Chapter XVI: Part II (7)

"The castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon another," replied Thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "The traitors are near us, but you have true men around you. Affront not every Dane by such dishonouring suspicions, illustrious queen. In this bloody treason the true Danish people had no part. Your royal husband was not beloved; nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or perjurers. Marsk Stig Andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest Dane. We will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with security the crown of Denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and loyal people."

"We will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!"

"Where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more composure: "can we see them?" She went hastily to the balcony, and perceived the dark troop of horsemen approaching, with the disguised, hooded men at their head. "They are numerous," she continued; "but not sufficient to intimidate my protectors. They approach the castle apparently with peaceful intentions."

"Let them come close up to the walls, noble queen. They must not imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. They have neither archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. The moment they commence an attack, I send them a salute of a shower of arrows from the tower."

"'Tis well, Sir Thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with proud indignation. "They shall behold the Queen of Denmark--they shall behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not slumber, and that the sceptre of Denmark, even in the hand of a minor, has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!"

The princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. The young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just heard; but his brother, Junker Christopherson, was burning with wrath and indignation. The queen turned from the balcony and approached them.

"My sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! Bear this sorrow as beseems his sons and avengers! Those who caused his death, thirst after your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm you."

Junker Christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. But that which so frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little King Erik.

"My sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "I am now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the kingdom. It shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall of my father's godless murderer. Is the castle in a state of defence, Sir Thorstenson?"

The bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. He bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to lose sight of the movements of the hostile horsemen.

"Good, good!" said Erik, nodding.

A trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. Erik hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with his mother, stepped on to the balcony.

The troop of horsemen had halted at some distance from the palace, and the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council.

At length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood, accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise, rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. The sun had just arisen, and shone upon the noble form and fair, pale face of the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right.

This spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. At length he reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the prince through the grating of his visor.

"Queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy braggart who denounced King Erik at the Thing of Viborg. You imagined that the man was not in Denmark who dared put so bold a speech in practice. Behold, then, in me, the Dane who has kept his promise to the king. The fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable."

With these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty features of the warrior. But speedily recovering herself, she again stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by her side grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Come you yourself, Marsk Stig Andersen, self-made king!" said the queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? Know, then, it was pronounced in that bloody midnight hour, and that here stands now your king and master, who will, if God spare him life, by a wave of his youthful hand, accomplish Heaven's judgment upon you."

"A self made king I am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice: "such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be Denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall determine. The time for that has not yet arrived; and I have not sped hither to contend with women and children. I came here to see what I now behold. You yourself best know who was a self-made king in Denmark. My deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought you sorrow and heart-pangs, Queen Agnes. I bear you, instead, a welcome message."

As the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse in her dreams. She blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"For these words, Stig Andersen, I shall answer you, when we meet before God's judgment-seat! Here, you stand deeply under the Queen of Denmark's wrath."

"Let me speak, mother!" interrupted little Erik: "I am his judge and master. Thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my mother, and shalt surely die! From this hour thou art an outlaw, as certainly as I shall wear the crown of Denmark!"

Junker Christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "The rack and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and angrily, clenching his hand with excess of passion.

The impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little king was effaced by his passionate brother.

"The threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight. "But know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant crown!--If I must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in the land more widows than thy mother--if Marsk Stig must lie, an outlaw, in wood and den, Denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and his followers! Away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear our hands! The kingdom and country can yet be saved!"

Sir Thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "Down with the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony.

At the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide from the loopholes of the castle-tower. The marsk turned his horse and laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. As if in derision of this fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone, discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails of the noble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him.

At the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers rushed towards him with bows drawn. The marsk hastily leaped on another horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower of hissing arrows and glowing balls from the castle of the infant king.

* * *

Twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in relating the manner of his death.

At Kiel Castle, Count Gerhard received as guests the illustrious Duke Waldemar and his drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. They had arrived, late in the evening, from a journey through Brandenburg, and were accompanied by both the brothers of Queen Agnes--the Margraves Otto and Conrad of Brandenburg.

In these brave noblemen Duke Waldemar had, in the course of his journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and had invited them to accompany him to Sleswick. The margraves were the intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent Count Gerhard, and they had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable Kiel Castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence, without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he journeyed homewards.

The duke had not met Count Gerhard since the evening he had seen him in company with Sir John, at the Dane-court of Nyborg, shortly before his own imprisonment. The interest with which the count had afterwards laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king, had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to shine in presence of the ladies. That the brave, honest count, notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious duke had never been able to forgive him.

Count Gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in Denmark had not yet reached Kiel. His guests and himself were seated at the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs.

The Margrave Otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. He was a great admirer of the German minne-singers, and sang several of their lays in a fine deep bass voice. To satisfy the Danish gentlemen that his royal brother-in-law, King Erik Christopherson, was more esteemed in Germany than by his own people, he sang Reinmar von Zweter's well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the Schwabian dialect, thus commences:--

"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"

and which may be thus translated:--

"A king so well becrown'd, and true,
And eke a crown beking'd well, too,
Maintains that crown aright:
Should thus the king his crown adorn,
That crown adorns him in return,
And each does each requite."

It was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been welcomed at Harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that his heart and courage were great and bold.

"Pokker i Vold! To the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged crown, my good friend!" said Count Gerhard, laughing, when Margrave Otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "Your good Master Reinmar is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, I could wish the song were Danish, and that the people might sing it from the bottom of their hearts. Yet I have no great relish for songs for the people that have to be brought to them from other lands."

"Now, now, my dear Count Gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a people's song, but a complimentary ode. How otherwise would you like to be sung?"

"Plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at all. Songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily, "must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. Nay, I prize more highly the art of my old Daddy Longlegs: he does more with his countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la. You must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen."

At his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen. This mightily amused Count Gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and manners he mimicked by turns. In this representation the guests immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic Master Martinus de Dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, passionate Master Grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned theologian. The dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester could more especially imitate to the life.

The duke and Sir Abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition.

"Excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold Master Grand to perfection. But if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire holy Church."

"He is not pope yet," replied Count Gerhard; "and more than one infallible clerk we are not bound to believe in. I have great respect for the abilities of the learned dean; but he is still a fallible man, and, like a good Christian, he must allow that even his best friends are not blind to his infirmities. To show you, gentlemen, that we here do not limit our selection of persons, when, at a merry moment, we have a mind to see them amongst us, without putting them to the inconvenience of a journey, Daddy Longlegs shall now give us a copy from nature, which it will probably cost you no great effort to recognise."

He whispered a few words to the jester, who nodded, and left the room. He shortly returned, attired in a princely purple mantle, with a gilded parchment crown on his head, over a tuft of thin combed-out hair. His face expressed a singular mixture of majesty and meanness, of wild strength and effeminate weakness: he seemed both to threaten and smile at the same time, and blinked constantly. He strode leisurely forward, stopping at times, as if in doubt, and supporting himself on his long wooden sword.

When Duke Waldemar saw this, he became pale. Count Gerhard laughed immoderately; and the knightly margraves seemed perplexed.

"Let this rather daring jest alone, noble Count Gerhard," at length said Margrave Otto, earnestly: "it is not becoming in us to be spectators whilst our royal brother-in-law is turned to ridicule."

"What the deuce, my brave sirs, are you afraid of the spectre of your royal brother-in-law?" cried Count Gerhard, laughing. "As you intend shortly to visit him in person, you will do well to accustom yourself to look him boldly in the face, without being embarrassed by his blinking, or scared by his anger."

The jester had withdrawn to the farther end of the apartment, where he stood in the shade, observing the effects of his mimicry. At that moment the door was opened, and two young knights, half intoxicated, stumbled in.

"News! news!" they shouted in a breath: "there is an insurrection in Denmark, and the king is slain!"

All sprang up in astonishment, except Duke Waldemar, who swooned, and sank back in his chair. In the general confusion, this was observed by Sir Abildgaard only, who hastily came to his assistance, and chafed his temples with wine, giving no alarm, but placing himself before him, and concealing him with his mantle.

The others gazed with alarm on the young knights who had brought the unexpected intelligence. But the terror of the jester was beyond control. Notwithstanding his talent for drollery, he was subject to a deep melancholy, which at times bordered on madness. A fearful horror now overwhelmed him, and he fancied that the ghost of the murdered king had actually taken possession of him, to revenge the mockery of which he had made him the subject. Longshanks became so deadly pale, and remained so motionless, that now he really personified a fearful spectre of the murdered king, whose mask he had assumed in a playful mood.

Count Gerhard had suddenly become grave; but the young knights who brought the message of death did not observe, in their half-inebriated state, the effects which their intelligence had produced; nor knew they that the two strangers were Margraves of Brandenburg, and brothers-in-law of the murdered king. They now related, in a careless and almost merry tone, what they had heard of the king's murder.

"There is no doubt about it, sir count," said he who stood nearest him: "he fell, appropriately, in a love adventure in Finnerup Forest; and could not himself have desired a fairer or pleasanter death. Let us now drink a happy journey to him, and a better and more faithful mate to his fair queen. Merrily, sirs! The health of King Erik Christopherson, wherever he may be."

Count Gerhard stood in agony during this unseemly and inconsiderate speech in presence of the margraves. He would have reprimanded the thoughtless knight, but the jester anticipated him. Rushing madly forward, in the guise of the dead king, he seized the bone of a roebuck from a silver dish on the table.

"King Erik Christopherson thanks you for the toast!" cried he, assuming with fearful truthfulness the monarch's voice: "to you, and to all his merry friends here, he sends a greeting."

So saying, he threw the large bone at the forehead of the young knight, but it missed its aim, and struck Count Gerhard, who fell to the ground, with the blood streaming from his left eye, which was laid open by the blow.

All crowded around him, alarmed. During the commotion the duke regained his senses: he cast an anxious look towards the end of the hall, where the jester had stood; and as he no longer saw the threatening form of royalty, he appeared entirely to recover his self-possession.

At the moment the accident happened to the count, the jester had cast aside his parchment crown and purple mantle, and thrown himself, with an exclamation of intense grief, over his wounded master; but Count Gerhard quickly arose, holding his hand over his bleeding wound.

"Our untimely jest has cost me an eye," he said, with composure; "but that is a matter of little consequence at present. If what we have heard be true, the kingdom and our noble queen are in a critical position. Haste, my lords, and stand by her with aid and counsel! As soon as possible, I shall place myself at the service of the crown and country."

Count Gerhard left the drinking-room to commit himself to the care of his surgeon; and his guests instantly departed from Kiel Castle, and hastily took the road to Scanderborg.

* * *

On the same evening the inmates of Möllerup were in a state of anxious expectation, for the lord of the castle had departed eight days before with a portion of the garrison. The gates were closed, and the drawbridge was drawn up as usual. The four watchers stood on the tower, and all was stillness in the strong, gloomy fortress.

In the women's apartment, as midnight approached, sat the tall, veiled Fru Ingeborg, in her dark mourning dress, engaged in sewing a long white linen garment. On the work-table before her, stood a lamp. The little, restless Ulrica she had sent to bed; but the quiet Margarethé sat by her side, industriously employed on the sacred picture, which she worked with silk and threads of gold, and which was destined to adorn a holy altar-cloth in the castle-chapel of Möllerup.

"I shall soon have it finished now, mother!" exclaimed the daughter. "Look once more. The red shines beautifully in the light: to me it seems as if the little angels smiled, and as if there really came a radiance from the faces of the infant Jesus and the dear Mother of God."

"Good, good, my pious child," replied the mother, patting her pale cheek, and casting on the work a passing glance through her veil. "I, too, shall soon be done," she added, with a suppressed sigh.

"But what is this long linen garment for, dear mother? It is neither a table-cloth nor a sheet."

"When I am dead, my child," answered the mother, "thou shalt thank the merciful God, and wrap my body and face in this linen cloth: then shall I have put off the dark dress of mourning, and be clad in white garments--white is the colour of innocence and purity, my child."

"Alas, mother! cannot we wear that garment, then, when we are living? But our Lord and Saviour took all our sins upon himself, when he died for us on the cross. Angels came to his grave in white raiment; and, when we become as little children, the kingdom of heaven belongs to us, as to the angels."

"Put on thy white kirtle to-morrow, my child," replied the mother.

"Ah, mother, mother!" sighed Margarethé, "when shall I see thy face again, and thy beautiful tender eyes? I well remember seeing them when I was very little; but that is long, long ago. Poor little Rikké has never seen thy face, and she is thy child also."

"Soon, soon shall ye both see me face to face, I hope," replied the mother, with a trembling voice. "Look at the sand-glass, child: is it near midnight?"

"It is past midnight, mother. Dost thou expect father to-night?"

"He promised to be here, or to send a messenger, before midnight," replied the mother, anxiously; "and he is not wont to forget what he promises. But he has a great pledge to redeem; and before that is done I shall not hear from him: until then, there is peace for none of us."

"Alas! wherefore not, mother? Rememberest thou not that the holy text speaks of the peace which is higher than human understanding? That peace the Lord has given to us all."

"Yes, truly, child: that peace the righteous shall find: they shall enter into their peace--they shall rest on their beds, it stands. But everything in its time: first war--then peace."

There was now heard the howling of dogs in the court-yard.

"Listen, mother, listen!" said Margarethé: "the dogs are noisy. They certainly expect father; but they were never wont to howl so fearfully."

"It betokens a message of death," said the mother. "Keep silence, my child; methinks I hear thy father's hunting-horn; and, list! the watchword rings from the tower.--He comes!"

Footsteps now sounded in the court. In the still night they could hear the drawbridge lowered and the gate turn on its grating hinges, and shortly after came the noise of many horses and horsemen in the court. Margarethé ran to the window.

"It is father and his men!" she cried. "But what is this? There are grayfriars among them, with torches! Father has now dismounted, and is coming straight to us."

Fru Ingeborg attempted hastily to rise, but sank back on her chair, powerless. "Seest thou thy grandfather, too?--Seest thou my hapless old father?" she inquired.

"Nay, poor old grandfather I do not see, mother. I can see all, but grandfather is not amongst them."

The door into the women's apartment was now opened, and the tall lord of the castle stood in his steel armour on the threshold. His visor was raised, and his stern, serious face was pale. He remained on the threshold without uttering a word, but made a sign to intimate that the child should be sent away.

"Go into the nursery, my child," said the mother, rising slowly, and trembling: "what thy father has to tell me, thou art not to hear."

Margarethé had approached her father, to greet him and kiss his hand; but she saw clots of blood on his gauntlet, and ran back affrighted. She folded her hands, and left the apartment, weeping.

The marsk then stepped over the threshold. "It is done!" he said: "take the veil of shame from thy face, my wife, and embrace, at last, thy husband and thine avenger! Thy scandal is washed out with the tyrant's blood: thou shalt no longer blush to be called the wife of Stig Andersen."

With a violent, almost convulsive action, Fru Ingeborg tore away her veil, and the rays of the lamp fell on her deadly pale and wasted face, which still bore the traces of a beauty seldom surpassed; but her dark blue sparkling eyes were deeply sunk in their large sockets. She stretched out her meagre hands, and approached the marsk. He drew back a step, surprised; but in another instant he rushed forward with wild ardour into her outstretched arms, while two large tears rolled down his iron cheeks.

"My Ingeborg! my unhappy Ingeborg! is it thus I again embrace thee!" he exclaimed: "has an age passed over our heads, and have we both grown old since last I looked upon thy face, and held thee in these arms? Live, live now, my hapless wife, and become young again! All thy griefs are over: thy years of sorrow and thy dishonour are avenged--fearfully avenged! Never was a polluter of woman more severely punished than he who murdered thy peace. Thy father was the first whose sword pierced his false heart."

"Ah! my father, my father! where is he?" inquired Fru Ingeborg, starting, alarmed, from her husband's bloody arms. "And thou art bleeding--thou art wounded!"

"It is the tyrant's blood--I swore thou shouldst see it. I am myself unscathed, my wife! but thy father--thy poor crazy father--he followed us not from the burning barn. I hurried back to drag him from the flames, but it was too late!"

"Burned! burned alive!" shrieked Fru Ingeborg. "Righteous God! thus does the Almighty Judge crush us for our vengeance!" And she fell senseless on the winding-sheet, which lay upon the floor.

When she again opened her eyes, she was on a chair, and her husband, in his bloody harness, yet stood alone with her. "Comfort thee, my wife!" said the marsk: "thy unhappy father lay not long in pain; his soul soared peacefully on the flames to that promised land of freedom for which he so long vainly sighed. Comfort thee, wife! Hear what I have to tell thee! It now concerns our own lives. Our great plans respecting the kingdom and country are not yet to be thought of. A panic has seized all our friends: every one thinks but of himself and his own safety. The people will not declare in our favour; but wail, like madmen, over the slaughter of the king. I myself am an outlaw: the young king has so proclaimed me, though without trial or judgment. I laughed thereat--but it struck my followers with dismay. And, truly, the words of the child appeared to me most marvellous. People may say what they will; but the child is now a king, however. I cannot rely on Duke Waldemar; and, therefore, we must away."

"Never, never! I remain here!" exclaimed Fru Ingeborg, with decision, as he raised her head.

"It is requisite, my wife, thou mayst believe me! I never retreated a step when it was possible to advance. Wilt thou now follow a poor outlawed man, my Ingeborg, or tarry behind, with a foul name, among our powerful foes?"

At these words the powers of life returned to Fru Ingeborg for an instant, with mighty force. She arose calmly, and regarded her husband with a look of surprise.

"A foul name I have borne long enough!" she said: "I shall no longer bear it in this world, even were I to be made Queen of Denmark. Thanks for having taken away my reproach--for me, no one shall further grieve. But if I am again the wife of Marsk Stig Andersen, hear now the last words which, in this world, I have to say to thee. My hours are numbered. The hour's honour I have won was not worth nine years' anguish, and that horrible night of fire and murder. Has the panic which struck our friends, seized also the mighty Marsk Stig? Art thou the man to be frightened by a child, and to flee the land at the bidding of a boy? Nay, nay, my bold avenger! It is the mist of the dusky night of blood that now obscures thy vision and weighs down thy soul--it is the kingly gore upon thy wambraces that paralyses thine arm. Stay here till dawn. Cleanse the blood from thy harness, and bethink thee why it flowed. 'Twas not merely that thou shouldst behold this pallid countenance. Tonight, I stand before thee as a spectre only to remind thee why thou hast tarried so long, and then to descend with honour into my grave. But when thou hast closed these eyes--"

"Live, live, my brave wife!" interrupted the marsk; "and thou shalt see that I will act in a manner worthy of thee. But, alone and unaided, not even the strongest can overthrow the throne of Denmark."

"When wert thou left alone? Hast thou not lords and knights of thine own kindred? Art thou not in league with kings and princes? Live Duke Waldemar and Count Jacob no longer? And are not Ové Dyré and Jacob Blaafod yet remaining? Our powerful kinsmen will not desert thee. In Norway, King Erik is thy steady friend: he is mighty in people and ships: him thou canst depend upon. Remain here, then. Let not our race be rooted out, and the land be lost. Build a castle on Hielm, that shall stand firm against shaft, and shot, and sling. Take not thy mighty hand from Denmark, my brave, proud Stig Andersen! Set the crown on a head that can bear it, and suffer not the families of Toké and Hvide to be banished, so long as thine eyes are open! Give me thy hand upon this, if my peace and salvation are dear to thee!"

"Well, my wife, I promise you!" said the marsk, holding forth his mailed hand to her: "if it please God, it shall so be done!" He became silent and thoughtful.

They stood thus for a few moments, hand in hand. The fire in the pale Ingeborg's eyes was quenched, and a cloud overspread her countenance.

"Thanks, thanks! now am I at rest," she said, slowly and solemnly; "now can I lie still in my grave, and grieve no more over my lacerated life, and over the blood that has been shed for my womanly honour. I shall not hear my forsaken daughters weep--I shall not hear my father's death-shriek in the flames. For the last time my eyes swim in darkness," she whispered, faintly, tottering. "Good night, my avenger! Thanks! Thou hast brought me the last message which I shall hear in the world. It was a message of victory, but of a terrible one. I am again thy lawful wife--but only beyond purgatory can I be what I was nine years ago--"

"Ingeborg, dearest Ingeborg! talk not so wildly!" exclaimed the marsk, anxiously; "retire to rest--thou art unwell."

"I go to rest," she whispered, and staring wildly before her. "Father, father! burn no longer for thy daughter! Now shall she pass with thee through the flames! Good night!" She pressed the marsk's hand fervently, and fell suddenly to the ground, as if struck with apoplexy.

Alarmed, the marsk called for help; but, before the servants arrived, their unhappy mistress lay, without sign of life, in the blood-stained arms of her husband.

* * *

Ere Duke Waldemar and the Margraves of Brandenburg reached Scanderborg Castle, Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson stood at the head of a considerable array of soldiers before the palace, where a camp had been pitched, whilst crowds of people flocked to do homage to the young king. Old Sir John had been brought to the palace on a litter; and the strictest regulations had been adopted. No seditious voice dared to make itself heard. Duke Waldemar and his train had ridden day and night, without intermission. On the second morning after they left Kiel, they beheld the camp of Scanderborg in the distance.

"We come too late," said the duke. "Tarry a moment, my lords: if I see aright, there is an army here."

"An army of seven or eight hundred men," replied Margrave Otto, whose glance at the encampment indicated the experienced general.

"Drost Hessel and Sir John have lost no time in this matter," continued the duke: "they receive the homage of the people without waiting for the chief men of the country, and the nearest kinsmen of the royal family. In this, you may see the presumption of these gentlemen. But the power is their's for the moment, and we must be silent. The boy has been declared King of Denmark; and your wise and illustrious sister, noble sirs, must, for the present, be content to exercise, along with me, the functions of guardianship. Even in that position we must remain quiet. So long as the present commotion agitates every mind, confidence is nowhere to be expected, and no rational measure to be thought of."

They continued their way in doubt and silence.

"Your conclusion, my noble duke, seems to me somewhat precipitate," said Margrave Otto, at length: "your eloquence had for a moment, in the present unexpected posture of affairs, somewhat dazzled me. The royal election has long since been legally determined; and any alteration, in it would be a culpable encroachment on the privileges of the people. My sister, the queen, would certainly hesitate to exclude her own son from the crown, for the vanity of being called queen-regnant; the more especially as, in reality, she will be so, as long as the young king is a minor."

"I fully concur in my brother's opinion," observed Margrave Conrad, who appeared to be considerably younger than the other, in whose views, however, he generally coincided, although he betrayed a certain independence of mind and character. "We feel grateful for your concern on behalf of our unhappy sister, noble duke," he continued; "but it has misled you. Let us not speak to her of a project so dangerous and seducing, and which has certainly never yet entered her thoughts."

"You are right, noble sirs," said the duke, quickly: "it was too hasty a conclusion. We must allow matters to take their necessary course. The thought was prompted by respect for the wisdom and rare qualities of your illustrious sister, and as a means of salvation for Denmark in the present conjuncture. What I have said on it must be a secret between us, in all the trust and honour of knighthood."

"I understand you," replied Margrave Otto, examining the duke with a scrutinising glance: "during the past week you have been singularly absorbed in, and have almost distracted us with, your state policy. I could almost swear you had a presentiment of what was about to happen."

The duke changed colour; and Sir Tuko Abildgaard, who had been silent during the whole journey, hastily turned his steed, and seemed busied only in guiding him.

"So much the worse," said the duke, hastily. "Who can have paid attention to the unhappy state of Denmark, and to the variances that have long existed between the king and his powerful nobles, without fearing the worst? There was a time," he continued, "when, as you know, I took an active part in Danish affairs: with the inconsiderateness of youth. I hoped, by a daring undertaking, to bring about internal peace and good government. My attempt miscarried; and now I rejoice, that my reconciliation with the king, and my renunciatory oath, exempt me from the most distant suspicion of having participated in this insurrectionary movement. Even my stay with you, noble sirs, in these dreadful times, I regard as the most fortunate circumstance of my life. In conjunction with you and your noble sister, I may now perhaps, unsuspected, aid in restoring order to my distracted country, and in chastising those audacious nobles who would lord it over the nation. We have seen, at least, that they are not afraid of resorting to the most violent measures to advance their own petty claims, and to gratify a miserable private rancour."

"There is my hand, noble Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed Margrave Otto, extending it cordially: "you intend honestly by the people and the unhappy royal house, and we shall henceforth give you both aid and counsel in restoring peace and order in the country. Let us no longer tarry. I long to see my noble sister, and to give her comfort in her hour of need."

They set spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly towards the camp of Scanderborg, where they were stopped, and their names demanded by the sentinels, who, however, respectfully allowed them to pass, on ascertaining that they were Duke Waldemar and the queen's brothers. On reaching the palace they found the drawbridge occupied by a strong guard of landsknechts, and were obliged to dismount, in consequence of the number of people who blocked up the way. The crowd fell back respectfully on each side before the three princely personages, whose handsome dresses and gold-embroidered mantles indicated their elevated rank. They were, however, often stopped in their progress, and their squires were obliged to remain behind, with the horses. During these stoppages many expressions were heard from amongst the people, which the duke and Sir Abildgaard listened to with special attention.

"Have they caught the murderers?" inquired a burgher.

"By the foul fiend, nay!" replied another: "the carls were well disguised, and who could know them? They had crept into monks' cloaks. For aught we know, they may be here, in the midst of us--nobody can tell a hound by his hairs."

"The wood has ears, and the field has eyes--what has been hidden in the snow, comes up in the thaw," observed an old woman on a crutch: "if Sir John or Drost Hessel catch them, they will be hanged, without doubt."

"Hanged?" cried a young fellow--"where now, Dorothy Ketch? The rascals would dance for joy below the gallows, and hug the halter, if they could get off so easily. Nay, nay; the dogs must be broken, and be upon the wheel. The king wasn't just what he should be, it is true, and was too fond of hunting after wives and wenches; but they had no right, for all that, to kill him, like a mad bull, in a barn."

"When our young king grows bigger, he will revenge his father, like a good Christian," observed a sturdy peasant.

"But where is he? Are we never to get a sight of him?" cried another: "they haven't surely slain him, too?"

"Nay, nay--the Lord put a bar to that," replied the peasant: "they were here the same morning early, before the devil had his shoes on, and would fain have laid hands on the young king; but he was up as soon as they were. When they saw him on the balcony, they grew pale in the nose, and durst not crook a hair at him. If, as they say, it was really the valiant marsk, he was frightened enough when he heard himself outlawed; and the fear of the Evil One seized on all of them before they could knock at the door."

"Rack and wheel were promised them, and red-hot stones they took with them on their journey," said the young fellow.

"That was brave! He will be a doughty king," cried many voices at once: "he will be another sort of man to his father."

"There he is! there he is!" was now vociferated by the crowd; and on the balcony was seen the young king, in his little regal helmet and a knight's black suit, by the side of his mother, who stood clothed in black velvet, with a diadem on her dark tresses. Her face was pale and tranquil, and she surveyed the crowd with great earnestness and composure. On the left side of the little king was placed Sir John, in an arm-chair; and behind him were seen Sir Thorstenson, and a body of royal trabants, with halberds and bucklers.

"Long live King Erik Erikson!" shouted a powerful voice from the balcony; and old Sir John, with an effort, rose and waved his hat.

A thousand voices repeated the shout of homage. The little king bowed to the people with the bearing of a knight, and uttered a few words, which, however, were only heard by those who were nearest, although they were instantly responded to by the entire voices of the multitude.

"See how the young braggart struts and swells!" whispered Sir Abildgaard: "he has learnt betimes to play the knight and king."

Duke Waldemar angrily bit his under-lip, and gave a private signal to Sir Tuko, who left his side, and mingled with the crowd.

Shortly after, a voice from among them shouted--"No more Eriks! We must have a Waldemar for king!"

This exclamation, although no one knew whence it proceeded, was caught up by a considerable number, and a discontented murmur commenced in the assemblage.

But old Sir John again arose, and, notwithstanding the excessive pain he suffered, read, with a loud and distinct voice, a document which, ten years previously, had been signed and sealed by the bishops and estates of the kingdom, and again renewed by the people in 1280, confirming Erik's legal election to the crown. He then repeated the shout of homage, and every rebellious and opposing voice was drowned in the overwhelming cry of "Long live King Erik! long live our lawful king! Down, down with the traitors!"

Duke Waldemar endeavoured hastily to escape from the clamorous multitude, justly fearing that they might tear him in pieces as the instigator of the seditious cry. He therefore joined, with a loud voice, in the shout for King Erik, and happily succeeded, together with the Margraves of Brandenburg, in getting within the palace-gates.

The proclamation having been made, the royal party retired from the balcony, and the people soon afterwards dispersed. In the riddersal, the queen received her princely brothers with considerable emotion, and greeted Duke Waldemar with a coldness which was to him altogether unexpected.

Drost Peter had, in the meanwhile, been receiving from the soldiers the oath of allegiance to the young king; and, a few hours afterwards, he conducted the whole royal family, with a numerous escort, on the way to Viborg. The queen's car, containing the little Princess Mereté and her governess, accompanied them, the queen herself sometimes riding in it when tired of horseback.

It was a grand and solemn mourning procession. In a black velvet mantle, with ravens' feathers in her pearl-bound hat, and mounted on a snow-white palfrey, the queen, attended by her sons, rode through the villages on the route. Prince Christopher was also attired in a magnificent suit of mourning; but the young king chiefly attracted attention. He rode on a tall coal-black steed. Under his black velvet mantle, which was lined with sable and figured with golden crowns, he wore a full suit of knights' armour, the wise precaution of Drost Peter and Sir John. In his little crowned helmet waved a plume of ravens' feathers, and on his arm he bore a small shield, on which was represented a helmet with two golden horns, on the extremities of which were affixed two peacocks' feathers. The youthful king had not yet been dubbed a knight; and although, from his second year, he had been accustomed to hear himself addressed by the title of royalty, he set much greater store on being accounted a knight, and on displaying his arms. It was from this childish love of pomp that he had himself caused to be painted the shield with which he was now for the first time publicly seen, and which he bore with a mien as grave and manly as if he confidently felt he was henceforth called upon to protect the kingdom and country with his puny buckler.

Nearest the royal personages rode the Margraves of Brandenburg, with Duke Waldemar and his drost. After them followed the chancellor, the learned Master Martinus, together with the high-marshal, the under-marshal, and all the counsellors of the kingdom, old John Little excepted, whose recent accident obliged him to remain at Scanderborg.

After these came the royal trabants, and twelve pages bearing torches. At the head of the procession rode Sir Thorstenson, with a numerous band of landsknechts; and Drost Peter Hessel, with Sir Bent Rimaardson, closed it in, and guarded the royal personages on both sides with their bold and trusty horsemen.

The procession advanced slowly and quietly towards Viborg, which was reached, after numerous stoppages, on the evening of the following day, when the body of the murdered king, which, from St. Cecilia's night, had been exposed to public view in the great cathedral of that city, was to be laid in its coffin and interred.

As the procession approached Viborg, Master Martinus first broke the long and solemn silence that had prevailed during the whole journey. Notwithstanding the deep sorrow that bowed him down over the misfortunes of the kingdom, the patriotic old man had so strong a desire to unbosom himself, that he forgot for a moment the private suspicions he harboured against Duke Waldemar, as the secret head and protector of the regicides. They happened to be riding side by side, when the chancellor turned to the duke, with an antiquarian remark, on the name and origin of the ancient city of Viborg, which he thought was derived from a certain Queen _Vebeca_, or from the Gothic people _Viti_, or, perhaps, with better reason, from its elevated position and ancient use as a place of sacrifice; or even from the heathen war-god _Vig_; and hence that the place had been originally called _Vigbierg_--the hill of Vig.

"Very possibly, sir chancellor," replied the duke, abstractedly: "as a man of learning, you must understand that best."

But the chancellor continued to allude to several conjectures regarding Odin's surname, _Vigner_, and concerning the amazon _Vebiorg_, who is mentioned in the dithyramb on the race of Bravalla.

"It may be all very true, sir chancellor," exclaimed the duke, peevishly; "but I am not versed in these profoundedly learned matters, and therefore do not concern myself respecting them."

"If we examine the town-arms," continued the chancellor, zealously, without noticing the duke's impatience, "they may perhaps confirm the opinion of these who hold that the town was first called _Vigletsborg_; the more especially if we suppose the two figures in the shield to be King Viglet and his queen. Some learned persons, however, have conjectured these to be Adam and Eve, with the tree of knowledge of good and evil between them; but, again, if we compare the shield with the city seal, (_sigillum senatorum Vibergensis civitatis_,) it is evident that the Adam and Eve of one party, and the King Viglet and his queen of the other, are in reality male persons, one old and the other young, who undeniably represent two judges; and I deem it singularly right and judicious that the young judge should have the older and more experienced one by his side; as, in like manner, our young king may now consider it fortunate, in the midst of these disasters, that he has his father's old, tried, and trusty friends by his side."

"Your learning, worthy sir chancellor, must be especially advantageous to him," replied the duke, jeeringly; "and if you could help him to discover the origin of the name of Denmark, it would certainly be a great assistance to him in governing the kingdom wisely."

"If we do not derive the name of our dear fatherland from _Danais_, as the antiquarian historian Dudo supposes, but from old King Dan, as Father Saxo maintains," replied the chancellor, calmly, although he noticed the sarcasm, "it is a thought well calculated to awake kingly aspirations in our young master's soul, that he can reckon his birth and descent from that ancient king, who gave a name to his people and country. Such knowledge is never to be despised."

He ceased, and fell into deep thought, during which he nodded, as if approving some idea that had occurred to him.

"When I behold this great and fair city, with its lofty ramparts," he said, resuming the conversation, "my hope in the Almighty God is strengthened, that he will henceforth keep his hand over the people and their lawful king. From this point the great light of Christianity was spread abroad among the people by means of the holy Bishop Poppo's wonderful miracles. On yon heathy summit our ancient kings received homage; and there the holy martyr, King Canute, got the true aid of the brave Viborgers against traitors and rebels. Here the great Waldemar was first proclaimed king; and here he found help and refuge with the trusty burghers, after that treacherous and crying slaughter at Roskild. Here, also, alas, three and thirty years ago, was homage paid to this same unhappy king, then an innocent child, whose ensanguined corse we are now about to see carried to its resting-place. Accursed be his murderers, and they who have caused this disaster! I would they were present in the midst of us, that our murdered king and master might turn upon them his glassy eyes, and discover them to us."

As he uttered these words he examined the duke closely. It was getting dark, but he could nevertheless plainly perceive an expression of uneasiness in his countenance.

"Do you not share my wish, highborn sir?" he inquired. "And think you any one of the regicides, or of their accomplices in the horrid deed, is so hardened and godless that he would not grow pale and betray his guilt in presence of the murdered king?"