Chapter XXIV: Part III (7)

"Thou dear, trusty Skirmen!" exclaimed Aasé, throwing her arms around him. "That would have been a vile death for a squire who has been so long in a fair way of becoming a knight," she added, waggishly. "Yet be not angry, Skirmen. I like thee all the better for this; and, indeed, thy exploits are quite enchanting. But what said the old nurse?"

"Alas! she is in her dotage, poor creature, and her mind is filled with whims and extravagances. She would have me believe that she had lain for eight days in my master's prison, instead of him. On Alsen, she said, they took her for a witch, and the guard would not deny her access to the prison, which my master left, disguised in her clothes; having first sworn a solemn oath that he would return and release her within eight days, and that during that time he would not show his face nor discover himself to any one. The carlin must have been in a dream. It could not possibly be as she says."

"Wherefore not, son?" asked old Henner, who had listened attentively: "it could easily be done. It is, at least, characteristic of thy true and chivalrous master, for the good woman I know not. Yet what purpose could it answer, since the faithful drost had to return, and, like a wizard, again creep into his prison-hole?"

"I know not: that is the most incredible part of the story, and makes me disbelieve it all. Besides, I know that Dorothy could not have remained quiet for eight days, nor help betraying herself by song and chatter. Yet it is surprising how much she knows concerning the prison. She described the exterior exactly as I had seen it myself; and, moreover, she gave me this key, swearing deeply and solemnly that it would open the innermost prison-doors."

"Ah, then, Skirmen, if thou doubtest longer, thou art an incredulous fool!" cried Aasé, joyfully. "If thou believest not that we women-folks can be silent to serve a good friend, thou little knowest us; and, if I mistake not, thy master could effect more in eight days, than many others could in a year. But, at any rate, he had one dear object to visit. Give me the key. I, too, can play the witch; and, since the good people on Alsen have so much respect for the weird sisterhood, we can easily hit on an expedient. We have been to St. Peter's prison, in Rome, thou must know, and have there received absolution of all our sins, and a dispensation from going to the holy sepulchre. I have not sinned greatly since, I believe; and if now our dear Holy Lady or St. Christian will make use of me to open a prison, they may well do so, though I am not altogether an angel--"

"Be silent, children, and conceal yourselves," suddenly exclaimed old Henner. "I hear horsemen on the road from the convent. It may be the marsk."

Aasé and Skirmen quickly obeyed, and retired to the thicket near the lake, where many a tender word was ex-changed between them.

A troop of well-armed horsemen now appeared, approaching the ferry-house from Asmild convent, having two tall personages at their head. One of these, who sat with a proud air on his quiet palfrey, was the haughty Master Jens Grand, who, after the death of the aged Johan Dros, had been, much against the wish of the king, chosen Archbishop of Lund. His mail-clad companion, who was stately and warlike, and mounted on a champing war-steed, was no other than the famous Marsk Stig himself. They halted on the road, while the attendant horsemen descended to the lake to water their horses.

"As I observed, sir marsk," said the prelate, "they must restore you your rank and estates if you will but allow the boy for the present to retain his throne. He is still preferable to your powerful King Priesthater."

"Out upon it, your reverence!" exclaimed the marsk: "you are afraid of the name priesthater, although it is one he does not deserve. He is the ablest monarch that ever sat on the throne of Norway, and possesses indeed the lofty soul of a king. When before, without showing fear or tyranny, has any northern king endured by his side a powerful brother, such as is Duke Hakon? Under such a king, Denmark and Norway will become unrivalled for power and greatness. Let me but wield the general's staff for ten years, while you bear the crook, and the world shall see that the ancient race of Skjalm Hvide have not degenerated since the days of Absalom. In Sweden, too, there is now a boy-king on the throne, but he will never become a man. What say you to an earthly trinity, most reverend father?"

"You will bend the bow until it breaks," replied the archbishop. "You forget that you are beyond the pale of the law, and that your large estates are in the possession of the crown."

"My will and this good sword is now my law," replied the marsk; "and as to estates, my friends and I have ample while all Denmark is in our hands."

"Still you must remember that you are an outlaw," observed the archbishop, emphatically, "and that you are also under the ban. If, then, I obtain you release from the latter, you must not set the priesthater as king over me and Denmark. I would rather you mounted the throne yourself--a step almost as easy of accomplishment."

"Mean you to tempt me, Grand?" observed his companion, with a smile. "Were Marsk Stig to sit on the throne of Denmark, Master Grand might occupy St. Peter's chair, and keep his royal kinsman in awe."

"No need of that, sir marsk," rejoined the imperious archbishop. "You despise not Holy Church and her chiefs, as does the proud Norseman, and you would be too prudent to deny the first prelate of the north that obedience and reverence he could extort. I meant not to tempt you; and, whilst I know and respect your self-control and magnanimity, you cannot be ignorant that it is my prerogative, not your's, to place the crown upon the head of him who is to wear it. Hear me, Marsk Stig!" he continued, proudly: "that I am your friend, you have had sufficient proof. I am now, after the king, the greatest man in Denmark. Acquitted of every part I took in your affair, I have even been admitted to his confidence, and am commissioned to negotiate a peace with Norway. In zealously attempting to effect this, I am labouring, not for the king's sake, but for that of the Church and kingdom. I know well, that, with a single word, you can annihilate the treaty. But be advised by me, Marsk Stig, and do not so. Demand what you will, and rely upon me; but remember that I it is who shall hereafter crown Denmark's kings, and I need not the authority of St. Peter's chair to bind or loose the monarch's soul, any more than those of his knights."

The marsk gazed for some moments with astonishment at the bold prelate. "You possess great power, it is true," he at length said; "but I believed, of a surety, that the son of Erik Glipping had no greater enemy in Denmark than yourself. After his death you persecuted his adherents, and caused even their corpses to be dug up from your churchyard, and thrown like dogs into a dung-pit. How is it, then, that you now cling so zealously to the boy-rule?"

"The boy is now anointed and crowned."

"Were he a thousand times anointed, 'tis the same. I have sworn his downfall, and he or I must perish! Upon you I trusted, Grand; but I now see that the Archbishop of Lund thinks not as did the Dean of Roskild. It is strange that changing his seat should so alter a man. But the highest elevated are the soonest giddy. Have you forgotten, reverend sir, in the archbishop's chair, what you swore to me in the dean's?"

"That I have not, most valiant marsk," replied the prelate; "but you have forgotten what we both promised to Duke Waldemar. He deserves truer friends than those who agreed to bestow the crown of Denmark upon the priesthater. That I do not support the boy's crown for the boy's sake, I have shown; but I was not in your councils when you broke promise to the duke."

"Ah! is it thus, your reverence? Now, for the first time, do I comprehend you. I had forgotten that you were confessor to the duke. But had you desired that I, or any honest man, should depend on that wily gentleman, you had trained up your shriveling otherwise than you did. As he was so base and faithless as to subscribe my sentence of outlawry, he would certainly not have hesitated to sign my death-warrant."

"Him you have to thank that you escaped so easily," replied Grand. "The duke acted as your most discreet friend, when he subscribed that sentence which, as regent, he has still the power to remit; and, if you will assist us in effecting this treaty with Norway, you shall no longer remain an outlaw. The time may come, too, when you shall sue for the saving blessing of the Church, and tremble at its ban. Despise not, valiant marsk, the lightning of its curse, which, ere now, has melted crowns and overthrown heroes stronger than you."

"A truce with your lightnings and your bans!" indignantly replied the marsk, as he erected himself proudly, and rode on. "You see, in me, that a brave man can thrive and be strong, despite your thunders of excommunication, launched against him from Lund Cathedral. Spiritual weapons avail not with Marsk Stig, nor shall they turn him a hair's-breadth from his course."

At that moment the vaadesang, from the tomb of the murdered king, sounded clearly across the calm lake.

The marsk paused. "What was that?" he asked.

"It was the blood of thy murdered king, crying aloud to Heaven for vengeance!" replied a hollow voice beside him, while the tall pilgrim-form of Henner Friser rose from the side of the boat, where he had been sitting, and, in the moonshine, stood menacingly before him.

The life-stream became cold in the warrior's veins while he gazed on the pilgrim as on some horrid spectre, and the mournful tones of the vaadesang were again wafted over the lake.

"Listen--listen!" exclaimed the pilgrim: "thus shall that song complain and mourn, till, at the last day, King Erik and his murderers stand before God's judgment-seat."

"Fiend! who art thou?" cried the marsk, unsheathing his sword.

"A king-killer--as thou art!" was the reply: "but I have atoned for my sin; and to thee I bring this last warning--Despise not the ban! despise not Heaven's weapons, Marsk Stig! Man's strength is but a reed; but the Lord's hand is mighty, and vengeance is his. Repent thee, Stig Andersen, or thine hour is near. 'Twas thus the holy father bade me warn thee: wash the king's blood from thine hands, and do penance; or set thine house in order, and prepare for death and perdition. Thy soul is weighed and found wanting--thy day of grace is but short."

"Henner! is it thee?" cried the marsk, as he brandished his sword. "But beware! thy crazy grayhead shall not always protect thee."

"Listen--listen!" calmly resumed the pilgrim, who shrunk not at the threat, whilst a gentle breeze again bore the vigil-tones over the lake, and the mournful chorus swelled louder and louder, vibrating overhead in the calm night. "Listen!" he exclaimed: "the tones from the grave ascend to heaven: they plead for the soul of the king, hurried away in the midst of his sins; but woe and eternal perdition they sound to those of his murderers!"

"Peace, accursed one!" exclaimed the enraged marsk, and his sword flashed in the direction of Henner's head; but at the same instant it was struck violently from his hand, while a sword of flame, as it were, gleamed before him in the air. Seized with terror, he spurred his steed forward, and galloped away, followed by the ecclesiastic, who, pale and frightened, continued to cross himself, as he disappeared along the dark road.

Shortly after the marsk's troop of horsemen rode past the pilgrim, who, leading Aasé by the hand, strode leisurely along the highway, whilst Skirmen still remained silently and gravely by the boat, leaning upon the long flame-shaped sword.

* * *

Four weeks had elapsed since the night on which the inflexible marsk encountered Henner Friser by Viborg Lake, and heard the tones of the vigils ascend from the tomb of the murdered king. It was evening, and the last golden rays of the sun rested on the turrets of Hielm Castle, when the stern marsk, accompanied by his troopers, rode across the little island in the direction of his stronghold. He had been attending the meeting between the Danish and Norwegian kings at Varberg, at which his unyielding pride and imperious demands had entirely frustrated the conclusion of the treaty; and although he now returned to Hielm with the proud consciousness of his formidable power and influence, his haughty features were pale, and his lofty figure seemed to rock in the saddle.

In presence of Archbishop Grand, he had concealed the strong impression made upon him by the occurrence which we have related, and, indeed, laughed at himself and the whole adventure, which he characterised as a mere accident, or a piece of trickery, got up by the half-crazed Henner. But during his homeward journey, when no longer sustained by the archbishop's presence, he had not spoken a word; nor could he shake off the conviction that the sword had been shivered in his hand by lightning. He still imagined that, while the vaadesang from the royal tomb rang in his ears, he had heard death and perdition announced to him by a spectre, and that a mighty cherub-sword had struck him with its lightning, while the accusing chorus swelled to heaven over his guilty head. With heavy soul he rode through the dark gate of Hielm Castle, and, dismounting from his steed, entered the arched hall of the keep, where sat his daughters.

The quiet Margarethé advanced affectionately to meet him, and proceeded to unbuckle his armour; while the impatient little Ulrica overwhelmed him with inquisitive questions, as to where he had been, and whether he had brought home booty and jewels.

"Hast thou not gold and jewels enough to fill thy young raven's maw?" asked the gloomy warrior, without looking at the child. "I have brought thee more than ever king's daughter in Denmark possessed. But the time may come," he added, in an under tone, "when thou must be contented with less. Go to the chamberlain, Rikké," he continued, in a sterner tone: "he will open the treasure-closet, and give thee the rosary on which King Erik Christopherson told his last prayer. Keep that as thy patrimony."

"Thanks, father--thanks!" exclaimed the innocent, rosy-cheeked child. "But, why dost thou always seem so angry when thou art kind to me? I may, then, now take the handsome string of pearls and diamonds to deck myself? Thanks, father--thanks!" she again cried, as she skipped away, clapping her hands with delight.

"And thou, my pious Margarethé," continued the marsk to his eldest daughter, as with emotion he gazed on her pale and quiet features--"thou carest not for my treasures; therefore to thee I give my blessing--if haply it carry not with it the weight of a curse!" he added, mentally, while he laid his hand upon her head. "Go, my child," he said, aloud, as he felt himself becoming giddy--"go, and send hither the chaplain."

"Art thou sick, dear father?" inquired the daughter, with deep concern: "thy hand is cold, and thou art quite pale."

"It will pass," he exclaimed, moodily, throwing himself into a seat. "Do as I bid thee, and remain in thy chamber until I call. God bless thee!"

Margarethé retired, with tears in her eyes; and in a little while a timorous-looking clerk entered, and bowed humbly before the master of the castle, without uttering a word.

"I have not long to live!" exclaimed the marsk: "prepare me for death, if thou canst, and administer to me the holy sacrament. We must at last, I perceive, make peace with Heaven, and think of our soul's welfare. Shrive, however, I shall not," he continued: "the world knows well what I have done, and the Omniscient best of all."

The trembling clerk began a discourse he was wont to use on similar occasions, concerning the seven mortal sins and purity of conscience, when the marsk impatiently interrupted him.

"This jargon helps me not," he said. "I wish not to hear _thy word_, clerk, but God's word. Prepare the sacrament--there is virtue in that! King Erik had it not before his death," he added, softly, "but he took it with him in his coffin. Haste thee, clerk! why lingerest thou?"

"Alas, stern sir marsk," stammered the clerk, "I cannot--I truly dare not. The canonical law, the chapter, and the holy father will condemn me, should I administer this holy rite to one who is excommunicated."

"Death and perdition!" exclaimed the marsk, grasping his sword, "thou shalt, base clerk, or thou diest!"

"Alas, most gracious master, while the ban of the church is on thee, thou hast not the power to--"

"Not the power! By Satan, I swear that, if thou bringest it not quickly, thou shalt die!"

The trembling clerk departed hastily, with a humble and obedient mien. But he returned not; for, hurrying from the castle as fast as he could, he instantly took to flight.

The marsk grew paler and paler, and, as he gazed on the door by which the priest had departed, it seemed to him an avenue of heaven, from which he expected an angel to bring him redemption. But it opened not. He endeavoured to rise, but sank back powerless. He would have shouted; but his voice was weak, and no one seemed to hear it.

At length his henchman, Mat Jute, entered. "A stranger of rank is here, stern sir marsk," he said, as he remained erect by the door, with his hand at his steel cap; "and he seems determined on entering, by fair means or foul, and that immediately."

The marsk beckoned for a cup of wine, which somewhat revived him; and "The clerk--the chaplain!" he anxiously cried, as his voice returned.

The trusty Mat now perceived with terror the condition of his master, and rushed out to bring the priest and a physician.

Scarcely had he left the door, when the stranger he had announced appeared. He was tall, and wore a lofty feathered hat, whilst the ample folds of a purple mantle, in which he was enveloped, concealed his face. They now fell aside, however, and revealed a countenance, pale and restless indeed, but on which the stamp of a daring cunning was ineffaceably imprinted.

"Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed the marsk, as he endeavoured to rise, but again sank back on his seat. "Come you hither to see how the man dies whom you have doomed an outlaw?"

"Do I come at an hour so solemn?" asked the duke. "Since, then, the angel of retribution has found you first, my design is frustrated. Know, however, that I came to defy you to mortal combat."

"You may still have your wish," replied the marsk, erecting himself. "But wherefore seek you this? Tell me quickly!"

"Like a perjured traitor, you have broken your knightly word, and have promised to the Norwegian king the crown which is mine."

"Ay, but not until you had broken our paction, and declared me an outlaw."

"That I did so to save you, you know well; but any excuse is welcome. Yet what fidelity could I expect from a regicide?"

"By that word you accuse yourself, Duke Waldemar. That sin--if sin it is--you share with me. Deep injuries had I to revenge, which you had not. If King Erik's blood stains not your hand, it yet lies as heavy on your head as it does on mine. Your counsel and wishes were in Finnerup barn, albeit you yourself were absent."

"A mightier Power has judged between us," replied the duke. "I will not curse you in your dying hour; but one thing you must tell me--you must solve to me a riddle that has driven me mad:--where is the dagger I gave you when we swore the tyrant's fall?"

"I left it in his bosom," replied the marsk, "that it might be known you were our head and prince. Your name I even had graven on it, that no doubt might exist of your participation in the deed, and that thus our fortunes might be indissolubly linked together."

"Shameless traitor! And thus it is that you would drag me with you to perdition! But say, who was the accuser that displayed the dagger of the bloody paction before the eyes of king and people?"

"If it was not Drost Hessel, let your confessor teach you the name of the angel who accuses the faithless!"

"It was not the drost," exclaimed the duke, while his brain began to reel: "he lay then in chains at Nordborg. But you it was--even you, accursed regicide!--or it was the foul fiend himself!"

"Priest, priest! where art thou?" cried the marsk, glancing fearfully, around him. "Name not the Evil One, Duke Waldemar! In our bloody council we invoked him often enough."

At that instant the door was hastily opened, and Mat Jute entered, much excited. "Sir marsk," he cried, "what is to be done? The priest has fled, and the island is surrounded by the king's ships. The troops are about to land, with Thorstenson at their head, to storm the castle."

"Let the priest speed to the infernal pit!" cried the marsk, rising. "Now, I will not die. Come on, King Erik's men! You shall once more see what Marsk Stig can accomplish!" He grasped his weapon with the suddenly returned strength of a giant. "Away!" he shouted, in a fearful voice: "every man to his post! We shall crush them with brynkiöls and glowing stones."

In an instant he was gone, and Duke Waldemar remained alone, agitated and undecided. The din of arms and soldiers was soon heard outside the castle, when at length, seizing his sword, he hurried out.

* * *

In the attack on Hielm, the royalists were repulsed with great loss; but Thorstenson still continued to beleagure the castle, and was making preparations for another assault, whilst the most marvellous stories and reports began to circulate among the people. The rumour that the marsk was dead spread among the besiegers. It was said by others, that he had mysteriously vanished, and that a stranger of eminence, who had been with him, had also suddenly disappeared. From this circumstance it was generally believed among the people, that the devil had been at Hielm, and carried off the awful king-murderer.

Meanwhile, the castle was defended with great bravery by the marsk's seven hundred mail-clad men. It was asserted that they were now commanded by the former lord of the castle, the outlawed Chamberlain Rané; and that his wife, the algrev's daughter, was with him. About the same time, too, a small female form, in white garments, with a crucifix in her folded hands, was frequently seen upon the ramparts of Hielm, where the dark warriors knelt before her as she passed them. The chiefs of the besiegers knew it was the marsk's eldest daughter; but many of the common soldiers looked on her as a supernatural being, who protected the castle, and rendered it impregnable.

One night, shortly after the rumour of the marsk's sudden disappearance had been spread abroad, a funeral train, bearing torches, landed from a ship lying off the parsonage of Stubberup, on Hindsholm,[42] and proceeded with silence and solemnity towards the churchyard. The maid-servants of the clergyman, assisted by some maidens from the village, were engaged in carding wool, forming what was called a carding-guild, which, when the work was over, terminated in dance and merriment. The girls were cheerfully at work, in the servants' room, where were a number of troughs, with a large tub in the centre, while a single dull lamp hung in an iron hook from the rafters, and two men-servants lay on a bench asleep.

The busy wool-carders were amusing themselves with singing ballads and telling ghost-stories, and were in the middle of a fearful tale concerning pirates who infested a wood in the northern part of the peninsula, and who had been captured one yule evening by Drost Peter. This was the band of Niels Breakpeace and Lavé Rimaardson, whose chiefs had then escaped, but who were next year taken and executed at Harrestrup. Twelve of these men had perished in captivity on Hindsholm; on which achievement there existed a ballad which was generally known, and which the maidens were now all engaged in singing with the greatest glee. The kitchen-maid, who took the lead, was at the fourteenth verse:--

"It was Drost Peter Hessel,
He called unto his band:
Wake up! wake up! no longer stay.
For news has come to hand.
Wake up! for now the time is come
To don the trusty mail--"

when the ballad was suddenly interrupted by the brewer's maid, who rushed in, with terror in her looks, exclaiming that she had seen a funeral company bearing torches. The maidens dropped their cards, and the wool fell from their laps; whilst the men-servants aroused themselves, and rubbed their eyes: but none dared to venture forth to behold the cause of their fear.

"What scared fools you are!" at last exclaimed a little black-haired maiden, who superintended the work. "It must be one of the outlaws again, whom his comrades desire to bury in christian ground. Thus it was they did with Arved Bengtson, who was slain by Tulé Ebbesen."

"But they don't carry torches, and come with a long train--they sneak along, quietly and in darkness, when they go to bury a malefactor," observed the brewer's girl. "This must be a king, or some great man, unless, indeed, it is a procession of ghosts, like what old Anders Gossip has seen so often."

"Oh, what is it he cannot see, when the ale is in his head?" replied the other, laughing. "They are living men, I dare wager; and he is a milksop that dares not venture out to see."

"If thou darest venture out to see it, Elsie," rejoined the brewer's maid, "do so, and prove to us that thou art as bold as thou boastest! The fright has not yet left me: I feel it still in my knees."

"Go, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid: "thou must, in truth, have a man's heart and courage, for the marsk's swain, long Mat Jute, is thy sweetheart, and I would not be alone with him, for all the world."

"That I can well believe," replied Elsie, with some pride. "Mat Jute is not to be jested with. Indeed, you cannot show me his match, in all Funen."

"You dare not let Christen Fiddler hear you so speak!" cried one of the girls.

"Why not?" replied Elsie, briskly. "I have told him so more than once. Had Mat Jute not fallen into misfortune, along with his master, and become such a ferocious strand-fighter, I should have had no fear of taking him for a husband. But the Lord preserve me from him now!"

"Aha!" laughed the kitchen-maid: "he kills folk, they say, for the smallest ill word said against his master. He must be a perfect fiend."

"Say not so," cried Elsie. "Fierce he is, it is true, but he is still an honest fellow. He is true to his master--more's the pity!--and I cannot bear anybody to speak ill of him."

"Old love doesn't die," remarked one of the men-servants; "and if Mat Jute knew that thou hast now another sweetheart, little Elsie, he would yet come and bite thy head off."

"As for that," returned Elsie, "I am truer to him than many Funen lads are to their lasses; and, besides, I have only one sweetheart at a time."

"If thou wouldst see the show, Elsie, haste thee, or it will be gone," cried the brewer's maid. "It went up to the churchyard; and, if I saw truly in my fright, there was a light in the choir."

"Let us call the master!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid: "it is really awful. They may be church-robbers; and if they be ghosts, the father can read them away."

This was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master.

"It is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his treasury at Eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps of gold and jewels there, it is said."

"How long you think about it, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou who hast been in a fortress. When thou wert at Flynderborg, thou wert afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy jomfru."

"I did not say that," replied Elsie: "the brave Jomfru Ingé showed more courage than I, when the algrev and Niels Breakpeace paid us a visit. But you shall see, for all that, that I am not afraid to look at a funeral. A dead man can't bite my nose off. If it be an outlaw of mark, there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. Come along with me, girls--I will go first."

Her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did not seem at all to relish the adventure.

"Very well," exclaimed Elsie, "I shall have all the treasure to myself. See it, I will, at any rate."

So saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches, exactly as described by the brewer's maid. As the procession moved slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk to the churchyard. She trembled as she plainly perceived the tall, muffled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound.

Elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the procession had disappeared in the church. She now ventured to look around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then boldly advanced a little farther. With a beating heart she stood by the door of the choir, and peeped in. All was still and deserted, although lights were burning on the altar. Gliding noiselessly inside the church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature was visible. The trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was reflected upon the arches of the roof. She stood a moment, hesitating whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the trap-door, where, through a chink between the hinges, she was enabled to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she scarcely dared to breathe. Twelve armed men, with torches in their hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. A solemn silence prevailed. The priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the clergyman of the parish. The lid of the coffin was then raised, and she perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a knight.

"Now, priest, lay God's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before his death, although he loudly prayed for it. But now he shall take it with him, even were he banned by the holy George and all the archangels to boot."

"I do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as I have already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it."

"Perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. The lid of the coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church.

"Amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be deeply affected.

The procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl, springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in the church-door. She had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-passage--not until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from her lurking-place.

The church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still burning on the altar. The trap-door of the vault remained open, and she perceived that there was still a light below. She again stole forth, and peeped through the crevice. A lantern stood on the coffin, but all the warriors were gone. She took heart, and ventured a step or two within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with silver and jewels. Under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems.

"This would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she whispered to herself. "What wants the riever with it in the grave?"

The lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays, when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. But the rustling of armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror, and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave, cried--"Accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" She was now entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards insensible, into the vault.

"Rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and all the young men of Stubberup, who meanwhile had assembled to dance at the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in his hand.

"Go thou first, Christen Fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father; and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with a dozen."

While they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared.

The terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their paternosters; none doubting but that it was the Evil One himself whom they had seen. At length, recovering their courage, they ventured within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with horror the little Elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin, over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. They bore the maiden to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated, caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that night.

What the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but, three days after, Elsie was committed with all silence to the grave; and for many a day the story was told on Hindsholm, that she had been murdered by her old sweetheart, Mat Jute, because she would have plundered his master's grave.

The priest of Stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one after, wards dared to open it. Some time after, it was rumoured that Marsk Stig had been secretly buried in Rörvig Kirk, in Zealand, where, probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. In a short time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain, lest, as a man who died under the ban of the Church, his remains should be persecuted and maltreated. Some even propagated the report that the marsk did not die at Hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; by which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his memory.

But the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their wedding-night.[43]

* * *

The vehement Thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom during Drost Peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence that Drost Peter would not have sanctioned. This was in a great measure attributable to Junker Christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their accomplices were concerned.

The death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. Rané Jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon known that Hielm Castle had been stormed and demolished by Thorstenson. One evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near Helgeness, begging for shelter. These were the orphan daughters of Marsk Stig, who, in their flight from Denmark, found refuge and protection among the compassionate peasantry.

About this time the commandant of Sjöborg, the honest old Poul Hvit, was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being opened, gave admission to a troop of royal horsemen and two bound prisoners. Poul Hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners.

One of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together with a rope of coarse hair. As the commandant held the lantern to the prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty Jens Grand, who remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded position.

His companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous Provost Jacob of Lund. They had both been seized in Lund, in the king's name, by Junker Christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country in this humiliating manner.

The captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant, undersigned by Drost Thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest durance.

"Herregud! we are all sinful men!" ejaculated the castellan, as he obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before they were fettered.

Jarl Mindre-Alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in Haraldsborg. He had been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to the commandant of Roskild, new and important information respecting the outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete investigation.

On a dark night in November, a vessel, bearing the Danish flag and pennant, ran into Roskild Fiord. On the forecastle stood one whose long brown hair was partially concealed by a shaggy cap, whilst a pitched wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. A huge dog lay growling at his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes.

"The attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the knight: "should I be recognised, it will cost me my life."

"But 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a Norse accent, a youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever be, my crafty Rané. Yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free, and to-day thou refusest. It would cost thee but a word to the castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where thou hast so often landed for plunder. Nay, nay--this time, at least, thou _shalt_ keep thy word."

It was Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, the brave Kirstine, who thus spoke, while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but affection. In conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she had compelled Rané personally to undertake in earnest what he had convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which no one except himself could accomplish. Rané had given the viking's daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered, with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she had dreamt of, when she followed him from Norway, and danced with him over the castle-bridge of Rypen. The chivalrous wooer soon became the rude and imperious spouse; and Kirstine's affection changed to contempt and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident participator in the king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw.

The only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped asunder. A ballad was already composed and sung in Norway on the unloving pair. It subsequently became popular in Denmark; and it has thus been recorded that the faithlessness of Rané to his former king, and the sympathy which Kirstine felt for the royal house, was frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. Their quarrel now took this complexion, while steering into Roskild Fiord.

"Beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered Rané: "he can see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake."

"Pity it was," replied Kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his chamberlain."

Rané was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to throw her overboard. "I betrayed not the king!" he cried. "Were they even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes."

The ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master, growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady.

"Have a care, Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, holding fast by the cordage. "Twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again happen. A single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee overboard. Had I known what kind of a knight thou wert, assuredly I should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide."

Rané ground his teeth with rage, and again assumed a threatening attitude.

"Beware!" whispered Kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage. "Think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of Finnerup! Dost hear the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? They know my sir husband, and apprehend mischief."

Rané, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the Norse boatmen singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:--

"'The wood has ears, the field has een,
And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'

"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared,
We need not from the land have fared.'

"Across the table he struck her sore--
'Beware this speech our guests before!'

"And he struck her on the cheek so red--
'I did not wish King Erik dead,
Though spurned by kith and kin.'"

"Dost hear?" again whispered Kirstine: "thou shouldst know the ballad well! If thou desirest not a worse ending, assist me now to save my father, and then I bid thee farewell for ever. But if thou shouldst act treacherously now, my trusty countrymen shall bind and carry thee to the King of Denmark."

"Be still, dearest Kirstine! I will do as thou desirest," whispered Rané, as he cast a fearful glance towards the sturdy boatmen, who appeared to be as faithful and vigilant a body-guard to their lady, as was the hound to the faithless knight.

The vessel soon lay to at a remote part of the fiord, where Rané and his wife landed, and proceeded in silence to the town. The hound followed; and, at a little distance behind, by a signal from Kirstine, the two sturdy boatmen.

They passed thus through the streets of Roskild, until they reached the prison-tower of Haraldsborg, near which a crowd was collected, listening to an old crone singing street-ballads. She was seated on a stone, and, although apparently blind, carried a lantern in her hand, while on her arm hung a tin-box, on which she accompanied her song, and into which her hearers now and then dropped a piece of money. The moon, which had now risen, shone brightly on the tower and on the people, who apparently had gathered there to catch a glimpse of the famous prisoner, and to amuse themselves with the gossip of the town.

"Saw you the drost?" asked a soldier: "such a carl!"

"Ah, Heaven help us!" exclaimed a burgher; "he is under bolt and bar at Nordborg; and, until he is free, we shall have neither peace nor luck in the land."

"Meanest thou Drost Hessel?" replied the soldier. "Ay, he truly was a brave gentleman; but 'twas the new drost I spoke of--he with the long beard: he's a tough carl, and, while he advises, neither rogues nor traitors shall long be safe in Denmark."

"How long stays he here?" asked the burgher.

"Only till the fleet is ready, and the landfolk assembled," answered the other. "The king then comes from Helsingborg, and we shall at the duke."

"Bravo! Drost Thorstenson is no fool!" cried a seaman: "he well knows there is no road to land except by sea."

"How so, friend?" asked a landsknecht: "was it not on land we got the holy banner, without which there is no road, either by sea or shore? Now, however, we go together; but if the Norsemen should land again, without leave, where were we without the landsmen then?"

"Well, my countryman," replied the seaman, "we will drink to good fellowship both on sea and land. You laid by the heels that sea-bear in the tower, where he shall no longer plunder and burn our sloops. Sing us the ballad anent the corbie in the tower there, carlin!" he cried, turning to the crone, "and thou shalt have a silver groat."

"How long will they allow him to remain there, and befool both bailiff and hangman?" inquired a burgher.

"Have you not seen the wheel outside the town?" replied the seaman: "he'll be safe anchored there in a week hence, for Drost David has sworn it. He was, to give the devil his due, a daring sea-cock; but two such rievers as the marsk and he would soon have sunk the country."

"Say you the algrev will be executed in a week hence?" exclaimed a young girl. "Alas, it is still a sad end for such a rich and distinguished gentleman!"

"Come, carlin, sing now!" cried the seaman: "here's my groat. Look! there he is, poking his head out of the hole. He wants to see if there be any good friends here to help him."

"Merciful Heavens! within a week. Heardst thou that, Rané?" exclaimed Kirstine, weeping, and involuntarily grasping the arm of her hated husband. "And, see, there he stands looking down to us. Haste thee, Rané, and save him! I will forgive thee all, and remain with thee, outlaw though thou be--only save him! save him! Thou canst if thou wilt."

"Be silent, or, by Satan, thou wilt betray me with thy whimpering!" quickly whispered Rané, as he looked anxiously around him.

And his fears were not unfounded, for some of the townspeople had already been suspiciously watching the two strange figures; although now the attention of all was attracted to the blind crone on the kerb-stone, who began to sing:--

"Sir Alf was born in Norraway,
Yet lists not there to bide,
Though fifteen lordships he doth own,
To keep his state and pride.[44]

"Alf wends upon the rampart green,
And cons with care his book;
There meets him Bendit Rimaardson,
Who is so dour of look.

"'What brings thee here, carl Mindre-Alf?
Thou art of courage rare:
If now thou'rt made king's prisoner,
The land no worse shall fare.'

"'But I am not Sir Mindre-Alf--
That is no name of mine:
A mass-boy, as thou seest, I am,
And fetch the priest some wine.'

"Bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap,
And looked him in the een--
'An I see right, thou art the Norse
Sir Mindre-Alf, I ween.'

"'And thou wert once a clerk with me,
I knew thee well at school,
And thou mayst not deny, that oft
Thou wrought'st us pain and dool.'

"'An be it thou, Bent Rimaardson,
And thou be kinsman true,
An oath, I wiss, thou'lt swear to-day,
That me thou never knew.'

"But now they've ta'en Jarl Mindre-Alf,
His feet in fetters bound--"

"Away!" shouted the landsknecht who guarded the prison-tower: "finish your screaming, carlin, and draw not the whole town hither; for whoever comes three steps nearer the keep, will assuredly have a lance run through his body."

The crowd drew back, and, with them, Rané, dragging along his wife, who still clung to his arm, assailing him with urgent entreaties to redeem his promise and save her father.

"Nay, it cannot be done!" exclaimed Rané, in an under tone: "I know well he has sworn my death and destruction, and now let him help himself!"

So saying, he attempted to shake off his wife, but she held him tightly. He then pulled his cap over his eyes to avoid being recognised; for, with increased terror, he now observed near him some of the late king's servants, whom he had been the means of disgracing at court.

"Leave me, woman!" he whispered "thou hast betrayed me--I am discovered!"

A growing murmur arose among the crowd, and the cry of "Rané, the outlawed chamberlain!" ran from mouth to mouth.

"Thou desirest, then, to cause my death, obstinate woman!" exclaimed Rané, with subdued vehemence; while, with a violent effort, he succeeded in freeing himself, and immediately took to flight.

"Seize him--seize him!" shouted the crowd: "it is Rané, the outlawed chamberlain! Seize the traitor!" And he was followed with loud cries by the enraged populace, who threatened to tear him in pieces. His hound, however, by furiously attacking his pursuers, several of whom he bit and frightened, enabled Rané to escape, both master and dog having suddenly disappeared in the vicinity of the Grayfriars' Convent; whilst Kirstine, amidst the confusion, was fortunately extricated from the crowd by her faithful boatmen.

Rané remained undiscovered for some days, during which, as it was known that he had many relatives among the grayfriars, the convent was strictly searched by Drost Thorstenson's orders, but no trace was found of the dangerous fugitive.