Chapter XV: Part II (6)

"On the night after St. Remy's day, when we saw the wonderful sight in the air--yesterday three weeks: it was Sunday, and we had been in church. You remember how it howled in the storm. You fell asleep in the corner there; but I could not close an eye because of the horrid din. I stood up at last, and looked through the window into the forest, and then I knew it was no delusion. I saw, in the moonshine, a coal-black figure riding at full speed through the woods, on a steed of raven blackness. The animal snorted and neighed as if possessed by the Evil One, and sparks flew from his hoofs. Behind him came one of an iron mould, who must have been the foul fiend himself. Three big hounds followed, glistening in the moonlight; but whether or not they were fiery, as people say, I cannot, however, be certain. I had enough of what I had seen; and no one shall now convince me that King Abel's wild hunt is mere nonsense and superstition."

"I certainly saw the same two riders last Monday evening," replied Aasé; "but thou mayst believe me, grandfather, they were living men. The forester's Mary also saw them, and she thought they must have been the dreadful Stig Andersen from Möllerup, and the sturdy Mat Jute, who always attends him. It was shortly before we heard of the grayfriar monks of Rypen, and the apparitions in Finnerup barn, which thou thyself believest to be conspirators lying in wait for the king."

"Thou mayst be right, child!" ejaculated Henner, more composed, yet shaking his gray head dubiously: "I am an old fool to take such fancies in my head. But were it even the accursed King Abel himself," he continued, rising, "let him come when he will! I have not been afraid to look him in the face before now. I have yet my old steel-bow; and my good Frisian spear shall still keep every nidding at bay, be he dead or alive." He remained standing in the middle of the floor, his arms crossed, and in deep thought. "If it should really have been Stig Andersen?" he exclaimed, suddenly--"if he should be here, and be himself one of the apparitions at the barn, there is far more danger than I had supposed; and this is not the time to be creeping under cover from one's own shadow. It were better I rode over to the drost. Skirmen is a nimble youth; but, now that thou hast put love-whimsies into his head, he cannot be so much depended on. He has been as awkward about everything to-day as if he had never before taken spade or axe in his hand."

"He is the son of a knight, grandfather, and has not been accustomed to such kind of work. But you shall see that he is smart enough when the safety of his king's life is concerned."

"Thou mayst talk of thy squire as thou wilt. If he be not a better squire than woodman, he will never in his life be a knight. Tell me, Aasé, art thou afraid to be left alone to-night?"

"Afraid, grandfather?" she replied, quickly, colouring: "nay, not exactly that--if thou hadst not spoken of the vile dead king. But it does not matter," she continued, gaily, as she observed a shade of displeasure and uneasiness in the countenance of the old man: "I am not easily frightened, grandfather. I am an elf, thou knowest; and, when I do not wish to be seen, I have only to make myself invisible."

"That thou canst well, child," said the grandfather, regarding her with tender interest: "brave Frisian blood runs in thy veins, and thou hast now been long free from thy dreaming-sickness. That is some assurance for thy safety; but if thou art at all anxious, I will not leave thee. Thou art the apple of mine eye, Aasé, and I have nothing else in the world much to care for; but when danger threatens the land, every true Frisian will be watchful, if our Lord and St. Christian permit him. This is an important business, thou knowest well. For the king, himself, I would not give a rotten rope's end; but still, as regards the crown and country, his life is of importance, until Drost Hessel has reared a better king for us. The drost saved thy honour, and, perhaps, my life: he is true to his king, like a brave fellow; and I am bound to serve, as best I can, both him and his master. If thou canst suffer to be left alone, I shall ride immediately, and find Drost Hessel and the king, wherever they may be. On such an errand, I should think I am safe."

"Ride, in God and the Holy Virgin's name, grandfather, if thou oughtest and must. I am not afraid, and can guard myself," replied Aasé, boldly.

The old man hesitated no longer. "Come, then, a morsel of bread in my wallet, whilst I saddle my horse," he said, as he passed through the kitchen, and across the yard to the stable.

Aasé accompanied him into the kitchen, and immediately afterwards returned alone, with some victuals, which she placed in a badger-skin wallet that hung suspended from a deer's antler near the fireplace.

Whilst thus occupied, the apron fell from the little horn-window; but unobserved by her, as she stood at the table opposite the light, with her back turned towards the casement. The point of a slender sword had pierced the horn, undone the fastening of the apron, and was then hastily withdrawn. A wily face, with a reddish beard, now peeped in. It disappeared, and immediately gave place to another, which likewise disappeared as Aasé turned round. She now first observed that the apron had fallen from the window, and proceeded quietly to hang it up again, without observing the small puncture in the horn.

Her grandfather re-entered by the kitchen, equipped for his journey. "I shall ride out by the back gate," he said, as he threw his hunting-wallet over his broad shoulders. "And thou art, then, really not afraid, child? If thou noticest anything suspicious, thou knowest what to do. If thou darest not have a light, put out the lamp."

"Be tranquil on my account, grandfather," replied Aasé, without the least symptom of fear; "but, since thou hast talked so much about the dead, I shall not extinguish the lamp. The living I can guard against. When may I expect thy return?"

"Before daybreak," replied the old man. "Bar the kitchen-door after me, and open it to no one until thou hearest nine strokes on it. God bless thee!"

He fondly embraced her, and departed through the door by which he had entered. Aasé fastened it after him, and returned to the lonely room. Shortly afterwards she heard the hoofs of a horse in the forest, and recognised the firm gallop of her grandfather.

About a bow-shot from the little forest-house, behind a close thicket of white thorns, stood two saddled horses, held by two stately pages, who themselves were seated on a pair of small hunters, and carried each a falcon on his arm; and at a few paces from it stood the king and Chamberlain Rané, whispering together, behind some elder-bushes that entirely concealed them.

"That was the old man who rode out," whispered Rané: "it could not have happened better. And heard you, sir?--nine strokes on the door opens it."

"Humph! I had rather have given up the whole sport," muttered the king, with much uneasiness. "You should have sought out the road."

"Sooth to say, sir king, I was better acquainted with the forest than I pretended; but I wished to give you a surprise, and keep my promise. Now you have yourself seen that she is here, and concealed from you by Drost Hessel. This is his forest-house, and here has he maintained both the girl and the regicide since last year."

"Silence!" whispered the king, with growing fear; "name not the damned word! He has not yet gone far, and who knows that traitors are not at hand? It was imprudent in you, Rané, to lead me, on such foolery, so far into the forest, at this hour. How easily you might have carried me into the claws of the old Satan! The little minx I should like to get hold of, but I shall not risk too much for her: I have not quite forgotten what the daring Niels Breakpeace and the fearful Lavé Rimaardson said to me yesterday. They are now on the wheel, and will grin horribly in the moonshine as we ride by.----Rané," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "I have not been in a church for many a year, and am not versed in saints' days. When is St. Cecilia's?"

"Faith, I know not, sire," replied the chamberlain: "I am not a whit more saintly than yourself. But it cannot be far off."

"The bold ruffian said that that day must be past before I could know his secret. This is not a time for fooleries and wench-hunting. It is night, and I have not a man with me except yourself. Thou wilt not betray thy king, Master Rané? Thou art not yet so godless as to lead me into a snare?"

"The cross defend me, your grace! How can you think so?" stammered Rané.

They had approached the house, and a faint glimmer from the chink in the curtained window fell on Rané's face. The king looked at his crafty chamberlain with an anxious, scrutinising glance, and kept his hand constantly on the hilt of his sword.

"I have many a time confided in thee," he continued, "and we have had many pleasant adventures together; but whom in the world am I now to trust, when Drost Hessel can be traitor enough to conceal a regicide, and even old Sir John is not to be depended upon?"

"I only half distrust them, sir king," said Rané, quickly; "and it is still possible I may be mistaken. But so long as I am with you, you are safe. When the least danger threatens, I shall warn you. If I had intended to betray you, sire, I should have taken care not to inform you of what I had heard and seen at Möllerup."

"But thou, too, didst lay thy hand upon the book, Rané--thou, too, didst swear thy king's downfall; what thou didst add to thine oath, no one heard."

"I were but a poor spy for you, sir king, did your enemies not believe me worthy of credit. But think no more of these things. Here you are safe. I hoped to have earned thanks from you to-night for a pleasant surprise, instead of which I am paid with doubts and scruples, whilst you squander here the precious moments. The pretty Aasé sits within, and wearies. Perhaps she is already asleep, and sweetly dreams of you."

"Talk not of her dreams, Rané, for they are frightful: she nearly drove me mad with them at Hegness. Beautiful she is, it is true, but as cunning as a she-devil. It is said that she has really power to foretell the future, and I almost believe it. If it be so, there are one or two things worth knowing from her. Heard you what the peasant said about the three suns?"

"Mere superstition and nonsense, sir king. In truth, I did not half comprehend him. But what he said about elfin-moss I could understand. From his description, it was neither more nor less than our little Aasé. She is cunning enough, perhaps, to avail herself of the credulity of the peasants, to render herself of importance, and drive a sly trade in the hidden arts. So, sir king, if you too are superstitious, and wish to have your fate unriddled, you have here an opportunity of gratifying your curiosity: you are but a few paces from the elf-woman; and, from such a pretty little mouth, you can hear no unpleasant prediction. In any case this will be a sufficient excuse for your unexpected visit, and give more zest to the adventure."

"So be it, then. I will visit her, Rané; but take care that no one surprises us, and be at hand when I call."

"You are perfectly safe, sir king."

The tall huntsman then approached the door of the little forest-house, cautiously and irresolutely. He first looked through the horn-pane, but could only distinguish the light of the lamp and an ill-defined female form, reclining, apparently, on a bench. He stood by the door and raised his hand, but let it fall again. At length he summoned resolution to strike the door nine times, gently, with the hilt of his sword. He heard a light, slow footstep in the room. The bar inside was withdrawn, and all was again still. He lingered a moment, as if undecided; and then half opened the door gently, and peeped in. The lamp burned dimly beneath the rafters, and on the bench by the table lay the beautiful little Aasé, apparently asleep. He now wholly opened the door, and softly entered. Having closed and bolted it after him, he approached the sleeping girl and gazed at her with admiration in his blinking eyes. Never, he thought, had he seen a more beautiful woman. Her little cap lay on the table, by the side of a breviary written in Gothic characters and in the Frisian dialect. The jet black locks of the maiden were released from their bands, and fell freely down and over her virgin neck and shoulders. The king, not to frighten her with his long sword, hung it on a small wooden hook on the wall.

"Aasé--little Aasé--wake up!" he whispered. "Thou must grant me a kindly welcome to-night."

The sleeping girl leisurely arose; but her eyes were closed.

"Do not fall asleep again, little Aasé," he continued: "I had enough of this jest before. Open thy pretty eyes, and look on me. Dost thou not know me?"

She opened her eyes, but they did not look on him: they were widely extended, and her gaze fixed, without play or animation; and her little handsome countenance, which was deadly pale, wore the solemn and fearful expression of somnambulism.

"Now, by my soul!" exclaimed the king, falling back, perplexed, "if thou art a witch or sorceress, I shall hold no farther parley with thee. Thou shalt be burnt one day, when thou fallest into the hands of the clerks. Yet, nay: thou art too beautiful for that," he added, recovering his calmness, and looking at her keenly. "Ha, woman! is this real, and no crafty jugglery? If thou canst gaze down upon the damned, say what the dead robber on the Daugberg wheel is about? What would he tell King Erik Christopherson within eight days?"

"The robber on the wheel?" repeated Aasé in a soft, toneless voice, and without changing her mien or posture--"he is now in the black pit, and calls on King Erik Christopherson."

The king started: he gazed on her again, and blinked with much uneasiness and suspicion, as he looked around. "Deceive me, cheat, and it shall cost thee thy life!" he muttered, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, and retreating a step farther towards the door. "Whom seest thou in the pit?" he again inquired, in a low tone, appearing no longer to doubt that she was in some wonderful state that enabled her to see into the Hidden, and perhaps to reveal the Future which he dreaded.

She hesitated to reply, as it seemed to cost her a painful effort to look on that which presented itself to her interior sense--a sense so different from that denoted by her rigid, motionless, extended eyes.

"In the pit I see robbers--murderers--ravishers!" she said, at length, in the same whispering, toneless voice: "there are kings, princes, and bishops among them. And, lo! there he sits--the murderer of his brother--on a throne of dead men's bones, with cushions of fiery serpents! He prepares a place for his brother's son! Hearest thou?--"

"Woman! demon! What devilry dreamest thou of?" exclaimed the king, overcome with fearful anguish. "Answer me! Speak! Can I yet be saved? How long a respite have I?"

"Ask the sword that rattles on the wall!" replied the somnambulist in a louder voice, pointing to the king's sword, but without turning her eyes towards it: "when that falls, thy time is near at hand."

With a convulsive motion, the king snatched at his sword; but the slender hook that supported it gave way, and it fell, rattling, on the stone floor.

"This is the sword of a king, and not that of a headsman!" exclaimed the king, proudly and vehemently, as he hastily took up the weapon, appearing, as he grasped it, to recover strength to overcome his terror. "When the heading-sword rattles on the wall, well I know it waits for blood," he muttered; "but this shall drink that of my foes. Ha! tell me, thou fearful woman!" he continued, looking anxiously around him, "who are the accursed traitors that lay wait for me? Where are they, and how many?"

"If thou wilt know their number, reckon it on thy belt," replied Aasé. "Beware of the grayfriar cloaks: they conceal bold warriors. They ride, with drawn swords, through the forest. See! look!--the blind, bald monk!--he laughs, and whets his sword on his nails!"

"Ha! Pallé, Pallé!--is it thee?" muttered the king, staring wildly in the direction on which the fearful dreamer's gaze seemed to be fixed.----"Seest thou more?"

"I see a man, with glowing eyes, clad in iron," replied Aasé, in a fainter voice, apparently exhausted, and almost sinking to the ground: "he spurs his black steed, and his great sword is drawn! Now will he revenge the dishonour of his wife!"

The king still stared wildly before him. "Sorceress! she-devil!" he at length shouted madly, "if thou art leagued with my deadly foes, thou shalt be the first to fall by this sword." And he sprang, with phrensied violence, to seize her by the throat; but his hand grasped only her loose kerchief, whilst his uplifted sword rattled against the lamp, which fell, extinguished, on the floor; and at the same moment he heard a shriek, and a hollow sound like the closing of a large chest-lid.

The girl had suddenly disappeared. The king raved wildly, and laid his sword about him in the darkness. A dreadful anguish overwhelmed him; and he would have called out, but was unable. He groped for the door, but could not find it; and then rushed madly against a wooden partition, which gave way, when the house seemed to fall about him.

A cold breeze now met him. He stumbled, and fancied he had fallen into some frightful murder-den. His senses became bewildered, and he saw before him all the hideous forms he most dreaded. The pale Fru Ingeborg, with raised dagger, nodded at him with her lean, skeleton head; her blind, crazy father danced around him with wild laughter, groping at random for his prey; and the terrible Stig Andersen stood threatening him, whichever way he turned, with the same fearful look of revenge as when he denounced him at the Thing of Viborg. A cold perspiration stood on his forehead. The ground seemed to shake under him; and he reeled forward, without knowing where, till he stumbled over a stone, and tore his face among thorns. This recalled his senses, and he now found himself in the midst of a wild thicket in the forest. The faint starlight shone dubiously, and he looked despairingly around him. There was no house to be seen, and the apparition of the girl occurred to him like a frightful dream.

He now recovered his voice. "Am I mad or bewitched?" he exclaimed. "Rané, Rané! where art thou?"

He heard a rustling among the bushes, and Rané stood, terrified, before him.

"The rood protect us, sire!" stammered the astonished chamberlain: "how have you come hither? and whither has the house vanished? I fancied I heard you calling from the thicket, and sprang towards the sound: I then rushed wildly into the cursed elfin-moss, but could find no traces of the house."

"It is devilry and sorcery," said the king: "if thou, too, hadst not seen both the girl and the house, I could have sworn I had been dreaming, or was mad. Where are the horses?"

"Close by, sire. I hear them snorting and pawing."

"Away!" cried the king: "lead me from this infernal spot. I am mad or bewitched, and while I remain here I am less than a man."

"Shall I bring the horses, sire?"

"Nay, do not leave me! Lead me to them. Give me thy hand, Rané!" And he grasped the chamberlain's hand convulsively. "Thou art still true to me? thou art not in league with my murderers, and wilt not basely betray thy king and master's life?"

"How can you doubt me, sir king? I have been in the most deadly fear for you. You may be right, however, in your suspicions of sorcery: for this cannot be so in the usual nature of things--a house cannot thus, by human means, sink suddenly into the earth. But how did you fall among the thorns?"

"I know not, Rané. Where are the horses?"

"We shall reach them instantly, sire. Follow me, and fear not. We shall find a way out of this bewitched forest. Ho, pages! Hither with the horses."

Little Aagé Jonsen and his comrade now approached with the animals.

"Has there happened any misfortune?" inquired Aagé. "I fancied I heard the king shouting?"

"He had only got bewildered in the thicket," replied Rané. "Here is your horse, sir king. Allow me to assist you, and to lead you through the thorns, until we reach a road or pathway."

The king mounted his horse in silence, and allowed Rané to lead him through the bushes. They proceeded thus for some time, but could find neither road nor path. The pages were leading their horses in the rear, and one of them began to cry. "We shall never get out of the forest," he whimpered.

"Be quiet, Bent," replied Aagé, "and do not let the king perceive that you are so silly."

"Is there no end to this?" exclaimed the king, impatiently. "Whither dost thou lead me, Rané? The farther we go the worse it seems. Where are we?"

"We must soon find an outlet, sire!" replied Rané: "I can already see an open space; but where we are I am unable to say, were it to save my life. Yet, stay; now I can see a light. Here lies a whole village: it must be Finnerup. We cannot reach Harrestrup tonight, and you must be wearied, sir king: let us therefore rest at Finnerup, at least until the moon rises. There you may be tranquil, sire. They are brave people in Finnerup; and no evil shall befall you."

"In the name of God and all the saints!" exclaimed the king, anxiously, "let us only get under cover, and out of this infernal forest."

In a short time they reached an open field, and a pathway that led to the little country village. They all mounted. The king felt himself relieved when he again saw lights, and the sign of human beings. They were not far from the village, but it was getting late, and, one after another, the lights were extinguished.

"It must be bedtime with them," observed Rané, "and we may find some difficulty in obtaining shelter, unless we make ourselves known. But if you can bear with the scanty accommodation, we can at least find admission to the large barn of Finnerup. They are bound to give travellers shelter there; and that they are honest people, I need not tell you."

"This would be safest," said the king. "But should there be any dangerous travellers there, who might recognise us?"

"I will first enter, and look after the accommodation, sire. See, yonder stands the barn: it is open, and the lights are still burning. Let us hasten, sire, before they also are extinguished."

They now set spurs to their horses, and rode at a brisk trot towards the straw-thatched building, which lay in a remote corner of the village, near a little mean hut, occupied by an alehouse keeper, and frequented only by peasants and the poorer sort of people. This ale-house was closed and dark; and at the open door of the barn they saw only a couple of stablemen, about to lead out some horses.

"Remain here, sire--I shall return again instantly," said Rané.

He rode up to the barn, looked carefully around him, spoke a few words with the stablemen, and returned immediately.

"There is not a soul in the barn," he said, hastily; "there is excellent clean straw to rest upon, and the people do not know us. Follow me, your grace."

He rode forward, and the king followed him to the long, gloomy barn, which was dimly lighted up by a solitary horn-lantern, suspended by a rope from a centre beam. As the king passed the stablemen, he threw on them a sharp scrutinising look; but they doffed their goat-skin caps carelessly, and did not appear to know him.

"Shut the barn-door, Rané, and fasten it well," he said, dismounting from his horse, which the pages took, together with Rané's and their own, and led to the long mangers.

The king, who was much fatigued, then threw himself on a bundle of straw, but kept his look upon Rané, who, with much noise, was apparently fastening one of the lower bars of the door. There still remained a bolt to be shot in at the top; but this seemed too high for the chamberlain to reach. He therefore, laid down, close to the door, a bundle of straw, on which he stood, and secured the upper bolt firmly.

"There, now," he said, returning towards the king, and panting for breath, "I have fastened both bolt and bar. It was as much as I could do to manage the large bar. It is as thick as a beam, and the man who can break it is not born of woman."

"'Tis well, my trusty Rané" said the king, kindly: "repose thyself now beside me. Thou hast suffered enough to-night on my account. When we remember what Marsk Stig said at Viborg, we should avoid such adventures," he continued, familiarly, though with inquietude. "We shall never again ride out in Jutland during the night. Humph! had I outlawed him at that time, perhaps I had done well; but old John considered it more prudent to deal mildly with him. This Marsk Stig is a violent man, and singularly true to his word. More than once, lately, have I imagined I saw him."

"He is now certainly at his table, drinking wine with his good friends, at Möllerup," replied Rané, who remained standing, respectfully; "and little dreams that the King of Denmark reposes to-night on straw, in a wretched barn. Marsk Braggart would be glad to be on terms with you," continued Rané, "although he fancies that it is he who defends the whole nation, since he got you to acknowledge the laws and edicts of the kingdom. But if you would have him alive, Möllerup is not impregnable. The foolhardy marsk should bear in mind what the ballad says."

"What says the ballad?" inquired the king, abstractedly and pensively.

"I have not, in sooth, much dependence on ballad wisdom, sir king," replied Rané; "but it is a true saying, nevertheless, if rightly understood:--

"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere,
And about the field doth fly;
But she guardeth not the little hill
Whereon she might rely."

"Alas, yes, my trusty Rané," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the saying is as applicable to me. But did you fasten the door carefully? I thought I heard it shake in the wind."

"It does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the greatest force. I fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily: "there must be a thief in the candle. Shall I lower it and see?"

"You may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. Come, I shall trim it myself."

Whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses was heard outside the barn.

"There are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed Rané, taking the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?"

"Nay, for God's sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "If they want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room."

They were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now quiet again.

"They have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes, but there was a profound silence.

"What day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse I have never lived."

"This is St. Cecilia's night, sir king," replied little Aagé, who perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "Ah, gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy Cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night."

"Pray!--pray thou, child! I cannot," replied the king. "Mass-bell and church-hymn, I never followed: the holy Cecilia aids not me."

The little Aagé folded his hands and prayed. Rané still held the lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king, who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt.

"That is well, Rané: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered. "How many studs are there in my belt?"

Rané held the light closer. "I count twelve," he replied: "but why desire you to know that?"

"That was a singular woman in the forest, Rané. She could see up into heaven and down among the damned. She bade me count the studs upon my belt, if I would know the number of my traitors. Twelve only you reckoned? I fancied I had counted fourteen. Thirteen there are, at least."

"Who would be guided by the number of buttons, sire?" replied Rané. "When a man cannot make up his mind, I have heard that he should count his buttons; but that is suited only to children, sire."

"Thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, Rané? Reckon again, and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. Is it not so?--there are thirteen?"

"Well, possibly," replied Rané, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is not a lucky number, sir king."

"Thou art right. Thirteen was the number when the false Judas betrayed his heavenly Lord and King. But, why becomest thou so pale, Rané?"

"I have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied Rané, looking towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if I am a little palefaced. But listen! What is that?"

Lusty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and poles.

"Arise, King Erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice outside.

"I am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "That was the terrible Stig Anderson's voice." He had drawn his sword; but stood irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre.

The chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "King Erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "Conceal yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "Lay yourself down: I will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." He extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now stood in total darkness.

"Rané, Rané! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the wretched king.

"Hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! I shall defend you to the last drop of my blood."

"So shall I too!" cried little Aagé Jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "Alas! had I but a sword!"

The little Bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without continued.

"Be still--be still, youth! Resistance is useless here," whispered the king to Aagé. "Do not betray me with your whining, Bent," he added; "but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner."

They hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded them.

The noise outside was still increasing. The assailants hammered lustily against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of straw. Twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. They looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not finding what they were in search of.

"Where is he? He hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful voice from the midst of them. They searched fruitlessly every spot, except where Rané stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw.

"Save my life, my trusty Rané!" whispered the king from beneath the straw, "and I give thee my own sister in marriage."

"My king and master is not here, but I guard his jewels and treasures," cried Rané, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and I shall cleave the skull of the first who approaches." And he swung his puny sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a clump of wood lying on the barn-floor.

"You defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered Aagé: "give me your sword, if you will not use it better."

"Away, boy!" shouted Rané, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of the page, but without touching him.

Among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by the side of a powerful and gigantic form. These two pressed on at the head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of the other, until they reached the spot to which Rané had pointed. They both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king.

"Here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. At the same instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light of the torch.

"Aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of straw.

A scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter, issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving murderer. In their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch.

Rané continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any one. At last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of him who carried it. "Help, help! They are murdering my king and master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed furiously from the barn.

A fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene.

The gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. The fearful monk-like forms stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the murdered Erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes of death.

"He is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their leader, breaking the fearful silence. "Away! To horse!"

In an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have torn it asunder with his nails.

The two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the mangers.

"Monster!" now cried the little Aagé; and rushing towards him, he plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the madman's heart.

"Good, good--now I can die! Blessed be the angel from heaven who has redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the murdered king.

One half of the barn was already in flames. The four horses in the stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door; and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. The flames burst through the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of persons hurrying to the scene.

"Help me to save the king's corpse, Bent," said Aagé to his weeping comrade. And with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated.

"God be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed Aagé, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. Make haste!"

They were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse.

A great number of people had now assembled; but they gave little heed to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. The crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping youths in front of the burning pile. The feelings awakened in the minds of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed. The consternation and the confusion were great. They screamed and shouted from one to the other.

"Pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"Take care of the king's body!" cried others.--"Send word to Harrestrup!"--"Bring the drost! bring Sir John!"--"Send word to Scanderborg! there are still the queen and the young king!"

Such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered, but no one stirred to give them effect. Women and children thronged towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. Many commanded, but none obeyed.

At length was heard, in the midst of the hubbub, the cry of--"Room, room! the drost is coming!" and the noisy crowd was divided by three horsemen, who urged their panting steeds eagerly through them. It was Drost Peter, with Skirmen and old Henner Friser. Behind them followed a troop of huntsmen, having Chamberlain Rané, bound, in their midst.

"Silence here--give place!" cried Drost Peter, springing from his horse.

The crowd fell respectfully to one side, and a dead silence ensued. The drost beheld the king's body with horror. He hastily examined it, and found that there was no longer any sign of life. He counted fifty-six wounds, all of which were mortal. Under the king's vest he also found a dagger, which had not been withdrawn from where it had been planted in his bosom. He drew it out, and examined it closely: it was a magnificent weapon, wrought with great skill, its hilt representing a gilded lion. Having displayed it to the nearest spectators, he put it carefully aside.

"King Erik Christopherson is dead," he cried, with a loud voice, whilst he rose from the corpse and surveyed the crowd, whose earnest and sympathising faces were illumined by the flames of the barn: "he has been shamefully murdered, and this atrocious crime shall not remain unpunished, as certain as there is a righteous Judge above us!" He paused an instant, and a deep silence prevailed around.

"The young King Erik Erikson is now our lawful lord and king," he continued, with greater calmness, and raising his right hand: "the people of Denmark have themselves elected and sworn allegiance to him. The holy Church will ratify his election; and soon shall he sit, anointed and crowned, on the throne of his ancestors. If you be true to him, brave Danish people, he shall, if it please God, be a good and righteous king, and shall severely punish the cruel and audacious murderers of his father. May the Almighty give him strength, and throw his protecting arm over him and his loyal people!"

"Long live King Erik Erikson! long live our young king!" shouted the multitude; whilst a few cries of "Vengeance--vengeance on his murderers!" were heard.

Drost Peter waved his hand for silence, and turned to those who stood nearest to him. "Who here has the fleetest horse?" he demanded.

"I--I have!" cried Skirmen, springing forward.

"Right--none can speed as thou canst. Bide instantly to Scanderborg, my trusty Skirmen. Speed thee, and carry to the queen the woful tidings. Relate what thou hast heard and seen. Say to Sir Thorstenson, in my name, that every avenue to the palace and to our young king must be instantly closed and well guarded. To-morrow, I shall arrive myself, with Sir John, when I have properly cared for the dead king's body. Away! God be with thee!"

Skirmen was mounted in an instant, and flew off, with the speed of an arrow, on his little norback.

"Thou, trusty old Henner!" continued Drost Peter, turning to the grave old man, who had remained by his side immoveable, on his tall horse, and gazing upon the royal corpse with a strong expression of sorrow--"thou, and the royal huntsmen, pursue the murderers immediately. Take Rané with thee, and compel him to lead thee in their track."

Henner Friser nodded, and turned his horse. A minute afterwards, the giant-like old man, with Rané by his side, bound, rode at full gallop past the blazing barn, followed by the huntsmen.

"Ye good Danish men," continued Drost Peter, turning to some of the more respectable peasants who stood nearest to him, and who appeared to regard the royal corpse with most sympathy, "ye shall bear the body of our murdered king with me to Viborg. Bleeding, as it now lies, shall it be exposed to the gaze of the people. Lay four planks over that harvest-waggon, and yoke to it six of your best horses. Spread my mantle over the planks, and lay the corpse carefully upon it. You, children, follow me," he said to the two weeping pages, who, in the meantime, had caught the king's steed, and one of the falcons. "Tie the king's horse to the waggon, Aagé: he shall follow his master. Give me the falcon, Bent. Light two fir-torches, and place yourselves at the king's feet. You shall bear the lights for him to-night, for the last time."

The boys wept and obeyed; and the peasants soon executed the orders of the drost. His scarlet cloak had now become the king's pall; and he himself sat quietly on his steed, with the king's favourite falcon on his arm, and saw that everything was done becomingly.

Many people still crowded around, but there was no noisy commotion. From the women only was heard a solitary sigh, or a subdued expression of pity; but among the men, astonishment at the unheard-of deed appeared more general than sorrow or commiseration.

Drost Peter perceived this with deep emotion. "King Erik's last journey is dark. Take brands from the barn, and light us," he said, in a sorrowful tone.

Some men from Harrestrup instantly obeyed.

"Honour the dead; for the crown he bore, and for the sake of the royal race from which he was descended. Follow him, as many as can, yet as a freewill token of affection: none else is wanted. Withdraw which way you will; but depart with quietness, and repeat at least a prayer for his soul. When the sun last set, he was a powerful king, and our lawful lord and master. Let that den of murder burn," he added, with horror: "its foundation shall be razed, and every trace of it rooted from the earth. Where it stood, shall no man rest any more; but, for centuries to come, shall prayers be said, night and day, for the soul of the murdered king. May the merciful God be gracious to him and all of us!"

With emotion he raised his hand to his eyes and gave a signal, when the procession slowly moved forwards. The crowd dispersed quietly and in silence; twelve peasants only attending, who walked, with blazing fir-torches, on both sides of the waggon. Near to the king's head rode Drost Peter, with the falcon on his arm; whilst the steed followed his dead master. As the procession moved past the flaming barn, a strong light fell on the drost's earnest countenance, and the royal corpse lay aloft on the waggon, visible to all. At its feet sat the two pages, with torches in their hands. Silently and slowly the gloomy funeral train disappeared in the deep night; and here and there, on the highways and byways, along the road to Viborg, stood astonished peasants, gazing in wonder.

* * *

At Scanderborg, the queen and the young princes were still in deep slumber, at the early hour when Claus Skirmen reached the palace on his panting norback, which had carried his light rider more than forty English miles in six hours.

The landsknechts who held watch at the castle-gate and by the palace-stairs recognised the drost's squire, and instantly admitted him. They were surprised at his haste.

"Pull up the drawbridge, and lock the gates!" he cried: "the foe is at my heels!"

The grave landsknechts were amazed: no enemy was perceptible in the misty dawn, and they were not accustomed to receive orders from a squire. Whilst they hesitated and delayed, Skirmen leaped from his saddle, and hurried up to the queen's large ante-chamber, where Sir Thorstenson himself kept night-watch with the royal body-guards.

"The king is murdered!" cried Skirmen, almost breathless.

The whole of the knight's men in the hall sprang up, and stood as if thunderstruck or petrified.

"Murdered!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson: "art thou in thy right senses, Skirmen?"

"Murdered!" repeated Skirmen; "and the murderers are not half a mile distant: they are approaching, with a numerous band of horsemen. If you would not have the palace surprised, sir, let it be barricaded instantly!"

"Wilt thou drive us mad, Skirmen? Bar the palace, trabants! and every man to his arms! Righteous God! murdered!"

The alarmed trabants hastily quitted the hall, with scarcely sense enough left to execute the orders of their captain.

"Now, by Satan, speak, Skirmen!" exclaimed the enraged Thorstenson, stamping. "Who has ventured on this atrocious deed? Ha! was it the algrev--the accursed algrev?"

"Nay, stern sir: if it were not the devil and his imps, it was Marsk Stig and his kinsmen. At the barn of Finnerup the deed was done." And Skirmen then related all he had himself heard and seen, and what the drost had charged him to say. "And my master was right," he added: "had he not dispatched me instantly, the murderers themselves had perhaps first brought you the intelligence. An hour ago they held a council on Tulstrup Heath. They sat on horseback, and clothed in mail: in the fog I had nearly ridden into the midst of them; but the moon broke forth over their heads, and revealed to me their bloody swords. I hurried past them, and they pursued me up to the forest. There were certainly more than seventy men, and some amongst them were disguised as grayfriars. They must be here instantly."

"Let them come!" cried Thorstenson: "they shall find us awake. You are right: none has dared this deed but Marsk Stig. He has now fulfilled his oath, and slain King Erik. He may next aim at the prince's life; but his vengeance shall not reach it. Is everything in order, trabants?" he inquired of some of them who had returned to the ante-chamber. They informed him of what had been done for the defence of the place, and were again dispatched with fresh orders; and the utmost activity prevailed in the palace.

The sudden noise awoke the queen, who rang for her maids, and inquired what the disturbance meant. They were all frightened, but none of them yet knew what had happened. The queen arose and dressed hastily, to proceed to the guard-chamber. The noise in the palace increased. People ran about bewildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen among them; but where, no one could tell. Every one knew that a great misfortune had happened; but what it was, no tongue ventured to ask. In the guard-room the knights stood in complete armour, awaiting the orders of their chief. The hall looked out on the palace-yard, and was provided with a balcony, commanding a view of the high road. Here stood Sir Thorstenson and Skirmen, watching, on the road to the palace, a great cloud of dust, which they were now first able plainly to distinguish from the gray mist of the morning.

"You are right, Skirmen," said Thorstenson, with a nod: "it is a large band of horsemen; they will actually treat us here on fasting stomachs. No matter--they shall have their morning meal before us. Are the archers on the tower?" he inquired of one of the trabants.

"Yes, sir knight," was the reply: "they have occupied all the loopholes, and are ready, with arrows on their bowstrings, as you commanded."

"Good: but let no one draw a shaft until I wave this banner over the balcony," he commanded, as he seized the large royal banner which stood at the end of the saloon. "The more time we can gain the better," he added: "if it comes to a storming, we must use our shot-waggons; for the fellows deserve a warm breakfast. Let the fire rage under the stones, and they will soon he hot enough. We must melt these mailed flinty hearts."

The trabant departed.

At the same moment the queen entered, attended by her ladies and maidens. "What mean these preparations?" she inquired, looking anxiously around her, and at the same time, with her customary dignity, acknowledging the military salute given her by the trabants.

"God and Our Lady support you, my noble queen!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson, advancing, and lowering the banner respectfully before her: "I did not think your grace was up, and I would not suffer you to be awoke with evil tidings. Prepare to hear them with resolution, my noble-hearted queen. Drost Hessel has sent us this messenger; and in the colours of night ought he and we to be standing here, for the news he brings is dark and gloomy as the grave."

"That, then, has happened which I have so long dreaded," said the queen, becoming pale: "my lord and king is dead? Speak, young man!" she continued, turning to Skirmen, "what unhappy tidings dost thou bring of my unfortunate husband? Speak! The Queen of Denmark shall not be crushed by a word, though the dread of it may chase the blood from her cheeks! My lord and king is dead?"

"You have spoken it, noble queen," replied Skirmen, approaching her respectfully, whilst Thorstenson retired to the balcony, over which he looked with strained attention. "Traitors surprised him last night," continued Skirmen: "it happened in an evil hour, when he had lost himself in the forest, near Finnerup, and his trusty men were not by his side."

"Murdered, then--miserably murdered!--as is now every king of Denmark!" exclaimed the queen, leaning for support on one of her maidens.

"It is unfortunately so, my noble queen," replied Skirmen, with strong sympathy, although the expression of the queen's countenance seemed rather to indicate bitter anger than deep, heartfelt sorrow. "Drost Hessel was the first to find your unhappy husband, after the fearful deed was done, and the murderers had fled. He immediately examined his wounds, and found them numerous, and all mortal. He would not quit the royal body before it was placed beyond the reach of farther indignities; but, for the security of yourself and the princes, he bade me hasten hither; and, with God's help, I have made such speed, that I am here before the traitors. God preserve you, my queen, and the young prince, who shall now rule Denmark's kingdom."

"Where is he?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously looking around her; "where is the prince? where is my little Erik? Come the murderers this way? Are they near?"

"Be calm, my noble queen," replied Thorstenson. "A band of armed horsemen ride, indeed, towards the palace, with some disguised traitors at their head; but, so long as I and a single Dane remain alive, no enemy to the royal house shall set foot within these walls. I have sent for the princes, and they will be here immediately."

"Can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the traitors all beyond its walls? Are there none amongst us? And was it not a Dane who murdered Denmark's king?"

Overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king.