Chapter III: Part I (2)

A young, cheerful individual, who did not appear to belong to the knights and their train, but attached himself with particular attention to the ecclesiastic, was distinguished by his civility and pleasing manners, although his unusual corpulency would only allow him to perform any rapid motion with difficulty. His round, good-natured face beamed with life and jollity. Round his short brown jerkin he wore a broad leather belt, with a large knife and fork, a horn spoon, a pepper-box, and a number of other tools and appliances pertaining to the kitchen and pantry. He had listened with great attention to the discontented ecclesiastic's denunciation of the entertainment, while his look often glanced upon a plain wooden box, which he had carried from the ship himself, and which was now deposited in a corner, near the kitchen-door.

"Spoken after my own poor heart, worthy sir dean," he at length said, with a respectful mien, and yet with a kind of sly humour. "These royal hostelries will certainly bring the land to ruin. 'They are dung-pits,' as said our worthy Abbot of Ry, in his much-admired fast sermon; 'they are dung-pits, where every carrion bird gathers, and where the eagle and crow must eat out of the same dish.' They have brought true hospitality to decay; and now, as a necessary consequence, harmony and jollity, mirth and the noble art of cookery, have come to the ground together. Nevertheless, in half an hour's time, I shall prepare my worthy masters such a repast as shall make us all forget these doleful times, and reconcile us to this godless world."

"Right, my son," said the churchman, patting him on the shoulder. "Do not bury thy rare talents. Have a care for our present wants, cook Morten, and trouble not thyself about the preacher."

Whilst the travelling cook took his box and proceeded to the kitchen to prepare his entertainment, without heeding the growlings of the servants, the gentleman in the blue cloak made a trial of the liquor, which stood in a pewter tankard.

"What! filthy Danish pors-ale!"[7] he exclaimed, and dashed the tankard to the ground. "Fie for Satan! do the rascals mean to treat us to such trash? Saxon ale we shall have, and that immediately."

"German ale, that sets people a-crowing, we do not serve here," answered a bold fellow, who acted as tapster: "it is as strictly forbidden by the king as are the slashed doublets of yourself and these gentlemen. If, therefore, you are not contented with what we have got, the door is open; but rough words and fault-finding, neither Henner Friser nor his servants put lip with."

The gentleman in blue started, and regarded the man with surprise.

"Shameless fellow! do you know to whom you are talking?" roared the churchman, the veins of his forehead swelling with rage. "Where a gentleman of the blood royal is present, even a master and a dean is a mean man. A bumpkin like you should not grumble, were we to scrub your ears with your besom, and fling your villanous Danish ale over your dunderhead!"

"Be pacified, good Master Grand," said the young gentleman of the scarlet cloak: "the fellow, truly, did not know us, and only maintains the credit of his master. If you have any German ale in the house, produce it on my responsibility," he added, turning to the tapster, while he flung down a handful of silver coin upon the table.

The man was surprised, and loitered.

"Quick, now!" continued the young lord: "it is Duke Waldemar who commands you. The king's prohibition, to which you have already sagely adverted in reference to our doublets, does not extend to me and my followers."

"So _you_ may understand the matter, mighty lord," answered the man, bluntly; "but my master says, that, on Danish ground, the king's law and prohibition extend to both gentle and simple. There is a butt of old German ale in the cellar, which has not been touched for five and twenty years; but, before my master comes home and so orders it himself, I shall not tap a single stoup of it, even if all of you were popes and emperors."

"Let the saucy rogue be thrown out of doors, my lord duke!" exclaimed Master Grand, in a passion; and a couple of squires drew near, with zealous alacrity, and seemed only to be waiting for a nod to carry the proposal into execution.

The blood mounted to the young nobleman's cheeks, and he cast a threatening look at the tapster; but his senior, in the blue cloak, caught him by the arm.

"Delay a little, sir cousin," he muttered, in a half whisper. "Let me advise. Here we must be good patriots. The king's grace rode his cock-horse by the side of Margaret's stallion,"[8] he then continued, with a loud voice, "when he performed this exploit, and stuck pegs for taps into German ale-barrels. It was a brave action, we must allow: it will be long before I achieve as much as a general. At the same time, he made his appearance in a new light, and became our instructor in the noble art of tailoring. Like good patriots, let us now drink this pors-ale to his honour, and have our doublets sewn up like honest Danish frocks, that they may see at court that we are as true and obedient subjects as John Little and David Thorstenson, and as upright friends to this kind of garment as the king himself, and the queen's handsome friend, Drost Peter Hosel.[9] Now, then, the king's health in thin ale, since there is no better: the king's health, my lords!"

This satire, accompanied by a scornful smile, occasioned a burst of laughter, and all drank, or pretended to drink, of the despised liquor.

"Every one shall drink the toast who is not a spy or a traitor," continued the warlike lord in blue: "no distinction of rank or station is permitted here. Come, thou fair swain: drink the king's health in this precious pors-water."

"I would have a care of my manners," answered the tapster: "I am too mean to join in the revels of such distinguished company."

"Understand, then, that Count Jacob of Halland, as the king's vassal, allows you to be chastised as a traitor and secret rebel," continued the lord in blue. "Drag him out, and give him a hearty salute with the stirrup-straps," said he to the squires. "We have all heard that he is a rebel who will not drink the king's health."

The stern decree was executed in a moment, notwithstanding a brave resistance made by the strong fellow.

"This is the way to baste the fellows with their own lard," growled Count Jacob, as, with a haughty air, he threw himself carelessly back on his bench.

"Perhaps a little too hard," said the young duke, yet smiling contentedly; while all laughed heartily at the rough joke, which did not seem to them at all unusual, or in anywise dangerous.

The allusion to King Erik Christopherson's edicts respecting ale and slashed doublets, which had given rise to this scene, was followed by many jocular remarks on various other of the king's municipal regulations, which they affected to extol, whilst, at the same time, they were striving to present them in the most ridiculous point of view, or as childish and absurd. The stern _Ribe-Ret_,[10] in particular, was the subject of many coarse jokes.

The conversation was brought to a close by the entrance, with a large dish of seasoned meat, of the indefatigable cook, who invited the company to prove whether he had not attained a more worthy post than in cooking prison-fare for the hermits of Sjöberg.

"Should I--as, nevertheless, I hope I shall not," he added--"have to wait on any of my good lords in my celebrated castle, I am glad that, beforehand, I have had an opportunity of vindicating my honour with those who, not without success, have studied the art of cookery in the most learned chapter-houses in the kingdom."

"Thou art a rogue, Morten!" said Master Grand, playfully threatening him. "My pious colleagues taught thee first, perhaps, to sign thyself with the token of self-denial; but thy round cheeks bear witness thou art a carnal child of the world, who hath transferred his learning to ladles and carving-knives."

"Not without a bright and illustrious example," answered the cook, with a cunning smile. "Were I, in troth, your cook, as I am now a godless provider for state-prisoners, you could not help being soon as plump as I and your worthy colleagues."

He now began, like a busy host, to serve out his viands, and selected the choicest morsels for his new ecclesiastical patron. He afterwards brought from the kitchen a large wooden bowl, and, with many eulogiums, recommended the strengthening and enlivening beverage it contained, as the fruit of his own invention.

"Spiced wine!" exclaimed Count Jacob. "Thou art a most excellent fellow, Morten! This, then, was the sacred church-treasure that thou and sir dean contended for so lustily in the storm, when we were obliged to throw all our worldly goods overboard!"

"Thus it is that virtue and good deeds are rewarded, even in the present life," answered the cook. "And I hope that worthy Master Grand does not now repent that he so piously took my sacred bottle under his protection."

The knights praised the excellent liquor, and became merry and noisy. Cook Morten poured out for them, and sang them wanton ditties. All would join with him; and every one sang the song that pleased himself best, without troubling himself about those of others. At length, a well-known song obtained the ascendancy, in the midst of general laughter: it was a tolerably witty and satirical ballad, relating to the king and his favourites, particularly concerning Drost Peter Hessel, whom it sometimes nicknamed Peter Hosel (stocking-garter), and sometimes Sir Lovmand (lawyer), with coarse inuendoes on the relation in which he was accused of standing to the queen.

In the midst of this uproar, the tall mailed knight, with the closed visor, who had followed them from the quay, entered unobserved, and seated himself in a dark nook, near the door.

"See, now there is some life in the game," said the cook, snuffing the candles; "now it is quite a pleasure to tend upon my worthy masters."

"But how came you by the wine?" inquired Master Grand: "it is indeed converted into nectar."

"The preparation is a secret, my most worthy sir," answered the cook, "the knowledge of which I shall keep to myself, until I make my will: then shall I enrich after generations with my invention, if the world prove worthy of it. I have named this divine beverage _bishop_: I hope it deserves its title, and that it will hereafter render the name of Morten Fynbo immortal, among both learned and simple."

"Call it archbishop: it deserves the name better than the carlin we have now in Lund," roared Count Jacob. "Such a bishop is fitted to mediate an eternal peace between the temporal and spiritual lords of the kingdom; and, at this time, it is much needed. We have made a beginning with you, very learned Master Grand," he continued: "when you come hereafter to be archbishop, perhaps it will fare better with justice in the land. You are the man to lend me a letter of excommunication, when my own sword is too short to recover my feudal rents, withheld by a tyrant."

Master Grand made no reply, but gave the loud-voiced count a familiar and significant look.

"To our noble dean, the pride and honour of Roskild!" resumed Count Jacob: "long life to our very learned Master Jens Grand! A rogue is he who does not pledge the toast to the bottom; and confusion to all the vermin and king's thralls in the country!" With these words, he touched the ecclesiastic's cup with his own. His example was followed by Duke Waldemar and the knights; the whole bursting out into a simultaneous shout of applause, in which the cook heartily joined.

"I thank you, my high-born Count Jacob; you, too, my noble duke; and you, my valiant lords and knights," said Master Grand, agreeably surprised, while he rose, and regarded all around him with an air of seriousness and significance. "The time may come when my deeds shall prove to you that it is my highest wish to effect a friendly union between the knightly sword and the bishop's staff. Earthly and heavenly power must be truly united, when there is anything great to be done in the world. But more of this at another time and place," he said, suddenly interrupting himself. "_Latet anguis in herbâ_--there is a snake in the grass, as the saying goes: Satan has his imps everywhere."

So saying, the dean's sharp looks fell on the figure of the tall, mailed knight, who sat in the corner, by the door. All eyes were turned in the same direction, and a mysterious whispering arose among the uneasy guests. The sturdy warlike figure then arose, and advanced with firm strides towards the light at the end of the table. He moved his head, as if he would observe the guests more narrowly, raised his mailed arm, struck the grating of his helmet upwards for a moment, and then allowed it to fall. The hasty view thus obtained of the strongly-illumined, iron features of the warrior, and the stern glance that shot like lightning from beneath his dark bushy eyebrows, struck every one with astonishment. They had all risen to bid him welcome; but he laid his finger upon the opening of his helmet, and they remained standing, as mute as statues, and regarding him with earnest expectation.

"Remember your oaths and vows! Prudence is still our safeguard," said the mailed knight, in a deep, hollow voice. "There is no security, or room for insolent bravado, where traitors may go in and out, and every door stands open. The tyrant is near at hand. Drost Peter Hessel was among you on the Belt, and you knew him not."

"Drost Peter!" they repeated, with astonishment.

"Damnation!" exclaimed the young duke, stamping: "it was reported otherwise. But how came he there? I did not see him. Where did he land?"

"Spite of the devil, I should think it would have been known if the drost had been on board," said Count Jacob. "Two boatmen and a youth excepted, there was not a cat on board I did not know."

"Who was the man who sprang from the mast, and seized the rudder, when the steersman's arm was wounded?" demanded the stern knight.

"He--the daring young fellow," said Count Jacob--"he who, at the very nick of time, came as if he had dropped from the clouds, and saved our lives--was he not a boatman?"

"It was Drost Peter Hessel," said the black knight; "and the lad who waited upon him was his squire--a youth with ears in his head."

"The fiend!" exclaimed one after another.

"In the noise and confusion I was both deaf and blind," began Master Grand; "otherwise, I should have seen whether we had Philistines on board. On the skiff I saw no one: but who was the knight in the scarlet mantle, who followed us from the quay, and rode off in pursuit of rievers or virgins, or on some such sort of carnal, hair-brained exploit?"

"That was Drost Peter," answered the mailed knight. "Where were your keen eyes, Master Grand? Our deadly foe sat to-day by the rudder, and you knew him not; to-morrow he sits at the helm of the state, and will know you."

"Death and perdition! All is lost? We are betrayed!" exclaimed one after the other; and the commotion became general.

"Not yet," said the mailed knight, quietly, and raised his voice. "Until the Dane-court is brought to a close, the law protects you. This law only protects me," and he struck his large, rattling sword. "The moment the Danish court is terminated, separate. In half an hour, I am again on board. Yet three words in private with your and my future lord."

The young duke hastened anxiously forward, and fervently seized the knight's mailed hand. They retired a few steps, and the mysterious knight whispered some words into his ear, which he only heard, but at which the bold duke's cheeks changed colour. The knight regarded him with a keen look, laid his hand encouragingly upon his shoulder, and nodded. The duke regained his composure, and, with a haughty look, made a hasty motion with his sword. Without adding a single word more, the tall, iron-clad knight saluted the company, and quietly strode out at the door.

A general silence ensued, while the young duke appeared struggling to overcome some anxious, disquieting thought. Hastily seizing his cup, "Long life to our trusty, watchful friend!" he said: "may he return safe: he has done much for our sakes to-day."

Scarcely had he uttered the words, and put the goblet to his lips, ere the door was opened, and Drost Peter Hessel, with old Henner Friser, entered, accompanied by a crowd of burghers and seamen, carrying with them the bound Swain Rané. Old Henner led his daughter by the hand. She cast back a kindly look towards the door, where the squire, Claus Skirmen, was standing, with his master's scarlet cloak upon his arm, and surprised apparently at the sight of so many strangers; whilst his eyes speedily forsook the fair, dark-eyed damsel, and rested, with earnest attention, upon his master's every look and motion.

As the young drost entered, Duke Waldemar and the knights hastily replaced their uplifted goblets on the table, and looked at one another with amazement.

Drost Peter did not appear to notice the general confusion which his entrance had occasioned. Having saluted the company with knightly politeness, "I perceive," he said, in a lively, unaffected tone, "I am yet in time, my lords, to greet you in my own doublet, and to thank you for your excellent travelling society. I had my reasons for appearing as a boatman: that scarcely any of my noble lords will doubt. It gladdens me that I was fortunate steersman enough, and had the opportunity, of bringing so many important patriots safe to land. I would have thanked you for your confidence immediately upon our landing, my lords; but I have been delayed by a little unpleasant adventure, which is now happily finished."

The young duke recovered his self-possession. He returned the drost's salutation with a princely air, and answered, in the same courteous tone, "It was handsome to return to us, Drost Hessel, and not to withdraw yourself from our thankful acknowledgments. But a minute ago, we learned that we were fortunate enough to have had you on board, without knowing you, and that you were the brave boatman who so opportunely caught hold of the rudder in our danger. That chance or necessity, and no deceitful intention, made us fellow-voyagers to-day, notwithstanding our difference of opinion in various matters, I am willing to believe. Accept, therefore, the acknowledgments of myself and friends; and permit us, as we were just proposing, to drain this cup to your welfare."

At the duke's signal, the active cook handed the drost a goblet of wine; and, with forced politeness, Count Jacob made room for him on the duke's right hand, and begged him to be seated.

In the meanwhile, no one evinced any disposition to do honour to the proposed toast.

Drost Peter observed this, and said, hastily: "I thank you, my lords, for the intended honour; but permit me, as the reward of my pilotage, merely to beg the favour, that I may quaff this first goblet on Funen ground, with Duke Waldemar, Count Jacob, and these worthy gentlemen, to a peaceful and happy issue to the Dane-court, and to the welfare of our country, and of our lawful king's house."

With these words, he emptied his goblet, and replaced it on the table.

"Every friend of his country who participates in my wish," he added, "will certainly not hesitate on doing justice to my toast."

All eyes were turned upon Duke Waldemar and Count Jacob; and as both these lords, although with secret indignation, emptied their cups, and set them on the table, the other knights followed their example.

The fat cook smiled knavishly. "A bitter addition to my magnificent liquor," he whispered to Master Grand.

The ecclesiastic burned with indignation. He had not yet raised the goblet to his lips; and, grasping it in his hand, with the wine dripping upon his fingers, he now dashed it violently upon the stone floor. "I drink no slavish token of homage by constraint," he exclaimed, in a rage. "On what footing I, as Dean of Roskild, stand with King Erik Christopherson, is known to every man in the country who knows that St. Michael's Church, in Slagelse, belongs to the deanery of Roskild, and has been taken from me with shameful injustice. If I have not been afraid to protest openly against the king's illegal encroachments on my rights of office, neither am I now afraid to declare openly to his drost, that I will suffer thirst till doomsday, rather than, like a miserable hypocrite, drink a single drop to worldly arrogance and injustice."

"And I hold to that, with our very learned sir dean," said Count Jacob, with a loud voice, and striking his long sword vehemently against the floor. "Every man here has his freedom; and no one shall compel us to drink any other toast than we please. I only drank, because I was thirsty, and the wine was good. I regard myself, then, so little as a wretch or a hypocrite, that no one with impunity shall call me a traitor to the country."

"It were far from me to upbraid any man with hypocrisy, or to accuse any of these gentlemen of so horrible a crime as treason," said Drost Peter, quietly. "In Denmark, God be praised, thoughts, and their rudest expression, are still free, when the law of the land is not transgressed; and I regard no Dane as the enemy of his country because, perhaps, he does not join in our common wish for its welfare, and in personal attachment to the royal house, with the same warmth as myself. In such unsettled and unhappy times as the present, we must, alas! experience that the opinions of the best Danish men differ on many important matters. But, my brave lords and countrymen," he continued, with warmth, "excuse me that I do not see any place or opportunity too unsuitable to say an earnest word in a matter that concerns every Dane. If variance and discord are not soon to rend asunder all, even the best of Danish hearts, and if the people are not to rebel and sink into ruin by such devastating strife, we must necessarily be united in one object; and that is, in lawful obedience to the majesty and divinity of the crown, upon whatever head it may legally and by justice rest. Mournful, certainly, it will be, if we, as men, as knights, or as servants of God's word, do not, at all times, love and do homage to the personality which is inseparable from majesty. But, as we would be true to our country, we are bound, heart and hand, to defend the king to the last drop of our blood."

"I may respect your manner of thinking, Drost Hessel, though it is not mine," replied young Duke Waldemar, with warmth, and approaching him a step or two, with great haughtiness, whilst he appeared to regard the embarrassment of his friends with indignation. "I do not misunderstand the zeal that permits you to forget where you are, and to whom you are speaking. But I may beg you to remember, that we are here in a public tavern; and that I, and the highborn Count Jacob of Halland, are present. As the king's kinsmen, we were most justified in holding discourse against sedition and lese-majesty, had we found it convenient or necessary. If you have anything to complain of against us, bring it before the king and people, in the Dane-court, where you shall find us all assembled, and where I hope to settle amicably the points in dispute between us and our royal kinsman. But, here, we order and command you, in virtue of our rank and dignity, to be silent, and not approach me or my friends, with an audacity that becomes you not, and with ill-timed admonitions respecting our duty to the Danish crown. And now, my lords, to horse. Here we shall no longer tarry, to give occasion for uproar, which this king and _queen's_ zealous friend should have been the very first to have avoided."

The latter words were spoken in a bitter tone of ridicule, which called up a disdainful smile on the countenance of the young knight.

"Very good," said Count Jacob, in a rude tone of derision. "We shall yield the battle-field to the amorous young sir drost, since it is in a tavern, where one only cares to fight with words, or, at most, with fists and empty pitchers. If we contend, hereafter, upon a more worthy arena, sir drost, perhaps you may find it convenient to be the first to withdraw."

With these words, both the princely lords left the room; the ecclesiastic, with the cook, and all the knights, accompanying them. The horses had already, for some time, been standing saddled before the door; the squires hastened to hold the stirrups for their masters; and, in a minute after, the numerous train departed, laughing and talking aloud, through the streets of Middelfert.

The young drost stood, silent and thoughtful, in the guests' room, and appeared to be considering whether he had not been too precipitate. Old Henner, quietly, and with the greatest interest, had given heed to every one of his words, and to his whole conduct. The burghers and fishermen, after their president's example, remained silent witnesses of the contest between the distinguished lords. Claus Skirmen stood by the door, without losing sight of his master's face, although, at times, he cast a sidelong glance at the little dark-haired Aasé, who, with curious and playful eyes, watched the illustrious stranger.

The artful chamberlain had, in the meantime, profited by the general attention given to the clamorous lords. He had given jovial cook Morten, who pretended to know him, the wink, and, with the help of the carving-knife which hung at the cook's girdle, the cords that bound him were cut without it being observed. He could not, however, immediately avail himself of this freedom, while so many stood around him, but remained quietly, with his hands behind his back, as if he had been still bound. But, now that the door was open, he suddenly sprang under the arms of his guards, and was gone in an instant.

"What the fiend! is he loose?" exclaimed the astonished fishermen, springing after him.

"Stay, let him run!" cried Drost Peter, stopping them. "If he escape, it will please me better, as he would soon have been set free. He will scarcely venture into the net so soon again, however; and we have a traitor the less among us."

The fishermen stood on the alert, ready to bring back the fugitive.

"Ay, ay: let him run to Satan, as the knight says," growled old Henner Friser. "The lanky youth may soon be settled: he shall frighten nobody. Another time that we lay our fingers upon him, let us crack his neck on the instant. Now, let him grease his houghs."

This speech the fishermen seemed to comprehend, and they remained accordingly.

"Now shall you have thanks for your assistance and interest in this matter, my nimble countrymen," continued Drost Peter. "Every one betake himself to his home, and keep himself easy. From robbers you have nothing to fear; and the safety of your brave alderman I will provide for."

"Nobody shall touch a hair of his head, so long as there is a porpoise-hunter in Melfert Sound," replied a young fisherman.

"And should he get into any trouble concerning the royal squire we pitched into the dung-pit," said Troels the armourer, "we brethren of the guild will stand by him. Twelve of us keep watch here to-night; and, if he wishes to make his escape, there are six men at the yawl, with a boat and all that is needful."

"Good, my children, good," replied old Henner. "But go, now: I will consider the matter, and tell you, perhaps, my intentions before morning."

At his beck, the burghers and fishermen left the room. The old man fervently seized Drost Peter's hand. "God and St. Christian bless you, my wellborn young gentleman, for what you have this night done for me and my little Aasé!" he said, with emotion. "If ever I forget it, I am a scoundrel. Neither shall I readily forget the words you addressed to these distinguished rascals: they have stirred up my sinful old soul more than I could have thought."

The restrained but violent emotions which the tones of his voice betrayed appeared to surprise the little Aasé, as somewhat unusual. Her grandfather, observing this, suddenly relaxed his hold of the knight's hand.

"Go, now, to bed, my child," he said gently, turning to her: "go to bed, and sleep securely until I call you. Dream neither of rievers nor big demons. This hand already has punished the doughtiest; but it is not so nimble now--it begins to feel the rascals. But the world is wide: if we cannot be in peace any longer here, I have other plans. Now, good night, child. Pray to our Lord, and our good patron St. Christian, to afford us their protection, and not to lead us into temptation. Now, quick, to bed."

"Allow me first to look to your wound, dear grandfather," replied the little Aasé, entreatingly, while she took hold of his hand and kissed it tenderly.

"Certainly not, child: I will not hear a word about the gnat-bite. Did you not hear what I said?"

From the old man's stern tone, and the silence with which she prepared, though reluctantly, to obey him, it might be seen that the old grandfather was not accustomed to opposition. She still lingered, however; and, as he looked at her more attentively, he observed the furtive, sidelong glances of her eyes towards the door, where the young squire was still standing. "That is true--the youth by the door--he has had no supper, and well deserves one. Without him, we had not got hold of you. Now run, then, Aasé, and take care of him in the kitchen."

"Come, Claus Skirmen," said Aasé, cheerfully, and as familiarly as if she had known him for a long time; while she sprang to the door where he stood, took him by the hand, and drew him merrily along with her to the kitchen.

"Singular child!" muttered the old man to himself: "now she is the little wild cat again, and a single word can make her glad or sorrowful. But when the strong dreaming spirit comes over her, not a sinner would willingly look into her eyes. Well, well: it is a sad thing for our strength."

Drost Peter stood in deep thought, and unobservant of what was passing. He had taken a sheet of parchment from his breast pocket, and on this he gazed intently, without appearing to know what he was reading.

"Have you received disastrous tidings, noble sir?" at length inquired old Henner, regarding him with sympathy; "or is it your evening prayer you are reading? If your soul is in converse with the Lord, I shall not disturb you; but, then, you should look happier. You are young, and can scarcely have any grievous sins upon your conscience. You may well read your ave and paternoster, without looking whether the evil one stands grinning behind you."

"What said you, brave old man?" inquired the knight, recovering himself, and hastily folding the parchment. "It is late, and I stand in need of rest: the noise and journey have wearied me."

"Come, refresh yourself first, noble sir. My best apartment is ready for you. But I have now a word to say to you, for God knows when I may see you again. You are wearied, and I perceive you have important matters in your head. Come, sir drost, you will not refuse a stoup of good Danish pors-ale? What the fiend! have their lordships transformed my ale into wine? Well, that was indeed handsome of them."

They then both set themselves down to cook Morten's half-emptied bowl of spiced wine; and when a cup of the potent beverage had enlivened them, old Henner resumed:

"You spake an earnest word this evening, noble sir. My illustrious guests considered it ill-timed, and perhaps you now may think that you were over hasty; but it was a word at the right time, to me and many more. Yes, you are right, noble sir. The crown is holy, whoever bears it: for the king is the Lord's anointed; and no one shall with impunity raise his hand against him, were it the foul fiend himself whom God has set over us for a season."

"That I did not say exactly, old man," said the drost, interrupting him; "yet it is not far from my meaning. But how came you now upon this matter? Did you know these lords?"

"Who does not know the haughty Duke Waldemar and the crabbed Count Jacob?" answered Henner. "I knew their good friends, too. What these good people carry in their bosoms is no secret. This dean from Roskild is a learned, dangerous man; and the Lord preserve us from him! Thought and thew, he is the old Archbishop Jacob to a hair--he that was imprisoned by the king's father, and brought the whole kingdom under the ban. The long, big-nosed dean comes of the same brood. People dare not say it openly; but you and everybody else know, nevertheless, that this Satan's archbishop had a finger in the pie when King Christopher was poisoned with our Lord's holy body."

"Thou art right, old man; and so much the worse," said Drost Peter: "this audacious Master Grand is Jacob Erlandsen's kinsman, both by descent and in spirit. He is the most crafty of them all, however hot-headed and open-mouthed he may be in his insolent moods." He again drew forth the parchment, and examined it. "Do you know Sir Tuko Abildgaard, the duke's drost?"

"Yes, indeed: that was the proud, smooth-faced gentleman, who sat so stiff where you are now sitting, with the light green cloak and doublet. I knew every one of them."

"Sir Lavé Little was not here--God be praised!" said Drost Peter, with a suppressed sigh. "They are a noble race, these Littles: would that they all took after the old Knight John! A truer man there is not in Denmark, although he has almost as much injustice to complain of as have his kinsmen."

"We must not judge them too severely, noble sir," resumed Henner. "Sir Lavé came over the Belt yesterday. It was sad to look upon the man. He had visited his kinsman for some purpose: that might well be seen in him. Shame is a hard cross. Old Pallé has certainly lost his wits about it; and the bold, proud Stig Andersen himself--I cannot think of him without feeling my heart ready to burst my bosom. A greater leader has Denmark never seen since the days of Count Albert of Northalbing and King Waldemar Seier. Even the mighty King Ladislaus of Sweden has him to thank for his crown. Oh, noble sir drost! when I fancy myself in this man's situation, dark thoughts arise within me. I could not say that the crown was holy, if I saw it borne by the destroyer of my wife's honour."

"And yet, brave Henner, you might say so, even were you in his place, if your fatherland were dearer to you than yourself, and your soul's salvation more precious than revenge."

"Salvation!" said Henner, gloomily; "talk not so decidedly about a man's salvation, sir drost. A bishop would not so readily undertake to do so. Believe you, then, of a truth, that the man shall be for ever damned who lifts his hand against a crowned nidding?"[11]

"Let us condemn no one, that we be not ourselves condemned," said the knight, with deep seriousness; "least of all, let us condemn him whom none human can condemn, but who has his Judge above the stars."

"Awell, you may be right, sir, when that is spoken of a righteous king, who has been chosen by the free-will of his people, and who has not acquired his crown by perjury and the murder of a brother, like King Abel. If, now, you were to see the man who shot the arrow into King Abel's breast, noble sir, would you be able to look him in the face, and say that he was a godless traitor and a regicide, who must be for ever doomed to perdition?"

"What brings this into your head, old man?" inquired the knight, astonished: "I have, indeed, said I dare condemn no one, and, truly, least of all dare I condemn the man whom the Righteous Judge chose to raise up to vindicate the pious King Erik Waldemarson, and to hurl a fratricide from the throne of Denmark."

"That man stands now before you, sir drost!" said Henner Friser, rising: "with this hand I shot the arrow that entered King Abel's false heart; there hangs the steel bow that carried the doom of death and eternal punishment to the fratricide."

The knight looked up, and regarded with a degree of dread the tall, powerful old man, who, pale and frightful as the ghost of a hero, now stood before him in the dimly-lighted apartment.

"Did you that deed, old man?" he said, with an effort. "Then let me be the last man you entrust with the dreadful secret. And have a care of yourself. Had Duke Waldemar known what this bow has done, there is not a man in the country who could save you."

"That gives me but little uneasiness," answered the old man. "You, I know, will not betray me; and, saving yourself, there is not a soul in the world knows what old Henner thinks in the midnight storm, when the wild hunter rides over his roof with his howling hounds. Fancy not that I rue the best act of my life. Nay, God and St. Christian be praised! I dread not the hour when I shall stand, with King Abel, before our Lord's judgment-seat. And yet, sir knight, it gives rise to strange thoughts, to have withdrawn a soul from mercy, and dispatched a sinner to everlasting punishment before his time. But it is the weakness of old age: I know it well. It is, besides, at night only that such thoughts come upon me. By day, when I look upon the bow, I feel proud that this hand once rescued Denmark from destruction. As I have said, it is only at night that my heart softens, and that I feel compassion for the sinner whom I slew."

"Pray the God of mercy for his soul!" said the knight, with a feeling of uneasiness.

"Nay, that can I not, sir drost--and it but little matters. What I could do for him, by the aid of a nervous arm, that I have done; but it is in vain--he is doomed to eternal misery. I drove a six-ells stake, of good charred oak, through his rotten carcase in the bog of Gottorp; but what availed that? The proud devil will not rest in the swamp, nor will he suffer others to sleep in peace. You have heard, no doubt, what is told about his night-hunts? Constantly, at midnight, he rides out, raven-black, on his courser, over Gottorp heath, with three fiery hell-hounds at his heels. God be praised! I have not seen it myself; but every midnight, be my sleep ever so sound, it whines and howls in my ears till I awake. Perhaps it is mere rumour and superstition, and perhaps it is but the blood which rushes to my head when I recline; but now, for three and thirty years, I have never been able to close an eye until two hours after the accursed midnight. And--hear you aught? Lord! how it howls and whines again!" He held both hands before his eyes, and shook his gray head in an uneasy and anxious manner.

"Unhappy old man!" said the knight, "mayhap it is neither the blood nor the dead that disquiets you. I rather believe that there is a secret doubt in your honest heart of the justice of the deed, or that it was well-pleasing to God. Shrive yourself, in this matter, to a God-fearing clerk; and seek to make your peace with the Lord, (who, in truth, can alone give and take it away,) not only for the sake of the past, but also for what has happened to-day. It was not the Chamberlain Rané, but a greater man, that we both saw well, who had fixed upon your Aasé for his victim. I knew him, and so much the worse. Me, perhaps, he will spare, for prudential reasons; but he will not relinquish his object because he has once miscarried. It will be a serious matter with you, too, on account of the squire who lies in the dung-pit. I know but one course, old Henner: you must over the Belt with the maiden before it is day. Your house and goods may be sold afterwards. But proceed, without delay, to my warden at Harrestrup. I shall provide you with a letter to him, and he will direct you to my vacant hunting-lodge near Finnerup. There, both you and the little Aasé are safe. The wind is favourable. Take not too long to think of it."

The old man had seated himself upon a bench: he leant with his elbows on the table, and his wrinkled forehead rested in his giant hands.

"Well, I shall follow your advice, and accept your offer with respect and thanks, my illustrious young sir," said he at last, with decision, as he arose. "It is not for the sake of this gray head: were it doomed to fall beneath the axe, I should not take flight, in my old days, to escape the blow. But the maiden must be saved: she is the apple of my eye and my soul's joy--she is good and innocent. She does not yet understand her strange dreams. God grant they may never be fulfilled! She must be saved; and you are right--time presses. You have also pointed my way to peace, sir drost, and I will follow it. I shall bid good night to my worldly calling, and, in your hunting-lodge, reconcile myself to my God and Judge as best I can."

With these words, he shook the knight's hand fervently, and went out, to make the necessary preparations for his departure.

The drost hastily drew forth the sheet of parchment that he had been reading, tore off a portion on which there was no writing, and, with a silver style which he carried about him, wrote upon it a few words to his warden at Harrestrup-Gaard, near Viborg. Scarcely had he finished the brief epistle, before long-withstood weariness overpowered him. The style fell from his hand; his long, dark-haired eyelids closed in spite of him; and he leant back on the bench, until he rested against the wall. Seated in this manner, in a few minutes he was fast asleep, and was busied, apparently, in his dreams, with some dear and familiar object. The soft gleam of the nearly-expiring light fell on his youthful but strong and almost stern countenance, which now, however, was lit up with a kindly smile; while, in his right hand, he held a rosary of rubies, which he wore concealed about his neck, and to which was attached a solitary amber jewel, which had seemingly belonged to a lady's necklace. His left hand still rested firmly, and with a half-conscious carefulness, upon the parchment that lay open before him on the table.

He was still securely slumbering in this position, when the door was gently opened, and a face peered in, which, though half concealed beneath a fisherman's shaggy cap, yet, with its thin, sandy beard and crafty features, betrayed the Chamberlain Rané. He was dressed entirely like a fisherman. He allowed the door to stand ajar, and, gliding noiselessly into the apartment, advanced on tiptoe to the table, where the knight's left hand still rested on the documents. After a scrutinising glance at the sleeper, his small gray eyes rested with curiosity upon the letter. He paused, and was about to slip it away; but the knight just then making a motion with his right hand, the artful spy hastily stepped back. He again approached carefully, looked upon the letter with strained attention, and turned pale when he saw his own name among a long list of others, in the open document, headed "Conspirators." He groped with one hand for a dagger, whose bright silver hilt projected from his breast-pocket; but appeared suddenly to restrain himself, as his eye fell upon the small slip addressed to the warden of Harrestrup. He seemed surprised on reading it, and, with a smile of triumph, went out as gently and cautiously as he had entered.

Shortly after, Drost Peter awoke, completely refreshed by his short slumber, and heard, in the apartment, loud noise and laughter, the jingling of bells, and the tread of iron-heeled boots with clattering spurs. He opened his eyes, and beheld a strong, heavy, and somewhat corpulent personage, whose round, jovial countenance, and strong brown beard, bespoke him to be in the prime of life. With a pair of large gold spurs on his heels, he trod the paved apartment firmly, and, casting his mantle aside with a gentle motion of his arm, exposed a knight's magnificent dress, and a pair of glittering gold chains. He paced the apartment backwards and forwards, in lively conversation with two less elegantly attired knights, and a lanky, awkwardly-built personage, whose short jingling jacket, and peaked cap with a long fox's tail behind, denoted his rank as a jester.

Surprised, the young drost seized the parchment document, which still lay open before him, and placed it hastily in his bosom. Thereupon he arose, and saluted the strangers with polite apologies that he had not sooner taken notice of them.

"Do I see aright?" he said: "is it the highborn Count Gerhard of Holstein I have the honour to salute?"

"Quite right, sir knight," answered the bluff, merry gentleman; "and, if I am not mistaken, you were my fortunate rival at the Swedish coronation tourney, last year--Sir Peter Hessel. Is it not so? and now, quite a drost, I hear?"

The knight gave an affirmative, by modestly bowing.

"You here behold a fortunate youth, my lords," continued Count Gerhard, turning to his companions: "this young gentleman can already boast of standing in higher favour at the Danish court than myself and some princely vassals of the blood. He wears the fair Queen Agnes' colours, and, as you perceive, watches over kingdom and country, like a true drost."

The strange knights smiled, and the lanky jester made up a droll face, while he set his bells a-jingling, and bowed before the drost until his nose almost touched the ground, the fox's tail flying over his cap, and striking the knight on the hand.

Drost Peter cast a careless look at the buffoon, and, with quiet self-possession, turned towards the princely lord. "The brave and wise Count Gerhard does not envy me the colours I wear," he began; "and, if you think I am not worthy of them, sir count, it is still open to you to settle the dispute; but only with sword and lance, and not with jeers and empty jinglings, or flaps from the fox-tail of your jester. Weariness, after unusual exertions, surprised me here for a moment. If, on this account, you think I am not so vigilant a servant of the king and country as beseems a drost, I nevertheless feel confident that I can vie in vigilance with you, or any gentleman of princely blood who calls himself a friend of the royal house of Denmark."

"You understand a jest, then, fair Drost Hessel?" answered the count, with a good-natured smile. "It was far from my wish to offend such a man as you. Only, you must not be angry with me, that, with a sincere heart, I hate your good fortune with a certain lady, and envy your last prize at the tourney. I accept with pleasure your invitation to break a lance with you upon occasion, and will most heartily settle your disputed rank as the fairest lady's knight: not at all in enmity, sir drost, but in all friendliness, cheerfully and pleasantly, as it becomes brave and honourable knights to contend. Do not be offended with my long-legged old man there," he continued, pointing to the jester: "he has, at present, a privilege with me and my friends, and intended nothing amiss. With every respect for honour, I do not think it sits so loosely on either me or others, that a privileged fool can shake it off with a fox's tail. You might even stand in need of such a fellow. In these very serious times, it is certainly highly necessary that one should keep a fool to jest for him, when he can no longer jest himself. It is, besides, both comely and christian-like, I think, to remind us that we are all as fools before our Lord. Now peace and good understanding."

As he concluded, he held forth his hand in a friendly manner, and the young knight accepted this token of reconciliation with joy. He now learned that Count Gerhard had just come over the Belt with his followers, on his way to Nyborg, to participate in the festivities at the Dane-court about to be held there. As Drost Peter was proceeding in the same direction, they soon agreed to travel in each other's company, and to start as soon as the count's followers had refreshed themselves.

While the newly-arrived guests sat merrily down to the table, which was still abundantly furnished with what they required, Drost Peter left the apartment. He proceeded to the kitchen, where he found Henner Friser and his granddaughter, prepared for their journey; and, having given the old man his brief dispatch to the warden of Harrestrup, he hastened their flight.

Old Henner had now his weapons and armour brought him, and quietly and thoughtfully equipped himself. With the long spear in his hand, the Frisian hempen mail on his breast, and the old rusty steel bow in a leather thong upon his back, he then took the young knight by the hand, to bid him adieu, and pressed it fervently, without saying a word. With tears in her dark eyes, the little Aasé seized the drost's hand, and pressed it to her lips, unable to say more than, "Thanks, sir knight. Farewell!" He patted her kindly on the cheek, and now first perceived the maiden's singular beauty, and that blending of dignity and childlike simplicity, which caused her countenance to beam with so much intelligence.

Claus Skirmen, also, seemed to expect a tender parting with Aasé. He had assumed a fearless air, not to appear moved, or to betray what was secretly passing in his heart; but she drove him, with her mantle, playfully towards his master, while she dried her eyes, and skipped out of the kitchen.

Before sunrise, Drost Peter, with Count Gerhard and his followers, rode merrily away through the streets of Middelfert. Claus Skirmen followed on his norback, along with the count's most grave jester. The bold young squire looked once more in the direction of the quay. There stood the armourer Troels, among a number of burghers and porpoise-hunters, all silently and earnestly regarding a little skiff, which was making way, with a favourable wind, across the Belt, and from which Henner Friser and his granddaughter still beckoned them a friendly farewell.

It was a beautiful spring morning. A light mist hovered upon the meadows. Bright dew-pearls trembled glitteringly in the dawn, on the slender cobwebs, amidst the newly-sprung bushes by the road-side. The knights had arrived at a height just beyond Middelfert. The sun now arose directly before them, enlivening the magnificent landscape, while a thousand larks poured forth their lively songs overhead.

As the travellers rode leisurely along, the better to enjoy the charming scene, a tall, lanky horseman galloped swiftly past them: he was dressed as a fisherman, with a large hairy cap drawn over his eyes. The knights had not taken much notice of him; but Claus Skirmen rode hastily up to his master. "That was Chamberlain Rané, sir drost!" he said, eagerly: "his sharp fox's nose stuck out beneath his cap. Shall I after him?"

"It is not requisite," answered Drost Peter, knitting his brows. "If he travels this way, we shall meet him, time enough, at Nyborg."

"But, should _he_ speak first with the king, sir, you know well how it will go."

"That I know very well," answered the drost: "let him ride on."