Chapter XXV: Part III (8)

In a narrow street, and under a wooden shed that projected from the convent-wall, was a well, out of which a large, ferocious-looking dog had been observed to leap, by a girl who went there one morning early to draw water. She related the circumstance to her neighbours, who, from the description, inferred that it was the hound of the outlawed Rané. The authorities were forthwith apprised of the circumstance, and the well was examined; when, in it, and against the convent-wall, was found a ledge, which was reached with some difficulty. Here was discovered a strongly-barred door, which was soon broken open, and revealed a low narrow passage, leading to a dark and noisome hole between the double convent-walls. The first who ventured into this mysterious hiding-place was furiously attacked by the dog, which, however, after a desperate encounter, was at last overpowered and killed. By the aid of their lanterns, they then carefully searched the hole, but no trace of a human being was perceptible.

In one damp corner, swarming with toads and lizards, lay a heap of stones and gravel, into which, before leaving the spot, one of the soldiers accidentally thrust his lance. This action was followed by a smothered cry of pain: the gravel-heap was then speedily removed, and a sad and miserable spectacle exposed. Close in the corner, and huddled quite together, lay the outlaw Rané, so disfigured by mire and blood that he scarcely resembled a human creature. He sprang up, apparently irresolute whether to fight or fly, and was instantly seized and conducted to Haraldsborg, where the stern Drost Thorstenson, without further form or delay, sentenced him to death, in the king's name.

Three days after the capture of Rané, the new Dean of Roskild was returning, late in the evening, from a farmhouse in the neighbourhood, where he had been administering the last rites of the Church. Two young choristers rode before him, carrying torches; and the holy pix and anointing-cruse; under a screen, were borne by a couple of lay brothers. Their way lay by the place of execution, which was in a waste field outside of Roskild, and where the algrev and Rané had suffered the same morning. When the boys reached this spot, they became alarmed.

"Sir dean," said one of them, "it is not well to come this way."

"Proceed, children, in God's name!" answered the dean. "They cease now from troubling; and, with the Holiest in the midst of us, we need fear nothing."

The lads obeyed in silence; but, after advancing a few steps,

"See, see!" cried the younger of them--"there is something stirring up yonder."

"And look!" added the other, "now there is a light--candles are burning by the dead men."

"Ghosts and devilry!" exclaimed one of the lay brothers. "Read, reverend sir, read!"

The dean, who now also became alarmed, halted, and gazing towards the mound, on which the fatal wheels were distinctly visible, saw a female form, holding in her hand a torch, the light of which, falling full on her countenance, revealed an expression of the deepest grief, united with so much calmness, that she resembled a Niobe in marble; whilst a number of clumsy-looking fellows, in the garb of seamen, were quietly but hastily engaged in releasing the bodies of the two malefactors. This being accomplished, they deposited them in coffins, and, forming themselves into a procession, left the mound, bearing the two corses in their midst. The grave female figure preceded them with the torch; and the dean, who, with his subordinates, had not stirred, now perceived that she wore the scarlet mantle of a princess, or of the lady of some knight of eminence.

The funeral train took the road to the fiord, approaching close to where the dean was standing; but the calm, melancholy features of the lady remained unchanged, nor did the others who composed the procession seem at all concerned at the presence of the ecclesiastic and his assistants. The latter, folding their hands, remained in silent prayer; while, as the train passed by, and the holy pix glittered in the torchlight, the grave seamen bowed their heads, and the knight's lady knelt down, while tears streamed along her pale cheeks.

As if moved by sympathy, the dean, accompanied by the choristers, then commenced singing, in a deep clear voice, a holy vigil for the dead men's souls; which they continued until the whole procession had passed. The mourners soon disappeared at the fiord, whence, shortly afterwards, a vessel departed under full sail.

* * *

After the death of the marsk, Duke Waldemar had openly allied himself with the brave Norwegian king, and had sent to the young Danish monarch, and his mother the queen, a declaration of war, grounded on the demands which he himself, and his brother Prince Erik, advanced for the possessions of Svendborg and Langeland. The duke and the Norwegian had agreed to commence the war with their united fleets and armies; but the impatience of the duke would not allow him to wait the arrival of the Norse fleet; and he ran out boldly with his own, which he conducted into Grönsund, between Falster and Möen.

Sir John and the council resolved to take advantage of this imprudent step, and immediately issued orders to man a number of long-ships and cutters, for the purpose of attacking the duke. This fleet, with young King Erik himself on board the long-ship Old Waldemar, early one morning ran out of Issefiord, and proceeded through the Great Belt to Grönsund, where the vessels of the duke had come to anchor on the Falster coast. Sir John and the chancellor were on board the king's ship, together with the royal trabants, and a numerous body of knights, who, in full armour, only knew each other by their helmet jewels and armorial bearings.

Close to the king's vessel followed Count Gerhard, in his own long-ship, accompanied by a few sloops from Kiel, manned by brave Holsteiners. Thorstenson himself commanded one of the largest long-ships, and, in conjunction with Sir John, directed the movements of the whole fleet.

The commanders still pursued the ancient Danish mode of attacking a hostile fleet, seeking to break the position of the enemy by a vigorous and combined movement, and, by coming as soon as possible to close quarters, to allow the fate of the engagement to be decided, as in land battles, by numbers and personal courage. To this end, they immediately ordered the whole royal fleet to form in order of battle under the coast of Möen, and opposite the duke, bringing all the ships together in a single compact line, in the centre of which was the royal vessel, from whence the position of both fleets, which were nearly of equal force, could be easily seen. The duke, however, put only his largest long-ships into line, and these he brought into an advanced position; whilst he allowed the lighter and smaller sloops and cutters to remain behind, with sails unbent, close under the coast of Falster.

In all the vessels of the king's fleet, the awning was then taken down which served to protect the deck from the inclemency of the weather. On the poop of the Old Waldemar, surrounded by the most valiant of the royal knights, himself the tallest and strongest amongst them, stood the standard-bearer, holding aloft the royal banner--the dark parti-coloured standard of the murdered king, with its numerous keys, wheels, and other remarkable symbols. The hold was filled with the common soldiers, who, besides sword and javelin, were armed with bows and slings, while a portion of them had the superintendence of the heavy war-machines; and at the stern, having the command of the whole vessel, stood the steersman, whose office, in the king's ship, was filled by old Sir John.

The young king, who, with the Chancellor Martinus, stood by his side, now exclaimed--

"Explain to me, Sir John, why the duke allows his sloops to lie detached behind the long-ships? Drost Peter, I remember, once informed me that Waldemar Seier and old King Waldemar did the same, when they had to deal with a stronger foe, and feared to hazard their whole force at once. But cannot the duke now surround us with his sloops, and fall upon our rear?"

"We will not give him time for that," replied Sir John. "When we have first saluted him at a distance, we will row rapidly forwards, working our slings and rams; and when we are once alongside of him, the engagement can be terminated sword in hand."

"The Almighty grant us victory!" exclaimed the chancellor. "Before you give the signal for battle, Sir John, we must permit our people to think of their souls, and to pray the Lord of victory to aid us."

"In God's name! But let it be soon and short, for there is little time to spare, and the Lord shields his own."

The chancellor then, accompanied by several ecclesiastics, began a war-hymn, in which all the soldiers and fighting-men joined; whilst many, including the young king, followed the example of the chancellor and clerks, and reverently bent the knee.

Scarcely was the solemn war-hymn ended, before the standard-bearer, at Sir John's order, gave the signal for battle by waving the royal flag three times over his head; and in a moment, although it was clear noon, the sky was darkened with the arrows and stones, projected simultaneously from every sling and bow on board the royal ships. This attack was answered by a similar discharge of missiles from the duke's fleet, the foreign soldiers in which now sent forth their wild war-cries.

Sir John had ordered a shieldburg[45] to be formed around the young king and the clergymen, through which, however, many arrows pierced, while the stones and other missiles rattled on the bucklers with a frightful din. On the royal vessel there alighted such an enormous mass of stones, that it was evident the duke had concentrated his attack on it alone. A few men fell, and many were wounded; but the distance was still too great for these missiles to take much effect.

On board the king's ship, the standard-bearer now again waved the royal banner, and the entire fleet rowed rapidly forward, while the heavy engines of war were put in preparation. At the stern of the king's vessel was placed an immense prow-hog, which, with its spiked and sharp iron crest, broke into the centre of the duke's fleet, and, at the first blow, parted two long-ships, thus forcing the duke to fight his own vessel without aid from the others.

At the same instant, the sea-rams were vigorously worked. These consisted of heavy beams, cased in iron, which, suspended by chains from the masts, were swung with crushing effect against the enemies' vessels. The duke possessed no such heavy machines; and it was soon apparent that the royalists had gained a considerable advantage in this first assault, great confusion having been produced in the enemies' fleet, the line of which was already almost entirely broken.

It was, however, speedily evident that the lighter arms of the duke were not less dangerous. He seemed not yet desirous of boarding, but, with his light vessels, evaded the advancing line of heavy battle-ships; whilst, besides arrows, stones, and bolts, he continued to shower upon them great numbers of caltrops, and of fire-pots, filled with pitch, brimstone, and oil. The latter were set on fire with tow, and, as they fell, cast forth flames, which, seizing upon the sails and cordage, created great damage and confusion in the royal fleet.

The duke immediately availed himself of this to order an attack on its rear by his smaller vessels. When he heard, by the shouting, that this was in execution, and became sure that the royalists would have to fight in opposite directions and with divided strength he no longer avoided the attempt to board, but ran his own long-ship close up to that of the king.

Thorstenson, who had quickly perceived this cunning man[oe]uvre, commanded the cables by which the royal ships were bound together to be immediately cut asunder, in order that he might secure a more advantageous position; but the caltrops had produced so much disorder, and the fire-pots taken such effect, that the men were fully occupied in extinguishing the flames, and in defending themselves against the boarders, who now threatened them on both sides.

In this extremity young Erik, who stood by the side of the chancellor, with his sword in one hand and a javelin in the other, observed the duke near him, preparing to leap on board the blazing vessel. The sight of the duke enraged him. "'Twas an unchivalrous piece of cunning, Duke Waldemar!" he cried, at the same time dashing at him his javelin, which struck the feather of the duke's helmet, and carried away its jewel.

At this a shout of delight broke forth on board the king's ship, and, abandoning their efforts to extinguish the fire, the whole crew rushed forward, to repulse the duke's boarders.

"Be calm, brave countrymen!" shouted Sir John. "Let us first quench the fire, and then reckon with them for our house-warming!"

Both fire and attack raged most fiercely at the prow, and the standard-bearer, forced to defend himself, had been obliged to fix the banner in a plank by his side, where it was soon caught by the flames, and fell hissing into the water. This incident, while it raised a wild shout of joy on board the duke's fleet, greatly disheartened the royalists, who regarded it as an unlucky omen.

"My father's banner has fallen!" exclaimed the young king, in a tone of melancholy; "no good fortune attended it."

"That of your great ancestor was always victorious, my royal master!" exclaimed the chancellor.

"But it, alas, lies in the duke's stronghold in Sleswick," sighed the king. "The Lord, however, can still aid us."

"His help is near when we call upon Him," replied the chancellor: "therefore be comforted, sir king!--But see you yonder fisherman, and in what he is engaged?"

While the king was gazing in the direction indicated by the chancellor, the duke saw with astonishment that the crews on board his vessels were slipping and reeling about like drunken men; and he now first perceived, running boldly to and fro among his fleet, a small fishing-boat, in which stood a tall man, in a black leathern mail, casting pots of soap on board the ships. On some of the vessels, too, fell pots of finely powdered lime, which blinded the fighting-men; while, to increase his dismay, some of the vessels began to fill and sink. In the midst of the terror and confusion thus occasioned, a daring black-haired swimmer was seen, with a large auger in his hand, diving here and there under the ships.

"Shoot the accursed fisherman! crash the swimmer's head!" furiously cried the duke. "Board--storm--all hands!"

The boarding soon became general. No one could any longer stand on the slippery deck of the duke's ship; and as the fire had fortunately been extinguished in that of the king, there then commenced a hot and serious conflict, in which the combatants fought man to man, and in which many fell on both sides. Thorstenson, in whose long-ship the battle also raged furiously, fought heroically, many falling by his hand. Count Gerhard, too, reaped laurels. His ship lay opposite to that of Duke Erik of Langeland, Duke Waldemar's brother, and generally known as Duke Longlegs. By the side of his master, in the equipments of a squire, stood the old jester, who, when the duke appeared on the point of boarding them, exclaimed--

"See! there comes my illustrious namesake with the long legs! Hide your lady's veil, stern sir, that it may not be again torn!"

Count Gerhard, in the spirit of chivalry and as a defiance to Duke Waldemar, had attached the queen's veil to his breastplate; but, that he might not now lose it in the fray, he took the advice of his jester, and placed it under his mail.

"We shall not run now from hares or cats, stern sir," said the jester, while a roguish smile dispelled the gravity of his countenance.

But this remark touched his good-natured master in the tenderest point, by reminding him of an unfortunate encounter with the Ditmarshers, wherein his troops were really first thrown into disorder by a hare or cat.

"Now, by Satan! Longlegs, I shall strike thee dead!" cried the count, as he furiously brandished his sword.

"Spare your wrath for the proper Longlegs--see, here he is!" replied the jester, as he stepped back, and pointed towards the forecastle, where Duke Erik came storming onwards.

"The fiend take all the Longlegs!" shouted the count, as he rushed forward to the combat.

The royal ship continued to be closely pressed upon from every side. Old Sir John had some trouble to protect the young king, who insisted on leaving the shieldburg to take part in the fray. The duke himself had struck down the standard-bearer, and, springing on board at the forecastle, he was now, backed by his bravest knights, fiercely engaged on the rowing-deck with the royal trabants. At every stroke he seemed to cut out for himself a path, by which he was advancing nearer to the king.

Sir John had placed himself in the narrow passage that led from deck to deck, where with calm energy he defended the entrance to the poop, where stood the king, between the chancellor and Squire Aagé Jonsen, in front of the ecclesiastics. A vigorous stroke from the duke at length reached Sir John's helmet, which fell cloven from his gray head, while the old man himself sank bleeding between the rowing-benches.

At this sight the king sprang forward. "By all holy men!" he exclaimed, "that stroke you shall atone for with your blood, most treacherous duke!"

He became furious, and, shaking off all restraints, rushed forward, and had slightly wounded the duke, when, in his eagerness, he stumbled over a bench. The trabants, who had each an opponent to encounter, did not observe the imminent danger of the king; but his squire, Aagé Jonsen, darting forward, now closed with the duke, while Chancellor Martinus placed himself, with his mass-book in his hand, between young Erik and the combatants. Soon, however, the youthful monarch stood again prepared for battle, but the chancellor restrained him. Squire Aagé, unable to cope with the duke as a swordsman, and bleeding from many wounds, was already beginning to give way, when the chancellor, who had raised his hands and eyes towards heaven in supplication, suddenly exclaimed--

"Behold, behold! Danebrog, Danebrog! The Lord sends us victory--_hoc signo victoria!_"[46]

The joyful shout of "Danebrog! Danebrog!" was now raised by the royalists; and the duke, on looking up, perceived before him, on a rowing-bench, the well-known Danebrog flag, in the hands of a tall knight, clad in steel blue harness, and with open visor. It was Drost Peter, in whom, with mingled rage and fear, the duke recognised the blue knight of the tourney, and saw the well-known lion-hilted dagger gleaming in his uplifted right hand.

"Ha! thou--my deadly foe!" he cried, rushing madly towards him; but his vision forsook him, and he heard but the clash against his breastplate of the dagger, which, glancing aside, remained deep in his left shoulder. Uttering a cry of terror, he let fall his sword, and reeled backwards.

"Fly, fly! God has doomed us!" he cried, wildly, as, with a desperate leap, he regained his own ship.

His knights followed him, and, perceiving the battle was lost, quickly hoisted sail and took to flight, leaving the victory in the hands of the royalists.

The sudden appearance of the Danebrog seemed to have rendered every man of the king's soldiers invincible. From Thorstenson's ship arose a loud shout of victory; and Count Gerhard had also so entirely cleared his decks, that the severely wounded Duke Erik, finding himself nearly alone, sprang overboard, and saved his life by swimming to his brother's vessel. The royal ships were filled with slain or captured foemen; whilst of the duke's fleet, which was altogether broken up, a number of vessels were sunk, and others captured--the duke himself escaping with great difficulty and danger.

Old Sir John, whose wound had been bound up, now received, with feelings of pleasure, the thanks of the king for the brave defence he had made. His wound was not dangerous; although the heavy blow had stunned him, and he felt with regret that he could no longer wield his sword as in his youthful days. From the poop, and over the heads of the king and the aged knight, waved the sacred Dannebrog banner, which had been entrusted to the custody of the trabants by Drost Peter, whilst he hastened to aid Thorstenson in completing the victory. In the tumult of battle, only a few had recognised him.

"The Almighty be praised!" cried the chancellor, kneeling, and raising his folded hands towards heaven, as, with a loud voice, he began to chaunt the _Te Deum laudamus_, in which the ecclesiastics joined, and during which the king and Sir John, with all else on board, continued reverently kneeling.

Scarcely was the solemn hymn of victory ended, before the chivalrous Drost Peter and Thorstenson were observed in a fishing-boat, hastening towards the king's ship, accompanied by old Henner Friser and Skirmen. The drost sprang on board, and congratulated the king on his victory, whilst, with a loud exclamation of delight, the young victor rushed into his arms.

"Thou it was--thou it was!" cried young Erik--"thou broughtest me victory with my ancestor's banner."

Drost Peter bowed his head, and raised his hand solemnly towards heaven.

"Yea, the Lord be praised! for from Him alone comes victory!" exclaimed the king, with emotion, whilst he again embraced his faithful friend.

Drost Peter was greatly exhausted by his hurried journey. He had been fearful of arriving too late for the battle, and had also suffered much, after his escape from prison, in his exertions to obtain possession of the important banner, whose singular influence on the people, ever since the days of Waldemar Seier, was well known; it being their pious belief that, with this their national standard, and with confidence in God, they were sure to conquer. Its effect on Duke Waldemar had also been of vital importance. His right arm was paralysed from the moment when Drost Peter returned him the traitor-dagger, stained with the heart's-blood of King Erik Christopherson, and it was now with reason hoped that he would never more raise it against the crown of Denmark.

Drost Peter's unexpected arrival produced great joy on board the king's ship. All crowded around him, while he briefly related how old Henner, with Aasé and Skirmen, had contrived to procure his escape from Nordborg Castle, and assisted him in obtaining possession of the national standard. He then presented to the king the faithful old Henner and the active squire, both of whom had contributed to the victory--the latter by boring the holes in the enemy's vessels; while the idea of the soap and lime, which the king considered more novel than chivalrous, belonged altogether to Henner, who had pretended to the drost that he had a design of trading in these articles.

"Kneel!" said the young king, turning to Skirmen: "I shall dub thee a knight, for thou hast merited the honour, and I exempt thee from the usual proofs."

With tears of joy in his dark eyes, and an exclamation of gratitude, the brave squire knelt and received the stroke of knighthood in the name of God and the Holy Virgin.

The king then beckoned to Aagé Jonsen, whose numerous yet not dangerous wounds had, meanwhile, been bound up. "Thou, too," said the king--"thou hast defended my life today like a hero, as thou didst at Tornborg."

Aagé knelt in silence, and arose a knight.

"I desire not knighthood on account of the soap-pots, sir king," said old Henner; "but, by my troth, the soap was capital--and the carls required it much."

"If thou canst not be a knight, ingenious old man," replied the king, "thou canst be a steersman, and such from this day thou art."

Old Henner was greatly affected: he spoke not a word, but bent his knee, and kissed the hand of the young king, who, however, hastily withdrew it, for a tear which had fallen from the old warrior's eyes had scalded him.

In the midst of the general joy, Count Gerhard had come on board, when, after having heartily embraced Drost Peter, both he and Thorstenson received the thanks and commendations of the king, who now heard in detail how matters had fared in the count's ship, and how Duke Longlegs had sprung overboard.

"Take the fleetest boat, Count Gerhard," said the king, extending his hand to him, "and proceed to Helsingborg, where my mother, the queen, is expecting tidings of us. Carry her the account of our victory, and I promise you that you shall then obtain what you have so long and so ardently desired."

On hearing these words, the brave count could no longer constrain himself. He embraced the king, Drost Peter, old Henner, the jester, and, in fact, every one around him, and with difficulty refrained from taking the young king in his sturdy arms, and dancing with him on the poop.

"Shame befall me," he cried, "if there shall not be a dance at Helsingborg, in which I'll share." And in an instant he stood in Henner's fishing-boat. "Sir Steersman Henner," he exclaimed, "you shall take me to Helsingborg. Nobody steers a boat like you."

"Right willingly," cried Henner, following him into the boat. "I promised you good luck, and you see I have kept my word."

The boat was already leaving the king's ship, when one long leg, followed by another, came sprawling over the gunwale: the long-shanked jester would follow his happy master.

The rumour that the great sea-fight was expected to take place in Grönsund, had reached Helsingborg the same day on which it was fought. On that evening Queen Agnes, in great anxiety, sat in her closet, and every other moment quitted her seat to gaze out over the Sound. That the young king was with the fleet she knew; and that her devoted knight and suitor, Count Gerhard, who had gone to his aid, would dare the utmost, she felt certain. On leaving Kiel to join the fleet, he had sent to her a formal declaration of his love; and her affectionate answer to his letter now lay on the table before her, ready to be forwarded to him on the following day. She had despatched three fleet skiffs, one after the other, to bring her intelligence from Grönsund; but they had encountered a storm in the Sound, and were now all three beating about off Dragoe, when Count Gerhard, in Henner's little fishing-boat, passed them.

"The cross shield us--they will perish!" cried the seamen from Helsingborg, when, by the moonlight, they perceived the little fishing-yawl driven by, and every instant threatened with destruction by the surging billows.

The queen was ignorant of this her lover's danger; but the violence of the storm augmented her apprehensions concerning the battle. To conceal her anxiety, she had directed her ladies to retire, and, in her present loneliness, she felt as if her own and Denmark's fate depended on the message she that night expected. All the gloomy images of her chequered life seemed united in one single event, which threatened entirely to crush her heart, and banish that bright hope in which she had found a recompense for all her losses, and a comfort for all her misfortunes. If the battle were lost, and the young king slain, then would there be an end of Denmark's freedom and of her own maternal joy; and, if the trusty Count Gerhard had fallen, then was her letter to him, which now lay before her, but a mournful testimony of the great and true happiness she had lost.

The night passed on: the wax-lights flickered on the table, and the storm howled in the chimney, but the queen still sat, sorrowfully contemplating her letter to Count Gerhard, in the seal of which she was represented as kneeling in a church before a virgin and child, with a winged cherub holding a crown above her head.[47]

"Take the crown, Lord, and guard it," she sighed, "but let not the angel fly away. Leave him to watch over me, and over him who is dearer to me than all the crowns in the world."

She had drawn forth her diary, in which the dearest of all her heart's confessions was not yet expressly inscribed, although in the latter portions of it Count Gerhard was mentioned oftener than herself, especially from the time when she had presented him with her veil, and chosen him her knight and protector.

The image of her faithful knight had subdued every anxious thought in the heart of the fair queen, when suddenly there arose an unusual noise from the gardens beneath her window. She approached the balcony, and, by the moonlight, perceived a crowd of people on the quay, where the pilots were engaged in dragging a small boat through the surf; and in the next moment she heard the shout of "Victory, victory! The count--the one-eyed count!" She uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving, and, overcome with joy, tottered to a seat in her inmost apartment.

Shortly after, the palace resounded with the joyful tidings of victory; and, within an hour, the queen, surrounded by her entire court, stood in the brilliantly illuminated audience-chamber, where the fortunate bearer of the intelligence knelt, and laid at her feet his sword and the banner of the vanquished enemy.

Whilst the whole palace shone with light, and re-echoed with sounds of mirth and festivity, Count Gerhard learned from the queen's own lips what was contained in the letter with the red seal on her table, and his happiness was complete.

* * *

The joy created by this victory was soon after increased by the tidings, that the fortress of Hunehal, in Halland, had been stormed by the royalists, and the proud Count Jacob taken prisoner. The victory itself was followed by important results; for the Norwegian king, who, with his fleet, had arrived too late, abandoned altogether his expedition against Denmark; and shortly after a friendly meeting between the two monarchs took place at Hindsgavl, where a truce was concluded preliminary to a treaty of peace, which in its conditions should be equally honourable to both kingdoms. Duke Waldemar, too, through his ambassadors, had proposed terms which could be accepted; and, after the convention of Hindsgavl, no further measures were taken against the outlaws, who, however, were strictly forbidden ever to show themselves in the presence of the King of Denmark.

On a fine clear day in autumn great festivities and rejoicings were held at Helsingborg Castle. It was the bridal day of the fair Queen Agnes and Count Gerhard, whose sister, the dowager Queen Hedvig of Sweden, together with the entire Danish and Swedish courts, were present. The rejoicings, which were intended to celebrate at once a victory, a peace, and a marriage, were attended with a tournament, in the tilting of which, however, Count Gerhard took no part. He sat in the royal balcony, by the side of Queen Agnes; and although he seemed in some constraint in his fine bridal suit, yet the joy that sparkled in his honest eye showed him to be supremely happy; whilst, from the noble features of his majestic regal bride, beamed an expression of unsurpassed sweetness.

Next to her, and as Denmark's future queen, the little Princess Ingeborg was the object of universal admiration and knightly homage. During the tourney she sat, well pleased and happy, by the side of the young, chivalrous King Erik, where they conversed together with all the tenderness of brother and sister. Sir John had to dash away a tear of joy from his aged eyes when he looked upon this youthful pair, who, with innocent childish glee, were playing only, as it were, at bridegroom and bride, unconscious of any other affection than that which they felt, with mutual ardour, for the land and people over whom they were destined to rule.

With similar feelings the Swedish knights and nobles regarded the young King Berger and the little Danish Princess Mereté, who, also, as parties affianced, sat side by side, witnessing the tournament.

On this occasion, the prize was won by Drost Peter Hessel, who, bowing profoundly, received it from the hand of the fair Queen Agnes, whilst, as his eyes glanced over the brilliant ranks of dames, they rested with a look of intense affection on the tall lady who occupied the chief seat among the damsels of the Princess Ingeborg. It was Jomfru Ingé Little, whom he had not seen since they parted in Kolding Fiord. Her father, he was aware, still lay a prisoner in Kallundborg Castle, it being only in tenderness to the feelings of Sir John that the king had so long deferred his sentence, because his treason was manifest, although his participation in the late king's murder yet wanted proof.

Jomfru Ingé had been absent from the tournament until that moment, and Drost Peter had inquired for her in vain. Great was his joy, therefore, on now beholding her; but it soon changed to anxious grief, when he perceived the impress of a deep sorrow on her beautiful countenance; while her look, cast on the ground, seemed studiously averted from his. He hastily left the lists, and retired, to indulge his melancholy, near the Sound, whilst the royal parties and their respective attendants re-entered the riddersal, where the nuptials were farther to be celebrated with a ball and sumptuous banquet.

Drost Peter stood long by the Sound, gazing steadfastly in the direction of Flynderborg. The days of his childhood came before him, and his thoughts reverted to the time when, as a knight and drost, he had again seen his childhood's bride, and heard her sing with animation of--

"The king who ruled the castle,
And eke ruled all the land."

The dangerous position in which his king and country had been placed allowed him of late but little time to think of his own heart's affairs; but now the sorrowful image of Jomfru Ingé had awakened in his soul a powerful desire to achieve her happiness, and partake it with her. That she should feel grief for her father and his uncertain fate, was but natural; but why she should now seek to avoid her true and attached knight, and even to deny him a kindly look, he could not comprehend. The thought that she might have forgotten him for a more fortunate suitor, for an instant only, like a threatening demon, crossed his mind, but did not reach his heart. He remembered how he had regarded, as a messenger of love from her, every friendly bird that twittered outside the gratings of his prison; and, shaking his head, with a melancholy smile he repeated the beautiful verses of the old ballad:--

"A bird so small from the white strand flew,
And she sang, Where is my heart's love true?

"A bird so small o'er the sea flew wide,
And he sang, O where is my own true bride?"

"God strengthen and cheer you, my dear sir drost!" exclaimed the kindly voice of young Sir Aagé Jonsen, interrupting his reverie. "I have been looking for you," he continued, "for I know you are not happy; and yet this is a day of rejoicing such as has hardly ever been seen in Denmark. The noble Queen Agnes is now happy, and our young king dances blithely with his affianced bride. There is no longer a traitor in the country, and Denmark's throne again stands firm. We have peace and happy times in prospect, sir drost."

"For which I thank Him who has succoured us," replied Drost Peter. "His hand has wonderfully averted the danger, and blessed the crown of the Waldemars on the head of our youthful king. I, too, ought to be happy today; but, my dear Aagé, there are sorrows of which thou knowest not yet."

"I have, nevertheless, already known great ones," replied his grave pupil; "and I guess that which now oppresses you--the noble Jomfru Ingé--"

"She, alas, is unhappy, Aagé, and will not be consoled while her father lies in Kallundborg."

"Our young king is all too stern, in rejecting every petition on his behalf," sighed Aagé. "I have, however, heard a rumour, dear sir drost--whether well or ill founded, I know not--which yet may prove worthy of your investigation. It is said that Sir Lavé Little has promised his daughter's hand to the knight who procures his pardon from the king; and that you, knowing this, either cannot or will not fulfil the conditions."

Drost Peter was startled. "He barters, then, his daughter's happiness for his own freedom," he exclaimed, in a tone of contempt. "At that I am not astonished. But what says Ingé? Will she submit to be a sacrifice for her father's sins?"

"Know you not that she has so resolved?" asked Aagé anxiously; "and are you not aware that the rich Sir Thord, from Kongshelle, is here, with four ships laden with treasure, which he intends offering to the king as the ransom of Sir Lavé Little? I myself saw him but now in the riddersal, where he was waiting until the king left the dance, to confer alone with him in his closet, and--"

"Just Heaven!" exclaimed Drost Peter, "this shall not be! I will myself entreat him for Sir Lavé's freedom: he cannot--he must not refuse me!"

"Hasten, then, sir drost. Sir Thord is perhaps already with the king. Alas, I thought you knew of this, but would or could not--Haste, haste!"

Pale and agitated, the drost hurried to the riddersal, where his eye ran through the rows of dancers. The triumphant Count Gerhard, with his fair and majestic bride--the young King Berger, with Princess Mereté--and Skirmen, in his new knight's suit, with the lively Aasé Hennersdaughter, tripped gaily down the hall; while, among the ladies of the Princess Ingeborg, he quickly descried Jomfru Ingé, who sat, pale and motionless, gazing with a calm, fixed look on all before her.

The drost perceived not the king, and his eyes began to swim; but, accosting a bustling chamberlain, he asked him, falteringly--"Where is the king?"

"In his closet," was the answer.

"With whom?"

"Sir Thord, from Kongshelle."

He turned, and darted from the riddersal.

Count Gerhard and King Berger led their ladies from the dance, as King Erik re-entered gravely, accompanied by Drost Peter, the expression of whose features indicated the greatest anxiety. The king advanced to the Princess Ingeborg, who was seated by his mother's side, and, at his signal, the dancing ceased, the music was hushed, and the attention of all forcibly arrested.

"Noble Princess Ingeborg," said the young king, aloud and solemnly, "inform Drost Peter Hessel that King Erik of Denmark can never forget what he promised his dead father; but that Denmark's future queen gives him the right to declare Sir Lavé Little's pardon and freedom."

"Thanks, thanks, Erik!" exclaimed the little princess, springing up joyfully: "thou hast kept thy word, and enabled me to make my dear Ingé happy." Then, turning to Drost Peter, she repeated to him the king's words, and led the astonished Ingé into his arms.

Great was the joy of the faithful pair, in which all present seemed to participate. At a signal from the king, the music again commenced; and, when the damsels began to sing--

"On Rypen streets the dance goes light--
The castle it is won!
There dance the knights so gaily dight--
For Erik the king so young!"

the hearts of Drost Peter and Jomfru Ingé glowed with that same warm feeling of love for king and fatherland which first knit their souls together. They joined the giddy maze; and, whilst the damsels entwined the king and the dancers with a single long garland of flowers, Jomfru Ingé, in her true knight's arms, sang with animation--

"So boldly dance we thus, I ween,
With true hearts under scarlet sheen--
The kingdom it is won!

"Never saw I a rosy dance
So gaily trode, and eyes so glance--
For Erik the king so young!"

THE END OF KING ERIK MENVED.