?"

"At your command, sir king."

"I think, however, I shall consider. People do not sleep soundly after such sights, and we must be up betimes in the morning. All is ready for the chase, Drost Hessel?"

"Nothing shall be wanting, sir king," replied the drost, with a look of composure, which ill concealed the agitation of his feelings.

"I shall, nevertheless, ride to Daugber-Daas," observed the king: "it is still a diversion, and people may shut their eyes on what they do not care to see. You must confess yourself, my conscientious drost, that, in this matter, I have been both just and gracious."

Drost Peter bowed, but said nothing.

"My polite host bears me company, of course?" added the king, in an apparently friendly tone, but with anger in his heart.

"It will be much against my feelings, my king; but if you so command, I obey. No injustice has taken place, I confess: but this is not a royal spectacle, and I wished you worthier entertainment on this visit, which, now, I dare not call gracious."

"Let us set off. You can follow me," said the king, as he departed.

Rané smiled; and Drost Peter followed his royal guest, with a tortured heart, and in the gloomiest mood.

Next morning, when the sun arose, he shone on the corpses of the thirteen robbers on Daugberg-Daas. In the valley beneath was heard the merry sound of horns and the baying of hounds, as a magnificent hunting-train rode by. At its head, between Sir John and Drost Peter, was the king, in a handsome green hunting-suit. Behind them, bearing falcons and other hunting-gear, rode six smartly dressed pages, among whom was the little kindhearted Aagé Jonsen, bearing the king's favourite falcon. Next came, at the head of a troop of royal huntsmen, having thirty hounds in leashes, the Chamberlain Rané, who, like those he headed, was lightly armed with a bow and short hunting-knife; but he wore, besides, a magnificent small sword, with glittering gems in a hilt of silver, which the king had recently presented to him as a testimony of his favour.

Squire Skirmen was absent, as he had not yet returned from his visit to Henner Friser at the forest-lodge. He had obtained permission to remain until the afternoon of this day; and his place was now taken by warden Tygé, who closed the cavalcade in company with some archers, and a few active huntsmen from Harrestrup.

As the king passed Daugberg-Daas, he closed his eyes, and gave the spur to his steed. When they had left the hill some distance behind, he turned to his right, and addressed old Sir John.

"They obstinately maintained their defiance, then?" he said. "Yesterday evening, I wished not to disturb my night's rest by listening to the end of your narrative; and I went not so near to the spot myself that I could hear what they said. Would the audacious Niels Breakpeace reveal nothing?"

"Not a word, sir king; but he laughed horribly in the pangs of death, and promised that, within eight days, he would tell you all he knew."

The king blinked anxiously, and became pale. "Tell me, my dear Sir John," said he: "do you think all the threats and warnings the fellow hinted at, were anything more than crafty inventions, with which he hoped to escape the gallows?"

"I know not that, sir king; but, in your place, I should not have so greatly hurried the execution of their sentence. The mere fact that an outlawed knight, of such high birth, was found among these robbers, seemed to me, even without their own confession, certain proof that they were here on a more important and daring undertaking than plundering the pantries and wine-cellars of Harrestrup. They might have given us valuable information."

The king, as he listened to Sir John, became more and more uneasy. "By Satan!" he exclaimed, warmly, "I felt constrained to make quick work of them, effectually to prevent any of their daring designs being accomplished. But why did you not inform me of these wise conclusions when they were alive? Your prudence comes too late now, Sir John."

"You would not hear a word from me, sir king; and when I have an express royal command, I must be silent and obey; especially where, as in the present case, it is undeniably just, and according to the letter of the law."

"Now, by the rood! we shall think no more of it," exclaimed the king, endeavouring to overcome his uneasiness; and at the same time he set spurs to his horse, and ordered the huntsmen to strike up a lively hunting-air.

Drost Peter was grave and silent. The king had not yet spoken a word to him; and the sharp-sighted drost read in his manner, as well as in that of the crafty chamberlain, that his fall was determined on, and that the formal announcement was only delayed in order that it might not mar the day's pleasure. But the depressing conviction that his power and influence were at an end, was outweighed by doubts of far greater importance respecting the welfare of the kingdom, which had been called forth by Lady Ingé's admonition to watchfulness, and the circumstances connected with the capture and execution of the robbers.

Sir John, on the contrary, appeared to have abandoned every gloomy and disquieting thought. In his youth he had been a bold huntsmen, but for many years had not partaken of this noble diversion. The sound of the horns and the cries of the chase awoke within him lively recollections of his early days, and, as the king's companion in the sport, he considered it his duty to be as cheerful and entertaining as possible.

When the first game was started, the king engaged eagerly and passionately in pursuit. For dexterity in the chase he was without a rival; and he now rushed with wild impetuosity among the huntsmen and unleashed hounds, and, as usual, was highly admired by the strangers, as well for his rapidity, as for the certainty with which he brought down his game. Not without difficulty could old Sir John follow him; although he took care to make it appear that it did not cost him any exertion. Recalling the memory of his young days, he gave his mettlesome hunter the reins, and took the most daring leaps over ditches and fences.

Drost Peter was accustomed to such violent sport, but on this occasion he often felt himself painfully reminded of his recent wounds. This gloomy mood was speedily augmented by the concern he felt for Sir John, who, he plainly saw, was exerting himself beyond his strength; and he knew that it was useless to caution the old knight concerning it. However merry the latter appeared, he had, nevertheless, intimated to the drost, by a look, that he shared his grave doubts, and considered it highly essential that the hunt should keep together. If, now and then, they paused by a fallen deer, the chamberlain had instantly another in sight, and the king again dashed off with renewed ardour.

At length they reached a beautiful forest-glade, in which they halted to rest their horses, and to partake of a midday meal; during the preparation of which the chamberlain was inexhaustible in entertaining the king with pleasant hunting-stories. They seated themselves on the trunk of a fallen oak-tree. The cloth was spread on the fresh moss; at a little distance the huntsmen had encamped themselves, and the spoils of the chase were piled up close by. The pages waited on the king, who appeared in a good humour, and well contented.

"It is a chivalrous and right royal diversion," said Sir John, in answer to the king's question whether he had enjoyed himself. "In my young days, I was passionately fond of it; but now I am too old and stiff for the sport. Another time, sir king, I shall do better to remain at home, like the old hunting-steed."

"You would come with me, however," said the king. "Your fancy for it certainly surprised me."

"It was not entirely for the sake of the chase, sir king," said the old man, gravely, and with an observant look at Rané. "I am but little acquainted with this part of Jutland," he added, hastily: "I am glad, also, to see our good Drost Hessel in the capacity of host."

"You have seen, then, that he is master of his own house, and keeps strict watch over the security of his guests," replied the king, with a bitter smile: "even highwaymen and murderers are safe beneath his roof."

"If in that he went a little too far, your grace," said Sir John, "I pray you, for my sake, not to be offended with it. I did not regard the prisoners as so dangerous."

"I must confess, sir king," observed Drost Peter, "that this business of the robbers was of more importance than I believed; but they have now ended their lives and crimes together. If on that occasion I erred, and for a moment forgot the respect I owed my royal guest, let not this day's sun go down upon your wrath, my king. If I have lost your royal grace in consequence, suffer me at least--"

"Enough of this!" interrupted the king, coldly. "I have come here to amuse myself, and not to sit in judgment every day. I am master of my own thoughts, and you shall know my determination at the proper time. Let the huntsmen strike up."

Rané hastily gave a signal to the royal horn-blowers, who stood on a rising ground, at a little distance, and who immediately commenced a bold hunting-air, called King Waldemar Seier's Hunt, and to which the king was extremely partial.

A painful silence followed the king's ungracious remarks to Drost Peter. Rané smiled maliciously as he filled his master's goblet, and endeavoured, by some buffooneries, to restore mirthfulness; but the king left the wine untouched, and fell into deep thought. The rapid exercise and the consciousness of his skill in the chase, as well as his anger against Drost Peter, appeared to have banished from his countenance the undecided and contradictory shades of passion which so often disfigured it; and for an instant there beamed from it an expression of true kingly dignity and greatness, while, with his hand on his ponderous sword, he regarded his three chief counsellors with the air of one who could free himself from them at any moment he chose. The only one in which he reposed any kind of confidence was Rané; but him, in his better moments, he despised, as the wretched instrument of his vilest pleasures. The power which old Sir John exercised over him, with so much prudence and consideration, seemed to him just now a crafty invasion of the royal prerogative; and Drost Peter's bold superiority he regarded as an intolerable assumption. It appeared as if the quick, heart-stirring tones of Waldemar Seier's Hunt, which he had known from his childhood, recalled the daring dreams of his youth, with the memory of the time when, by his noble mother's side, he was saluted with the name of king, and felt the blood of the Waldemars in a bold and unsullied heart. But this proud expression quickly vanished as his whole misspent life of royalty passed before him, and the painful conviction seized him that he now sat, alone and hated, in the midst of his kingdom, without a single friend. His melancholy and despondency seemed on the point of overwhelming him; but he struggled against the humiliating feeling, and a wild defiance and sternness flashed from his eyes.

Drost Peter sat silent and thoughtful: in his dejected but candid countenance it could be plainly seen how much the king's displeasure went to his heart. His entire future efficiency seemed destroyed by a single hasty and incautious word. He could not acquit himself of arrogance whilst vindicating his sense of justice, on that occasion, when, by a too daring expression, he had drawn his master's wrath upon his head; and it was to him a bitter feeling to have offended his king at the moment when, as a guest, he had entered his house. At this instant it was almost more bitter than the thought of having lost the king's favour. But the monarch's stern look now fell upon him, and its excessive harshness seemed to recall him to himself. The undauntedness with which he encountered it was, however, little calculated to appease the offended king; who, instead of penitence and humility, was met by strong self-confidence and calm courage, which no displeasure of his could humble.

Rané and old Sir John were attentive observers of this significant play of looks, which filled up the pause in the conversation caused by the music. The sagacious old statesman appeared calm and indifferent; though a tear, which he speedily dashed away, glistened in his eye, as he observed the remains of loftiness and dignity which had lit up the passion-worn countenance of the king. He saw with concern that the fall of the trusty Drost Peter was determined on, and that his own influence was also endangered; but what most annoyed him was the ill-concealed triumph of the cunning chamberlain, and the busy zeal with which he prepared for the continuance of the chase. The old knight observed that Rané now made an unusual gesture; on which the king nodded to him, as if in accordance with some private understanding. His majesty seemed about to rise, but again relapsed into deep thought. The music still continued.

"Herregud!" exclaimed old Sir John, breaking the long silence, "they are playing Waldemar Seier's Hunt. It is a strange thought, sir king. If your great ancestor, of blessed memory, had had Count Albert and the trusty Charles of Risé by his side, when this air was played at the unfortunate hunting on Ly Island, the black Count Henry had perhaps never got him into his clutches."[31]

"A stag! a stag!" shouted Chamberlain Rané, springing up.

The king hastily arose, as a herd of deer, with a stag at their head, rushed past. In an instant the huntsmen were on horseback, the horns sounded lustily, and the dogs broke away.

"Away!" ordered the king, swinging himself into his saddle; and Drost Peter and Sir John started off by his side. The chamberlain rode in advance; and the chase now recommenced with redoubled ardour. They frequently lost and again found the track of the herd; and thus continued for several hours, without any pause.

"Sir king," said Drost Peter, at length, riding close up to him as he stopped an instant to observe the hounds and the track, "permit us a slight pause. Sir John's years make this violent exercise painful to him; and my wounds are bleeding through the bandages."

"Those who cannot follow, may stay behind," replied the king: "I have huntsmen enough with me, and require you not. Away, Rané!"

The hunt was pursued with enthusiasm, but neither Sir John nor Drost Peter remained behind. The day at length began to close, and Drost Peter again rode in between Rané and the king.

"If you would get back to Harrestrup before night, sir king," he said, with visible uneasiness, "we must now turn, and give the deer a respite for to-day."

"I shall do as it pleases me!" cried the king, irritated. He had just wounded the stag they were in pursuit of. "That stag shall be mine," he shouted, "should I pursue him till to-morrow."

They continued at a flying gallop over stump and stone, through brake and briar, with hounds yelling and horns winding. Drost Peter and Sir John still followed, and did not lose sight of the king for an instant; until, in taking a dangerous leap, Sir John's horse fell with him, and he received a violent blow on the side, which for an instant deprived him of consciousness.

Drost Peter sprang from his horse to his aid, and found, with consternation, that the old knight had broken a rib. "Hold! for God's sake, hold!" he shouted, with all his might.

The huntsmen stopped when they heard the drost's powerful voice, which they were accustomed to obey. They quickly came to assist, and a litter of boughs was soon made, on which to carry the old man, every one showing for him the greatest sympathy. But, in the meanwhile, the king and Chamberlain Rané, with two of the fleetest falconers, had gone out of sight.

As soon as Sir John regained his senses, and found himself on the litter, surrounded by Drost Peter and the anxious huntsmen, he inquired with concern and alarm respecting the king.

"He would not stop," answered Drost Peter; "but he must be back immediately. It is impossible to continue the hunt longer, for it is almost night."

"After him, Drost Peter!" cried the old man; "for Heaven's sake, after him! What think you of?" he whispered: "he is alone with Rané! Your people can care for me. Away!"

"Care well for him, Tygé--he is the king's most important counsellor," said Drost Peter to his castle-warden, as he sprang on his horse. "Bear him, with your huntsmen, carefully to Harrestrup. You others follow me. God be with you, noble sir!"

In another instant Drost Peter, with the royal huntsmen, had disappeared in the forest; whilst warden Tygé and his men leisurely and gently bore Sir John back to Harrestrup.

* * *

In a little lonely forest-house, in the neighbourhood of Finnerup, stood, at about the same hour of the evening, Claus Skirmen, with his squire's cap in his hand. Before him were old Henner Friser and Aasé. The powerful, gigantic old man seemed to have prepared himself for the worst. He stood, leaning on a long javelin, in his Frisian war-suit of leathern mail, with his seal-skin cap drawn over his straggling gray hairs. The pretty little Aasé appeared occupied with far more peaceful thoughts. She wore the same dark blue jacket, plaited kirtle, and light blue apron, in which Skirmen had first seen her, when he assisted in liberating her from Hegness. She held him familiarly by the hand, and bent on him tenderly her dark playful eyes, whilst he, half ashamed, seemed to expect some important reply from old Henner.

"Thanks for thy warning, brave youth," said the latter, shaking Skirmen heartily by the hand. "It is well thou camest so early, to assist us with our slender preparations for defence. Our persecutors may now come when they will: none shall see us longer than we ourselves list. If thy account be true--and I do not take thee for a braggart--thou art a smart youth--the affair of the robbers was no jesting matter. If thou goest on thus, and thy master, with a good conscience, can hereafter give thee the stroke of knighthood, I have no objection that my little Aasé should love thee, and thou her. But when we meet again, we shall talk more of it."

Skirmen and Aasé embraced each other with transport, and hugged the old man with the utmost joy.

"Good, good, my children. God and St. Christian bless ye!" continued old Henner, with emotion. "But this is not the time to prattle and think of love. Thou must off, Skirmen, and inform thy master of what we know."

"I have done so already," replied Skirmen: "what the Rypen burghers said in the tavern, he knows; but he does not think it has any great meaning."

"Tell him, then, from me," said the old man, "that it certainly means no less than folks say the three suns portend which we saw in the heavens on St. Remy's day. It was the day before the feast of All Saints, and the learned clerks speak much of a heathen goddess of revenge that used to be worshipped on that day. Our Lord knows the witch, and I am not skilled in the signs of the sun and moon; but this I know, that when disaffected knights creep about in monks' cowls, it is for no good or holy purpose. So beg thy master, first and foremost, to take care of himself and the king, as he passes the barn of Finnerup. And now away! Give him a kiss, Aasé, and let him run. Thy norback, Skirmen, is more zealous than thyself in the king's service. Hearest thou not how impatiently he neighs?"

"Farewell, father Henner--farewell, dear Aasé!" exclaimed Skirmen, hastily. "But be cautious, Aasé! If thou passest for an elf, be as cunning as one; and, for God's sake, disappear as soon as you observe any mischief."

"Take care, my young knight, that I am not an elf in reality!" cried Aasé, playfully, as she embraced him. "Seest thou not my blue kirtle, and brown two-peaked hood? Ay, right! look in my eyes and not to my back, for I am as hollow there as a dough-trough.[32] Away, now--out with thee! save thy king and master, or thou deservest never to be a knight, and I will have nothing more to say to thee."

Skirmen embraced her hastily, and hurried out, accompanied by his sweetheart and the old man. Shortly afterwards he was riding through the wood at a gallop, and Henner Friser re-entered the cottage with his granddaughter. Neither of them spoke. He barred the door, cast his spear into a corner, and sat down musingly on his rush-cushioned seat. Aasé took her distaff, and sat down to work by the window, for the interior of the room was now quite dark.

"Light the lamp, Aasé," said the old man, at length, breaking the silence, and rising with uneasiness. "It is still too early to go to rest in the hole inside, and thou knowest I cannot bear to sit in the dark."

"But were it not better to-night, dear grandfather?" replied Aasé. "If even I were to hang my apron before the window, the light would still shine through; and, if we would keep concealed, were it not advisable--"

"I am not a carlin," exclaimed Henner. "I am not so much afraid of man, that I must sit in the dark, and be tormented by the devil. The living I fear not: would only that the restless dead would grant me peace!"

"Dost thou again think of the dead, dear grandfather?" said Aasé, with a sigh, as she lighted the lamp and hung it on an iron hook attached to the low rafters; having first, however, taken care to hang her thin light blue apron before the horn-window that looked out on the wood. "It is not the dead, but the living, that persecute us, dear grandfather," she continued, sitting down to her work opposite his chair. "It is only the storm tearing the dry boughs from the trees, and the wild birds hooting dismally in the woods, that sometimes make thee uncomfortable at night."

"It seems always to come from Gottorp," muttered the old man, who had resumed his seat: "'tis there he lies, with the stake through his heart--the accursed king, who caused his brother to be cast into the river Sley!--and he it is who hunts through the forest at midnight. I long regarded it as a delusion and a superstition, but now I must believe it, since I have myself seen it."

"The rood save us!" exclaimed Aasé; "when didst thou see it?"