CHAP. VI.
On Sommersted heath, in the province of Haddersleben, a bloody battle seemed likely to take place between Eric and his haughty kinsmen, the Dukes of Slesvig and Langeland, in whose army it was asserted many of the regicides were enlisted; notwithstanding it had been stipulated by treaty the preceding year, that these exiled criminals should be no less outlawed by these princes, than by the king, and his brother. When the dukes beheld the forces, at the head of which the incensed king, attended by his fifty chosen knights, was marching against them, they appeared to hesitate, and the swords of the one party seemed to keep those of the other in the sheath. Through the Drost's mediation a truce was negotiated; according to which all hostilities were to cease, the dukes' troops were to lay down their arms, and no outlaws suffered to continue in their service; all claims also on the part of the dukes were to be suspended, until formal terms could be agreed upon. For this purpose an amicable interview between these princes and their royal liege was proposed to take place at Wordingborg castle.
The Drost and privy council rarely succeeded in persuading the king to a reconciliation, or to enter into a formal treaty of peace with any opponent who had protected his father's murderers. The only person who, under such circumstances, had been occasionally successful in acting as mediator, was Eric's sagacious and kindhearted stepfather, Count Gerhard, who ever stood in a friendly and almost fatherly relation to the young monarch.
The present peace also with Norway was only a truce, occasionally renewed for single years or months; for the outlaws had constantly met with protection from the Norwegian King Eric, and Duke Hako; and according to his promise given to these fugitives, the Norwegian king was unable to conclude a permanent peace with Denmark, unless his Danish guests should be again admitted into their native land. Many of these deadly foes to the royal house of Denmark had, indeed, fallen in their unsuccessful expedition against Denmark; some had been seized and maltreated by the populace, or captured by the king's commanders, and executed for robbery and incendiarism. This had been the fate of Arved Bengtson, one of the wildest and fiercest of the regicides, who with ten of his comrades had fallen into the hands of the stern Tulé Ebbeson, and the whole of the eleven had been mercilessly beheaded. But each time the number of their chiefs was thus diminished, the revenge and defiance of those who were left increased. From their connection with foreign powers, with Archbishop Grand, and with the papal see, these exiled noblemen were the most dangerous enemies of the country. So long as one of them was living the king considered himself under the necessity of being constantly prepared for war, and the mention of an outlaw was almost sufficient to make him gird on his armour.
After the conclusion of the truce with the Dukes of Slesvig, the king visited his royal manors in Jutland and in the Isles; but he disbanded his troops only so far as to admit of their being assembled again in a few days at the Marsk's summons. The young king sought, as much as it was possible, to atone for whatever injustice had been committed during the government of his unhappy father. Even his bitterest enemies were forced to acknowledge his disinterested zeal in the administration of justice; but despite the respect and affection of which Eric received the most gratifying proofs from his people, his personal safety was, nevertheless, often endangered, as the condition of the country was in general in a very unsettled state. The outlaws belonged to most noble families in Denmark, and had not a few kinsmen, friends, and secret adherents, who endeavoured to protect them from the indignation of the people, whenever they secretly or openly dared to venture back to their father-land, for the purpose of exciting disturbance or seeking opportunities for revenge. All the discontented in the country, all restless spirits, and those who were at war with law and authority, all criminals and burgher politicians, who feared or hated kingly rule, joined themselves to these martyrs in the cause of liberty, and foes of despotism as they were denominated. Some powerful prelates, the archbishop's friends, were on their side, although the clergy in general were devoted to the king. Meanwhile the most sincere patriots could not deny that the discontented had often real grievances to complain of, and that the lawful rights of citizenship were frequently infringed. The king's friends and devoted subjects often went too far in their zeal for his security; and state functionaries not unfrequently exercised violence and injustice in his name, where they suspected any one of siding with the outlaws. Among the discontented in the country, and the secret partisans of the outlaws, such proceedings served as a pretext and excuse for similar conduct towards the king's servants and friends; what especially disquieted all lovers of their country, was the dread of a general closing of the churches, in case the king did not yield in the affair of the archbishop. An apprehension also prevailed of civil war and dangerous conspiracies of the outlaws, and other disturbers of the peace; particularly if any open breach should take place between the king and his brother, the junker.
During the first chilly days of spring, the roads to Wordingborg were unusually thronged on occasion of the important treaty of peace just concluded with the Dukes of Slesvig. The splendid festivities and tournaments which were the delight of the chivalrous king, were now in preparation to celebrate the event. Many knights and nobles from Jutland and the Isles journeyed to Wordingborg, to display their splendour before the king and the court, as well as to share in the expected festivities in honour of the peace, which however was regarded by the king's friends rather in the light of a victory.
A party of three knights, with a numerous train of squires and attendants, rode one evening amid storm and hail through the forest near Suséa, and approached the great forest monastery of St. Peter. The accommodations for travellers were but scarce and simple. The public inns established in the time of King Eric Glipping were few and generally despised; travellers of high degree, therefore, often took shelter in monasteries, which were occasionally put to much cost and inconvenience by these sometimes forcibly-imposed visitations. The monasteries had been, in fact, exempted by a royal decree, from the ancient obligation of giving free entertainment to travellers; they were even forbidden to receive wayfaring guests, where there was any public inn in the neighbourhood; but the prohibition was hardly ever observed even by the clergy themselves, as it was contrary to the rules of the monasteries.
The knights and their train seemed nowise inclined to pass by without visiting the rich "Forest Monastery" (as it was called) which now, with its high, white and notched gable ends, and its shining copper roof, came in sight above the forest in the fitful light of the stormy evening. The party drew near the great oak avenue within the domain of the monastery, and the attendants pointed, gladly, to the smoking chimneys: but the two foremost knights had shrouded themselves in their mantles, and drawn their large travelling hoods over their eyes. They seemed, notwithstanding the increasing storm, so absorbed in their own thoughts that they cared but little about the road, or the inviting hearth of the monastery. They were the same tall, silent knights, who had so mysteriously visited Prince Christopher at Holbek Castle, the night on which it was garrisoned by Drost Aagé. The little hump-backed man in the red cloak, who was then their companion, was not now seen in their train; but they were accompanied by Prince Christopher's gentleman of the bedchamber, the fat short-necked Sir Pallé, who frequently lamented over the weather, and seemed as weary of the journey as of his taciturn and unsociable travelling companions.
"This way! up the monastery avenue, sir knights!" he called, impatiently. "You would not surely go farther in this infernal tempest? It is a good way yet to Nestved, and to that dog-hole of an inn, the road every way is long. We stand in need of a good supper, and a good night's rest--I know Pater, head-cook."
"I know the abbot," answered the taller of the two grave knights, with a haughty mien. "At all events, I know myself and my squires, and what a wayfaring man may demand."
"For the Lord's sake! let us not play the braggart, excellent Sir Brock!" said Pallé, rather in alarm, and drawing his bridle. "If we proceed with violence and bragging, the pious monks may shut the door in our faces, and make the king our enemy to boot; one should, by my troth, seek a shelter by fair means when one slinks past law and ordinance."
"Bah! Here one may make light of secular law and royal ordinance," answered Sir Brock, scornfully. "St. Bent's rules no king can shake."
"Let us only not attack the rules of the monastery, worthy knights!" sighed Sir Pallé, slapping his empty stomach, "or we may have to put up with fasting fare this evening, and learn of St. Bent to knock out the flesh tooth."
"If that tooth had been knocked out in the monastery there would scarcely be so many butchers in Nestved," remarked the other knight; "keep easy, Sir Pallé; I promise you a fat roast for this evening--Every Sunday the Nestved butchers are forced to pay their tribute in good roasts and sausages."
"The Abbot understands that," said Sir Brock, with a nod. "That is a fellow who knows how to uphold his rights both with high and low--trust me, Sir Papæ, the Nestved burghers may well provide him wine for his roast--the whole town hath to thank the monastery and the rich abbot for its rise. Truly, these are burgher and grocer times we live in--we now see villages and towns where before we saw lordly castles, and domains, and mark, now, if the grocers' houses will not at last shoot up over both lordly castles and monasteries. It passes the comprehension, both of king and statesmen, how to keep the people under finger and thumb; but it is well enough understood by him yonder."
"You know the abbot then, Sir Brock?" resumed Pallé, inquisitively, and with a look of curiosity. "He must be a mighty prelate; they say, he was a good friend of Archbishop Grand's. You have surely no errand to him? You know more of him, perhaps, than I do of Pater, head-cook; for that is but a slight acquaintance. On second thoughts. Sir Knight, would it not be better in these troublous and suspicious times, to pass by the monastery and put up with the dog-hole of an inn?--unless you really have any errand here--you have perhaps known the abbot long. Sir Brock? You are even perhaps of his kindred?"
"Excellent! Go on! if you have more queries, or any more scruples, let me have all out at once, and have done with it," said the tall Sir Brock, with an air of contempt. "To speak plainly, my good Sir Pallé, you seem somewhat inquisitive. You have asked me of more during this journey, than I would answer my confessor in a whole year.
"And you are as mysterious and cautious as though you took me for a tell-tale, and a man not to be counted on," answered Pallé, in a tone of annoyance. "If the high-born junker hath trusted me to bring you a private letter, you may well suppose I am among his most confidential friends."
"A confidant is wont, however, to know what tidings he brings," remarked the tall knight.
"You think, perhaps, I know them not," returned Pallé, assuming an air of consequence. "It will rejoice the noble junker to see you and your friends at Wordingborg, in order to come to a closer and mutual understanding.--Is it not so?"
"Ha, indeed! my sly Sir Pallé; you understand then, the noble art of opening wax seals?--another time you must do it more dexterously, or, at least, be able to hold your tongue about it. The high-born junker hath known his messenger, and hath not entrusted you with a greater secret than he might suffer to be cried in the streets through every town."
The other knight laughed scornfully. Pallé was silent, wroth, and crest fallen. The party now halted, drew bridle before the gate of the monastery, and knocked loudly at it. The porter put forth his shaven head from a shutter, and inquired in a peevish tone, who it was, and what was wanted so late.
"Wayfaring and christian men," was the answer. "If you are a pious man of God, Father Porter, sin not by asking forbidden questions, but unlock the gate instantly, in St. Bent's and St. Peter's name!"
"In nomine St. Benedict! Anianensis et St. Petri Apostoli," answered the clerical porter, and instantly withdrew the great iron bolt which secured the gate.
"See ye," said Sir Niels Brock, "St. Bent and St. Peter are more powerful here than kings and worldly despots."
Although the most important household matters were managed by the monks themselves, according to monastic rule, the travellers, on their entering the monastery, were instantly received by a whole crowd of attendant lay-brothers and conversers, who took off their mantles, and eagerly waited on them with handbasons and whatever they required. Father Porter had allowed himself to be replaced at his post by a lay-brother, that he might not miss the evening devotion and the evening meal that accompanied it. After an announcement to the Abbot, he followed the three knights to the refectory, while a lay-brother attended to the wants of the train.
CHAP. VII.
In the high-vaulted refectory, the small arched windows of which looked out into the garden of the monastery, and were darkened by a row of lime-trees, sat the heavy-built abbot Johan in his laced leathern arm-chair, with a lamp before him, at the supper-table, holding a kind of instructive discourse for the edification of the humbly-listening brethren of the order and the pupils of the monastery. Nearest him sat eleven monks in black cloaks, among whom Peter Porter took his place as the twelfth. The same number of little boys, who were educating as monks, and wore black benedictine mantles, as well as the brethren of the order, took the lowest place at the table, and eagerly partook of the repast, while, however, they seemed to listen very attentively to the abbot's discourse. On the entrance of the travellers the dignified prelate half rose from his seat, with a look of annoyance, and bade them welcome in St. Peter's and St. Bent's name, but almost without vouchsafing them a glance, and in a tone which betrayed that it was only in compliance with the rules of his order that he received such self-invited guests. However, when the two tall knights approached him nearer, with a reverent and courteous salutation, and the lamp on the table lit up Sir Niels Brock's martial visage, the abbot's proud bearing and repulsive looks suddenly changed. He signed a blessing over the knight and his companions, and, with courteous condescension, besought them to be seated, while he hastily, with a side-wink of the eye, laid his finger on his mouth, and continued to address them as strangers.
Besides the twelve brethren of the order and the monkishly-clad children, there sat a person at the table, also in a black benedictine mantle, but without the hood and complete dress of the order. He had hastily risen on the entrance of the travellers, and appeared about to withdraw; but, on hearing Sir Niels Brock's powerful voice, he turned round to the newly-arrived guests, and nodded familiarly to Brock. It now appeared that this person bore not the tonsure, and was even adorned with a warrior-like beard; his forehead and eye-brows were hidden by his yellowish red and combed down hair.
Brock started, and greeted him with surprise, but in silence.
"A guest from the world who hath sought safety in the dress of our holy order and the sanctuary of the monastery," said the abbot. "I can, therefore, only present him to you without mention of his name, as I also have received you in the holy Bent's and St. Peter's name, without asking of your name in the world, or the object of your journey."
"Your hospitality and high mindedness are well known throughout the country, pious sir," said Brock, with another obeisance. "We are not, it is true, among the persecuted. The object of our journey also is no secret; but we equally acknowledge, with thanks and reverence, the shelter these holy walls afford from storms of all kinds."
"From the hour in which, by God's grace, I received the bishop's mitre and the holy crosier," resumed the abbot, with the air of a prince of the church, but with stooping head, and a kind of studied rhetorical tone, "be it said without all vain self-commendation, and to the honour of the Most High!--from the time St. Peter and his holy heir set me a ruler over these souls, and over this asylum of the pious and oppressed, I have striven according to my poor ability in the spirit of St. Benedict of Nurcia, and with the pious will of St. Benedict of Anianes before mine eyes, to give succour and protection to all travellers and pilgrims, and all outlawed and persecuted persons, against the wild turbulence of nature, as well as against human ferocity and the violence and persecution of an ungodly world. You just now interrupted me in a godly discourse, my guests! I spoke of the Church's might and authority, which is now so scandalously assaulted by the blind children of this world in our ungodly times. I was inculcating the duties of our holy order on the children, and for the edification of my dependents, on occasion of the crying deeds of violence and injustice we daily hear of and see before our eyes. You have also surely heard how shamelessly and treacherously the king's men have dealt with the outlawed Count Jacob's men in Halland, and what an outrageous and arbitrary act the royal vassal, Jonas Fries, hath lately perpetrated here, on the boundary of my abbey's consecrated ground and territory?"
"What I have heard is almost past belief, pious Father Abbot," answered Brock; "but the matter is related very differently by the friends of freedom and those of despotism. Rumour hath indeed possibly exaggerated the stern vassal's despotic act."
"My fugitive guest, who sits there, can bear testimony to the truth," said the abbot. "The unhappy victim to the lawlessness and barbarity of that royal vassal was his good friend and comrade."
"It is as true as that I stand here," began the warrior-like personage in the monk's cloak, and rose from his seat. His accent sounded half-Norwegian; the combed-down hair slipped aside for an instant from his brow, and over his wild fiery eye a pair of bristly meeting eye-brows and a large red scar were visible. "Thus are law and justice now upheld in Denmark," he continued. "I had come down hither in reliance on truce and treaty, but truth and justice are no longer recognised, where the friends of freedom are outlawed. My comrade had saved my life, and freed me from a degrading captivity; he was, like myself, in the service of the Norwegian king. Three days since he was taken captive at my side in broad day-light, by Sir Jonas Fries himself, and dragged to his castle.--I escaped to the sanctuary of the abbey; but when I yesterday, with the pious abbot's men, would have liberated my unhappy comrade, we found him hanged, without law or sentence, on Jonas Fries's closed castle gate."
"Ha, indeed! the more madly they act the sooner they will have to account for it," exclaimed Brock, in a powerful martial tone, and striking his large battle sword against the flagged floor. "The master who hath such zealous servants may fare badly at last--that deed of violence shall prove a firebrand----"
"We meddle not here with worldly matters," interrupted the abbot hastily, with an admonitory wink, and a side glance at the attentive and startled monks, who all, however, sat silent with humbly drooping heads, and appeared to fear, rather than love, their despotic and mighty superior. "Worldly matters are to me and my dependents, but vehicles for spiritual things," continued the prelate with a devout air, "and I only permit any discourse concerning them when it may serve us for holy and edifying meditation, according to St. Benedict of Anianes' pious will and injunction. I now forbid all further talk on such subjects here. Refresh yourselves, my stranger guests! Pray a silent prayer, brother bed-maker, and discharge thy duty towards the strangers! Pray in silence, and retire to rest, children! Let every brother set about his evening work! You must not suppose, my unknown guests," he added, "that the conversers and lay brothers you have seen here, alone perform the bodily labour which is incumbent on us all--it is precisely in order to gain bodily strength for the performance of the stern duties of our order that I give, as you see, occasional dispensations with respect to the nourishment of the frail body with substantial meat."
The brethren of the order and the monkishly clad children now folded their hands, and muttered a prayer; they then departed, after they had all, with a deep and submissive inclination of the head, kissed the abbot's hand, which lay extended for the purpose on the arm of his chair, in which he remained sitting, and gazed on his guests with an attentive and searching glance. "You are welcome. Sir Niels Brock and Sir Johan Papæ," now commenced the abbot, in a confidential and condescending tone, with a side look at Sir Pallé. "This knight I know not, but I presume you bring none with you but your most confidential friends."
"The high-born Junker Christopher's gentleman of the bed-chamber, Sir Pallé, accompanies us to Wordingborg by his lord's command," said Brock, hastily, "although we cannot boast of knowing him intimately."
"Ay, indeed! You are welcome also, Sir Pallé," resumed the abbot, in a tone of haughty condescension, once more assuming the dignified mien of a prelate. "Your master, the junker, is now said deeply to repent his sin and cruelty against our most learned and God-fearing archbishop, and to feel a longing after peace and reconciliation with the holy church? With all his errors, he seems still, however, to be of a more tractable and pious mind than his hardened brother, and it may one day, perhaps, stand him in good stead, for God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble."
"Yes, my lord junker will now assuredly be converted, pious Sir Abbot," answered Pallé, thrusting a large piece of meat into his mouth, by which he was hindered from continuing his speech.
"To judge from the build of Sir Pallé's person, he stands most in need of refreshment and rest," said Brock, with significance. "According to his assurance, there is now the best understanding between the junker and his brother."
"Ay, indeed! hum! well, then! It is good assuredly that brothers should be united, provided it be in that which is right," said the prelate, and broke off the conversation. Little was now said, and that only on indifferent topics. Sir Pallé's gormandising appetite perceptibly decreased at the cautious pause in the conversation, and at the sight of the fugitive in the monk's cloak, who had remained silently sitting at that end of the table which was least lighted up, and who kept his scrutinising eyes fixed upon him. As no one either ate or drank any more, the abbot folded his hands and muttered a Latin prayer; after which he rang a little silver hand-bell, and Pater master-of-the-household entered.
"This knight desires instantly to retire to rest," said the abbot, pointing to Pallé; "perhaps you will go with him as his contubernalis over yonder." As he said this, he winked at Sir Papæ, and the taciturn knight immediately accompanied Sir Pallé and the master of the household across the court yard of the monastery to the guesthouse, which was situated apart.
As soon as the abbot was alone with Brock and the disguised fugitive, he gave them a mysterious nod and arose. He took the lamp in his hand, and opened a private door in the refectory which led to a long vaulted passage. He went on before, and they followed him in silence through the passage, and up a winding stair to the library of the monastery and the prelate's private chamber; he opened all the doors himself, and locked them carefully behind him. Sir Pallé's indolence and love of good cheer seemed to be contending with curiosity and repressed alarm. "Whom take you yon sharp-eyed fugitive to be, Sir Papæ?" he asked his silent travelling companion, as soon as the monk had shown them to their sleeping apartment and departed.
"I care not who he is," said the knight sullenly, and took off his vest.
"It is assuredly one of the outlaws," continued Pallé, anxiously. "Truly it is strange to have sat at table, and now to sleep under the same roof with such a fellow. It might get wind one day, and waken suspicion."
"I will give you good counsel, Sir Pallé," answered the sullen knight. "Take your horse out of the stable again, and ride off at full speed, despite night and storm! Our company may also seem suspicious to you. A man like you, who holds his own peace and safety dearer than aught beside, should never devote himself to the service of any master in these troublous times. As far as I can judge you are as little fit for the junker's as the king's service, and least of all to be your own master, like me and other free men."
"The devil! Sir Papæ! what do you take me for?" said Pallé, bridling up and highly affronted; "think ye I am afraid for my skin? I would fain see the man who hath oftener risked life and blood in the service of my master, than I have, and yet as a free man dare snap my fingers at the world's rulers and tyrants. What my master, the junker, is about, he must know best himself, and answer for--it concerns not me--his head truly is placed too high to be imperilled. When it comes to the push, all falls on those beneath; yet when he calls you and Sir Niels his friends, and sends you greeting and courteous invitation, as his servant, I surely run no risk by companionship with you;--but an outlaw! think! perhaps even one of the regicides!--to have sat at table with him may cost us all dear."
"You are in a very unpleasant position, Sir Pallé." said the haughty partizan, with a contemptuous smile. "With the king, you stand not well, they say; and though you have already settled yourself comfortably in the junker's service, it may end badly enough, after all. If he gets but a hint how you keep the seal of his private letters----"
"It is a shameful falsehood, I deny it positively," answered Pallé, glowing crimson. "But for the Lord's and our dear lady's sake, excellent Sir Papæ! bring me not into trouble by such talk, and beseech Sir Niels also to be silent about it. I am in truth innocent as an unborn babe. I know not in the least what either you or the junker have in hand, and there was not a word about it in the letter; that is what you say yourself; for what know I of it?" he added hastily. "But whatever it may be," he continued, "I pray you only to consider that, after all, the king is a mighty man, and not to be jested with when he is wroth. Even my own master, the high-born junker, I would in all confidence here between us two, counsel ye to deal somewhat cautiously with. Too much confidence in the great answers not, either;--in our times one should in troth know how to obey the commands of one's master, and nevertheless use one's own understanding,--do you see? To speak plainly. Sir Papæ! since the commandant at Kallundborg was forced to lose his head, I have often had uneasy dreams."
"Now good night, my dear Pallé!" said the knight, clapping him compassionately on the shoulder. "I would not for a great deal be in your place. It must be grievous for an honest knight adventurer like you, who so faithfully strives to serve the great, not to be able to fathom his master's mind, any more than his own stomach." The knight then strode into his sleeping apartment and shut the door after him with a scornful laugh.
"Another awkward scrape!" muttered Sir Pallé, striking his forehead. He threw himself into a chair and yawned. It seemed as though his body and soul were at war. He appeared to feel a desire to sleep, but could not rest. He threw himself once or twice on the couch, but soon rose again, panting and puffing with uneasiness. All was now quiet at the monastery; nothing was to be heard but the howling of the storm through the chimney and around the high gable ends of the roof. After some deliberation, Pallé wrapped himself in his mantle, and stole softly out of the door. He found the anti-chamber of the guest-house open, and slipped out into the court-yard of the monastery. He looked around him on all sides. It was dark and gloomy; there was not a light to be seen in any of the twelve cells; but, from the second story of the principal building a solitary lamp shone through the creaking boughs of the lime trees. The light came from an apartment which Pater, head-cook, had pointed out to him as the abbot's private chamber. Before it stood a remarkably tall, thick, lime tree, which was not yet in leaf. Sir Pallé stole forward under the tree, and endeavoured to climb up its trunk; the build of his figure rendered this very difficult for him to do; but he succeeded at last by dint of much exertion, in getting so high up in the tree, that at some distance he could peep in through the small lit-up window panes. He beheld the abbot and Sir Niels Brock very singularly occupied. A tall warlike form stood before them in ancient knightly armour. The abbot was in full costume; he placed a helmet (over which he appeared to be pronouncing a benedicité) upon the warrior's head. Brock seemed to be rubbing the eye-brows and beard of the armour-clad personage with an ointment. Pallé listened in vain, the storm prevented his hearing a single word of what was said; but he now saw that the abbot opened a cupboard, and produced a black book with silver clasps, which looked to him like a Testament. Sir Niels Brock, as well as the steel-clad warrior, laid their hands on the book and knelt. They remained in this position while the abbot fetched a silver chalice from the cupboard, and went through the same ceremonies as on the performance of low mass. He took a silver wine-flagon, filled the chalice, signed a benediction over it, and drank himself. He then opened a silver box, signed a cross, and a blessing likewise over it, and seemed to administer the sacrament to each of the kneeling knights.
"Gracious Heaven! He is surely giving them the sacrament!" whispered Pallé to himself, "what can all this mean?"
The abbot now stepped back, and appeared to be speaking with great emphasis and energetic enthusiasm. At last the knights arose and kissed the bishop's hand, and the dismayed spy recognised the powerful tones of Niels Brock, who clapped the steel clad warrior on the shoulder and said, in a loud tone, "Now, then! in the name of all the saints, have you courage, Kaggé! The devil himself could not know ye now, or injure a hair of your consecrated head."
On hearing the name of Kaggé, Sir Pallé became so alarmed, that he lost his balance. The branch broke on which he had placed his foot, and he was forced to let himself slide down the trunk of the lime-tree without being able to save the skin of his hands or his rich attire, in which great rents were torn. He fell with violence to the ground, and stunned by fear and pain, stole back again in this pitiable plight to his chamber.
Abbot Johan did not appear to his guests on the following morning, and when Brock and Papæ, during mattins, rode forth from the monastery with the worn-out and hapless Sir Pallé, the party had received an addition in the person of a stranger, mounted on a large well-fed horse from the abbot's stable, and clad in an old-fashioned suit of armour. His hair and brow were hidden by an ample helmet, fastened under the chin with a silver clasp. His meeting eye-brows and broad beard were shining, and coal-black; over his coat of mail he wore a large silver chain, in token of a knight's sacred vow. Sir Pallé hardly dared to turn his eyes on him. It was, indeed, impossible for him to recognize in this figure the fugitive guest at the monastery; but he was nevertheless convinced it was he, whom he now knew to be the outlawed regicide, Kaggé himself. Pallé looked as though he already felt the rope round his neck, at the thought of the dangerous company into which he was thrown. This new and mysterious travelling companion rode in silence between his two powerful friends. His glance was wild and restless; at first setting out he often looked behind on all sides, as if he feared to be recognised and pursued; but he soon, however, nodded confidentially to his companions, and presently fell into a deep reverie. His dark imaginings were occasionally interrupted by a wild and half-smothered laugh.
"I have met with a good friend and kinsman here in the monastery," said Brock, in a careless tone, to Pallé. "He is a merry fellow, as you doubtless perceive; and laughs at his own thoughts when there is a lack of mirth and wit in his companions. He hath a true love at Wordingborg whom he would surprise; but therefore he would rather be unknown, and you can surely be silent where one ill-timed word might prove dangerous to yourself."
"Yes, doubtless," answered Pallé, "silence is a virtue necessity teaches every wise man in our times; and here it is easy for me to be silent, since I know not even the name of your honourable friend and kinsman."
"That I will confide to you: he is called Johan Limbek, but gives himself out to be Ako Krummedigé, or Blackbeard, going on a pilgrimage to the holy land," continued Brock in a lowered tone; "but keep this to yourself. My kinsman is not to be jested with, do you see, and if you disturb his love adventure by unseasonable talk you must be prepared to break a sharp lance with him. He fights better than the devil himself. I would only just mention to you,--he hath broken the neck of many a doughty knight, ere this, in love adventures."
"He will scarcely find a rival in me," answered Pallé, "although I am reputed to stand high in the favour of the fair."
"Assuredly," replied Sir Niels, and laughed. "Who knows not that rare ballad of Sir Pallé's wooing fair Gundelillé's driver lad?"
"Would that all dainty maidens and wooing were at the devil!" returned Pallé, angrily. "That dainty maiden will never more make a fool of any honest man, as surely as Marsk Stig's vagabond brood are caged for life at Wordingborg."
At these words the steel-clad traveller became attentive, and measured Sir Pallé with a scornful and angry look.
"See you," whispered Sir Niels, "my enamoured friend cannot even hear maidens and rivals spoken of without the blood instantly boiling within him. Beware, as I said before, Sir Pallé, that you do not meddle with his concerns." So saying, he turned, with a contemptuous look, from the perplexed gentleman of the bedchamber, and joined his two other companions, who seemed as little in a communicative mood as himself. Absorbed in gloomy reverie, and almost without another word being spoken, the travellers pursued the journey to Wordingborg.
CHAP. VIII.
When the two powerful and well-known knights, Niels Brock and Johan Papæ, with their outlawed friend between them, and the anxious Sir Pallé at their side, rode with their train through the gates of Wordingborg, there was so much bustle among the gathering crowd in the town that they were scarcely noticed. The king had arrived with his brother the junker and his numerous train of knights--Drost Aagé, Marsk Oluffsen, Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, and nearly all his most important councillors were with him. The castle was filled with princely guests and their splendid trains. Duke Valdemar of Slesvig, and his brother the gigantic Duke Eric of Langeland, had just made their entry into the castle, and there was much talk among the populace of the long legs of Duke Eric, of which none had ever seen the like.
"'Tis a devil of a fellow, yon long-shanks," said the sentinel at the castle gate to his comrade. "'Twas surely he who slew Drost Skelm in Nyborg just under the king's nose."
"No, comrade, he slew him in his bed; I know that better," answered the other man-at-arms. "I was myself among the king's spear-men at the Danish court: it will be just four years come next Lady-day; the heat was great, and they drank hard at court--the long-legged lord is fierce when he is hot in the head or drunk; and at that time, sure enough, he sided with the outlaws. Had the king been present, long-shanks would scarcely have ventured on so rough a jest--he was forced to flee from Nyborg the same night, and for three years he durst not show his face before the king. For all that he is a very able fellow," continued the man-at-arms; "and since he got a dressing at Grónsund he hath learned to take off his hat to our king. However fierce and mad he may be, he is nevertheless a hundred times honester than his wizened brother, the yellow scarecrow from Slesvig."
The talk now turned upon this generally unpopular prince. It was known that the ambitious and wily Duke Valdemar had aspired to the Danish crown, and been suspected of a secret understanding with Marsk Stig and the outlaws. Since the great sea-fight at Grónsund, his proud spirit had drooped, however; his last conspiracy and contumacy against his liege sovereign resembled the flaring up of a burnt-out and exhausted volcano. The duke's sallow, withered visage and long nose were the subjects of the coarse jests and biting comments of the populace, although his well-known acuteness, and sagacious state-policy still appeared to be dreaded.
The king's step-father. Count Gerhard of Holstein, or the one-eyed count, as he was called by the people, was, on the contrary, much lauded. Since his marriage with Queen Agnes he often sojourned at the castle of Nykiöping. He had on this day arrived from Falster, to act as counsellor and mediator in the treaty with the Dukes. Much reliance was placed on his uprightness and wisdom, and his frank and joyous deportment gained him general favour.
Every hour brought new arrivals to the town and castle, and among them were seen many venerable prelates and bishops known to be devoted to the king. Among others, the Bishops of Aarhuus and Ribé, and the provincial Prior of the Dominicans, the venerable Master Olaus, who stood at the head of the Danish clergy's appeal to the pope against the enforcement of the interdict according to the constitution of Veilé. This estimable and truly patriotic prelate, with his mild, calm, aged face, and snowy ring of hair around his tonsure, was almost worshipped by the people, and wherever he appeared it was whispered that it was he who would deliver the country from ban and interdict.
Every traveller who announced himself to the Marsk as the king's vassal, or belonging to Danish knighthood, was instantly assigned a place in the large upper story of the castle appropriated to the use of the knights. The spacious apartments in this side wing were, however, nearly all occupied, when Sir Niels Brock and Sir Johan Papæ announced themselves to the Marsk, with their unknown friend, whom they gave out to be Sir Ako Blackbeard of the renowned race of Krummedigé. He had returned home from a pilgrimage, it was said, and had vowed silence at the holy grave, and bound himself not to lay aside the armour of his ancestor until the knight's vow was fulfilled which he had there made to the Lord. Such vows were then not uncommon. They met with ready approbation, and carried with them a claim to special honour, and a species of religious reverence. As the king's vassals, and Danish knights of some consideration, the three travellers likewise were now admitted at the castle. Sir Pallé had separated from them as soon as possible, and announced their arrival to his master the junker, without, however, mentioning the suspicious guest they had brought with them. Disquieted by this secret, he went from one party to another, feeling, as it were, that he carried his life in his hand. He was seen, now among the king's, now among the junker's friends, where, with assumed eagerness, he adopted the prevailing tone of the company he was in. He presently, however, rejoined Brock and other haughty and independent knights, who spake freely and boldly both against the king and the junker, and whom he desired not to offend, nor to be despised by, for servile or timid conduct. He thus thought to secure his safety under all circumstances; but he considered no party as perfectly safe, and could not determine in what manner he might best avail himself of the important discovery he had made while in the great lime-tree in the court of the forest monastery.
Notwithstanding the stir which was necessarily caused by the presence of so many strangers in the castle and the town, a remarkable stillness prevailed, and a stern seriousness pervaded the assemblage at the castle. There were no public amusements. The king only appeared at mattins and mass, and at table, noon and evening, in the great upper hall, where were placed two long dining-tables--one for the king and his princely guests, as well as for the prelates and chief men of the state, and another for the Danish knights in general, and the guests who had joined them. Among them sat the mysterious personage from the forest monastery, between Sir Niels Brock and Sir Johan Papæ. According to his knight's vow, the pretended Sir Ako kept on his helmet as well as the old-fashioned armour, and his silence and solemn deportment were regarded with respect. At the same table sat the knights and courtiers of the duke's train, with the German professors of minstrelsy and other learned and foreign visitors. When the noontide repast was over, the company dispersed. Some remained in the spacious apartments of the castle, where they amused themselves with chess and backgammon, or listened to the German minstrels' lays and tales of chivalry; others went to the tennis-court, or the riding-house, and the great tilting-yard, where they whiled away the time with tennis, horse-racing, and martial exercises; some parties went a hawking in the chase, or rode through the town in order to show themselves in all their splendour to the ladies of the place. Many were interested in surveying the royal fleet which lay in the harbour, while others took the opportunity of bargaining with the Hanseatic merchants and skippers, or of making purchases of the famous Wordingborg cloth, which, next to that of Ypres and Ghent, was in especial demand, and bore as high a price as that of Bruges. In the evening the sound of lutes and love ditties was heard, as well in the castle as in the town, where the youthful knights were in search of acquaintance and love adventures.
The important negociations with the dukes appeared for the first few days, entirely to occupy the king and his council. Through the mediation of Count Gerhard, a peace was soon concluded, and on the most honourable terms for the king. A herald then summoned the knights and guests together in the great knights' hall of the castle. Here the king was seated on a raised throne, between his brother the junker and Count Gerhard, surrounded by the dukes and all his vassals, as well as the state council, and the prelates present at the castle. The Drost read aloud the ratified treaty of peace, in which Duke Valdemar pledged himself that no injustice should be done to the king's peasants in the dukedom, and also scrupulously to perform his duties of vassalage to the Danish crown. On these terms the king consented to pardon him and his brother as well as every one who had sided with the duke in this feud, with the stern exception, however, that henceforth every knight and squire who had been proved to have taken part in his father's murder should be doomed to death wherever they should be found.
While this article of the treaty was read, the king looked around the assemblage with a severe and what seemed to many, a threatening glance. There were not a few present of the acknowledged friends and kinsmen of the outlaws, and in the train of the Duke of Slesvig were several persons unknown both to the Marsk and the Drost, who had excited suspicion by their mysterious and unruly deportment. This strict clause in the treaty appeared greatly to disappoint the expectations of the Duke's friends, and their confidence in this politic prince. He himself sat with downcast eyes, and vainly strove to assume an air of calm indifference.
The Drost finished the reading of the treaty, which excited great attention, and awakened interest of very different kinds, without a single sound being heard in the numerous and anxious assembly. The concluding article however seemed in some degree to soften the stern victor-like tone, which characterised the treaty. By a just recognition of the rights of his brave opponent, the king had invested Duke Eric of Langeland with the fiefs of Oe and of Alt, which he was entitled to demand in right of his consort Sophia's inheritance. This article terminated the essential part of the treaty, and the assemblage broke up.
Count Gerhard still purposed remaining some days longer, and the Duke of Langeland, who was especially pleased with the king's uprightness, and with the whole treaty, also remained; but his brother the Duke of Slesvig immediately quitted the castle with his whole retinue. He left Wordingborg with his hat slouched low over his eyes, apparently depressed and humbled to a degree which he had never before manifested. He was escorted part of the way by Junker Christopher, who on this occasion seemed desirous to surpass the king in generous sympathy and attentions towards this fallen aspirant to the throne of Denmark, who owed his downfall to his own rancorous animosity and deluded ambition. Sir Niels Brock and Sir John Papæ, who appeared to seize every opportunity of approaching the junker without exciting remark, had joined his train.
It was not until late in the evening that Prince Christopher returned. He had sent Papæ with the rest of his train on before, and arrived a whole hour later in the town, accompanied by Brock. They rode slowly along the dusky road, and conversed in a low tone, and at intervals, together. They found the town lighted up with flambeaux and torches, on occasion of the ratification of the treaty. Songs and merry lutes resounded from several houses. At the castle, the knight's hall was illuminated; music and song was also to be heard there. Workmen were busied at the lists by the light of lanterns; and carpenters were employed in erecting railings and a high stand for the next day's tournament, in which the king himself intended taking a part.
"Ay! he will never tire of this child's play," muttered Junker Christopher, after he had rode past the lists and had seen these preparations; "he squanders more on such nonsense in a year, than both Samsóe and Kallundborg bring me in; he ruins the country with it, and will at last break his own neck in this foolery."
"His courtiers are too polite and obsequious for that," answered Brock--"there is assuredly not one among his strutting halberdiers, or knights of the round table, who would not willingly let himself be pushed out of his saddle ten times a day, to please his chivalrous master. Credit me, they have regularly exercised themselves in the art of kicking up their heels in the air, as soon as he touches them with his lance.
"They would be badly paid for such courtesy, did they venture on it," answered the junker. "After the most trifling tilt, a strict knights' council is held; and he pays almost more attention to those mock fights, regulated by all the foreign laws and rules of honour, than to the manners and morals of his subjects."
"Doth he also mix with stranger-knights and masters of arms on such occasions?" asked Brock. It is the first time of my attending this kind of entertainment.
"Oh yes!" muttered the junker, "when his vanity may be flattered, he despises no laurels. Hitherto he hath really passed for an invincible king Arthur."
"Perhaps he may meet with his overmatch, nevertheless," said Brock in a lowered tone, and looking cautiously around him. "I never fight for sport myself; but give heed to-morrow, high-born junker--Know you the ancient tradition of the puling enamoured demi-god Baldur, and the bold Hother?"[4]
"How mean ye?" asked the junker, stalling.----
"I have a good friend,--I know of a foreign knight I would say--a master of his weapon, who in such courteous game might have a mind to play Hother."
"Ay! indeed!" muttered Christopher, looking uneasily around,--"you should caution your friend, though, against playing so dangerous a game; you should least of all speak to me, Sir Brock, of such friends and their wishes. What I have confided to you, in no wise warrants such presumptuous confidence. Whatever there may be between me and a certain mighty personage, matters will hardly be pushed so far as you and your bold friends think."
"Be pleased to understand me aright, high-born junker," interrupted Sir Niels hastily. "I speak but of a sport; I know they amuse themselves here at times with mumming, and such diversions."
"They may amuse themselves as they please, for aught I care," muttered the junker, gloomily; "but I will be out of the game. Half one's life is but a sorry piece of mumming, whether we play friend or foe. It will be seen who hath best enacted his part, when the childs' play here is ended, and people think in earnest again in Denmark. He then spurred his horse, and rode into the court of the castle.
"After the junker and Brock had dismounted from their horses in the castle-yard, and as they were passing the maidens' tower, they heard the sound of a lute, and saw a knightly figure hastily conceal himself behind the pillars of the tower."
"Hath every one gone mad? Serenades here in the country, and that even ere the nightingale hath come!" muttered the junker with a scornful laugh, and wrapping himself in his mantle to keep out the cold wind. "Hum! as is the master so are his servants--are we not far advanced here in courtesy, and gentle customs Sir Niels! Know ye ought of such gallantry in Jutland? All will now go on in as chivalrous a fashion as in Spain and Italy. That we may thank these vagabond minstrels for, with their ballads and their books of adventures, which my chivalrous brother even takes with him in his pocket, on his campaigns. In the knights' hall there, they are now talking, no doubt, of the beautiful Florez and Blantzeflor, and of the virtuous Tristan and King Arthur. All that is indispensable if one would pass for a courteous and courtly knight;--and without, here, wanders a fool to sing serenades in the moonlight, to the owls of Wordingborg tower."
"If that was a prison we passed. Sir Junker," observed his companion, "it might be easily explained without such players' tricks."
"Well possibly," said the junker nodding. "It was here the Drost took the liberty of caging Marsk Stig's raven brood instead of at Kallundborg. Even the pretty vagabond ladies we shall find have their adorers." The junker then ascended the stairs of the balcony.