CHAP. IV.
At night there were great rejoicings in Copenhagen. The king's presence seemed to secure the peaceable part of the community against further disturbance of the public tranquillity.
The occurrences of the day had given satisfaction, and there was a general feeling of enthusiasm respecting the fortunate issue of the insurrection. That which had been aimed at was attained. The shutting of the churches was at an end, and the stern prelatical government of the town had been cowed. After this violent outbreak of the people's wrath, it was now hoped that no interdict would ever be carried into effect in Denmark. The report that the archbishop and the cardinal had quitted Axelhuus, and that the archbishop was banished for life, was spread throughout the whole town, ere midnight, and increased the general rejoicing. Where the lights had been extinguished in the windows after the king's departure, they were now re-lighted. The archbishop's flight and banishment were thus celebrated throughout the town as an important victory over ecclesiastical tyranny, and as a happy consequence of the public spirit of the burghers, and of the king's high courage. In the tavern near the Catsound, in the vicinity of St. Clement's church, sat the Drost's squire Canute, late at night, merrily carousing with a number of young Copenhageners, who had eagerly taken part in the besieging of Axelhuus. In the midst of the group sat an elderly burgher, with a full cup of mead in his hand drinking with them, amid songs and bold scoffs, at the strict law which prohibited late tavern keeping and nightly intemperance, which they now regarded as a dead letter. It was the same personage who at noon had peregrinated the town as an official authority, and who, as the summoning herald of the council, had forbidden every one to bear arms in the streets. His herald's mantle, and the white staff bearing the bishop's arms, had been thrown under the drinking table; he now appeared in the usual burgher's dress, and had himself a warlike sword at his side. From his talk it could be gathered that he had also joined in the siege of Axelhuus.
The carousers spoke openly and boldly against prelatical government, to which they believed they had given a good fillip. They lauded the king and the brisk Sir Helmer, and opined that the king had only feignedly, and for the sake of appearances, caused that brave knight to be placed under arrest. They unanimously agreed, also, that the king's stern words to the balista slingers, and those who were storming the castle, could not have come much further than from between his teeth, since, after all, it was but his worst foe they had attacked.
There were bursts of exultation at the flight and exile of the archbishop, which had been related to them by two newly-arrived guests, and the party took credit to themselves for having stoned Master Grand out of the country.
"Ay, laud us Copenhageners!" said the herald, with a self-satisfied nod; "we have helped the king before at a pinch."
"What can the pope and all the world's bishops do to him now?" said the squire, draining his cup. "The game is won, comrades, provided all we Danes from this day forward act like you, brave Copenhageners of this town. Against those Latin curses we have arrows, swords, and balista, and good Danish granite stone; and if they lock us up the church doors again, we have, the Lord be thanked, iron crows and axes, and men who can lift a church door as easy as a barrel of wheat. Now is my master the Drost over in Sweden to fetch the king's betrothed," he continued; "had I been with him there the arrogant Hanse would not have pounced on me. Matters may go hard enough with the king's marriage; they say these priests would fain put a spoke in the wheel, and shut all Heaven's gates on us; but what shall we wager, comrades, that the king snaps his fingers at them, touching the dispension, or whatever it is called, and keeps his bridal, when the Lord and he himself pleases? Then will there be sport and jollity over all the country. Long live the king's true love!"
"But she is a Swede," objected one of the young fellows.
"Pah! hereafter will Swede and Dane be good and boon companions," continued Canute, with a jolly flourish of his cup. "When our kings give each other their sisters we will dance with the Swedish maidens, and their young fellows again with ours, and no one shall look sour on the other, because we have tried our strength before in another sort of game. The Swedish princess, they say, is the fairest king's daughter in the world, as fair and straight as a lily, and as pious and mild as the blessed Queen Dagmar. Long life to her, by my soul and honour, and to our excellent young king besides, and to all frank and free men, and all pretty maidens, both here and in Sweden's land! Hurra for the king and his true love! He is a scoundrel who drinks not with me."
All the jolly carousers joined in the toast; but the merriment in the tavern-room was now interrupted by the noise of an eager scuffle in the chamber above, where several guests of higher rank were playing at draughts. The squire and his comrades crowded inquisitively to the door, and looked into the chamber. "Ay, indeed! my fat Rostocker here!" exclaimed Canute; "would he tweak the Copenhageners by the nose also? I should think he would come badly off at that game." He now related to his companions what had happened at Skanör fair--how the arrogant traders, who were now in the fray, had brought the false coin of the outlaws into the country--and how the Rostocker, with his crafty comrade, had dared to threaten the king at Sjöborg.
"Let's have at him!" shouted all with one accord, and rushed into the chamber, where Berner Kopmand and Henrik Gullandsfar, with a crowd of foreign merchants and agents, were engaged in fierce dispute with two of the richest burghers of the town, who accused them of dishonest play, and of cheating with false money. The squire and his young comrades took the part of the Copenhageners, and a wild and bloody fray, with pitchers and cans, sticks and clenched fists, soon commenced. The Rostocker and Henrik Gullandsfar first drew their swords; they laid about them with courage and valour. The pepper 'prentices cried and shouted desperately, but were unable to defend themselves with their long ell measures; at last they all took to flight, with Henrik Gullandsfar at their head. Berner Kopmand would have followed them, but the incensed squire placed himself in his way, and forced him into a desperate encounter. "Out of the way, comrades!" he shouted; "leave me to deal alone with this fellow; I have a little reckoning to settle with him!"
All gave way, and formed a ring round the combatants; the heavy-built hot-headed Rostocker laid frantically about him, but was wounded every moment by the man-at-arms, who, though far less in stature, was his superior in swordsmanship. "Take that for thy false money, good fellow, and that for thy false play, and that for thy shameless arrogance!" shouted the squire at every wound he gave his antagonist; "that because thou wouldest hang Sir Helmer and me, and that because thou hast threatened our king, thou grocer hero!" This last thrust ended the fight. The merchant fell mortally wounded to the ground, among the overturned wine-flasks and draught-boards. Meanwhile the routed pepper 'prentices had given the alarm in the streets, and, with a fearful cry of murder, assembled the night-watch, and as many of the provost's men, who, as yet, had sufficient courage to maintain order in the town. The bishop's famulus had arrived with some men-at-arms, on the part of the provost, and when Berner Kopmand fell the tavern of St. Clement's was already surrounded by a guard. The famulus made his way into the tavern with his men, and surrounded the squire, who stood in silence with the bloody sword in his hand, gazing on the dying Rostocker.
"Seize him! Shackle him! The godless murderer, in the name of the bishop and council!" cried the famulus, in a screeching voice, springing up on a bench to bring himself into notice. He was a little man, clad in a short black cloak over a blue lay brother's dress, with a roll of parchment in his hand, which he flourished like a commander's staff. All the jolly revellers had retreated, and the Drost's squire stood alone by the Rostocker's body in the faint light of the oil-lamp, which was suspended from the roof. He menacingly brandished his bloody sword, and no one dared to approach him.
"Let him go; he is guiltless!" cried a powerful but stuttering voice, and the burgher herald stepped forward half intoxicated, with glowing cheeks and reeling steps, from a corner of the apartment. He had again attired himself in his herald's mantle, and brandished the white staff with the bishop's arms in his hand. He elbowed his way through the crowd, and placed himself, with solemn, official mien, between the squire and the provost's men, directly opposite the little famulus on the bench. "Let none touch this fellow; he is guiltless!" he continued: "the other drunken guest hath got his deserts; he has fallen, as was meet and fit in a regular tavern brawl, and at the dice-board; that I can witness--he is to get no chastisement, according to the law and right of our good city, that you must know full as well as I, Master Famulus."
"Believe him not, he is drunk!" cried the bishop's famulus with eagerness; "the ale speaks through him; he exercises his office, and expounds law and justice like a toper and partizan. The law he prates about concerns but fisty-cuffs and pulling of hair; but a murder hath been committed within the town paling; it should at least be punished with perpetual imprisonment, according to the town law. Seize the murderer instantly, say I!"
"Touch him not, say I," resumed the herald, "he hath slain a cheat, a false player, a shameless scoundrel, who had defied the king; it was done in honourable fight; it was in self-defence,--that I saw myself; the fat Rostocker struck the first blow with a sharp weapon, although he got the first cuff, but from an wholly unarmed fist; that I can take my oath of, let me be ever so drunk. He is a knave and a sorry Christian who gets not honestly drunk to-night, now that we have forced the shut gate of heaven. This brave young fellow is, besides, the Drost's squire, and my good friend. We have no right to imprison him, I will stand security for him, with all my substance!"
"But what are ye thinking of?" bawled the famulus, stamping on the bench, "he hath certainly slain a man here."
"Even so! naught else! Know ye not better our pious Lord Bishop's orders! Master Famulus!" shouted the burgher herald in an overpowering voice, as he leaned on his staff of office. "This is a worldly tavern and place of entertainment--here, where gaming, pastime, and toping have full swing from morning to night--none hath a right to require safety for life and limb, it is all in due order; and a very wise and reasonable regulation; mad cats get torn skins, and where one sets aside the law, every one must take the damage as wages. The scoundrel who lies there fell at the forbidden draught-board; if there is law and justice in the town, he shall never be laid in christian ground. That I will uphold, as surely as I bear this sacred staff." As he, at the conclusion of his speech, was about again to brandish the herald's staff over his head, he had nearly lost his balance; but his authoritative conduct, and stern official deportment, seemed, however, not without its effect upon the provost's men, especially as the bishop's famulus was forced to allow the justice of his protest against the burial of the slain in christian ground.
While they were yet disputing, whether they had or had not the right of imprisoning the murderer, the squire rushed out of the door, with his drawn sword in his hand, and none dared to stop him.
As soon as he found himself in the open air, he concealed his sword under his mantle, slouched his hat over his brow, and mingled in the throng which surrounded the house, and had thrust the guard aside. It appeared, even to him, somewhat doubtful and improbable that persons might thus be slain with perfect impunity at the gaming table; what he had heard respecting perpetual imprisonment in the bishop's city, still sounded very unpleasantly in his ear, and he thought it most advisable to decamp as soon as possible; but in order not to excite suspicion, he walked on quietly, and whistled a blithe drinking song. "There's desperate work in the house between the pepper 'prentices and the king's men," he said aloud, "the devil take me if I stand here gaping any longer." As soon as he was fairly out of the crowd, he quickened his steps and hastened down past the Catsound towards the old strand. He went onward without knowing whither, and often looked behind to see whether any one pursued him. He saw lights in all the houses on the strand--mirth and song resounded, contrary to usage, in many quarters of the generally quiet town, in defiance of the strict regulations of the bishop and archbishop; but all was gloomy and still at Axelhuus. He pursued his way along the level shore, and approached the church of St. Nicholas. In the churchyard he saw a crowd of people assembled. A strange, half devout, half seditious murmur, was heard in the crowd, and a solemn council appeared to be held. He hastened past the sullen muttering assemblage, and reached the ferry opposite Bremen-island. Here all the great warehouses were desolate and deserted; he sat down quite breathless on the quay to recover himself, and think of the means of escape. It was past midnight. The moon shone upon the broad stream and the tall warehouses on Bremen island. He felt oppressed by the death-like stillness around him. The wild scene of the murder in the alehouse was now solemnly and fearfully present to his imagination--he heard his heart beat; he wiped the blood from off his sword, and put it into the sheath. He perceived spots of blood upon his clothes, and was about to go down to the water to wash them out, but he now heard a sound near him like the gasping of a dying man; he looked around him with uneasiness, but no human being was to be seen. The singular sound still fell on his ear, and mingled with his vivid recollection of the death-rattle of the slain Rostocker. He had felt no dread of the living adversary,--now he shuddered at the thought of the dead. The hair of the fugitive squire stood on end; he hastily started off from the quay, and would have fled further; but he now distinctly heard that the sound which terrified him proceeded from the sea-shore. The faint ray of the moon now lit up the beach, on which he beheld a man lying stretched at full length. "The pepper 'prentice! What became of him?"--he heard the voice gasp forth, and recognised its tones. "Our Lady be merciful to us! Sir Helmer! what hath happened you?" exclaimed Canute, aghast, and hasted down to the half-expiring knight, who was utterly exhausted by fighting and swimming, and whom, with much difficulty, he raised on his legs, and in some degree restored to consciousness. His drenched clothes were rent and bloody; his long brown locks clung to his swollen cheeks, and in his left hand, which was convulsively clenched, he held a thick tuft of reddish hair. "Look! look!" he said, "it was all I got hold of, the rest the devil hath taken. He twined round me like a water-snake. He bit and tore like the devil. The stream put an end to our embrace, it had well nigh put an end to my life, I perceive."
"Our Lady and St. George help you, noble sir!" said the squire, crossing himself, as he reached him a small flask. "Take something to strengthen your heart after that joust! If you have fought with the evil one at the bottom of the sea you have surely had to stand a hard encounter."
"I hope it was the right one," said Helmer, and drained the flask, "Thanks, countryman! it hath helped me! Now I have got my strength again. I ail nothing in reality; my limbs are sound; I am but a little bruised, and dizzy in my head."
"But what in all the world have you been about? Have you been seeking the pepper 'prentice, or Satan himself, at the bottom of the sea, and know not rightly yourself whether you found him?"
"I was hard pressed for time, thou must know. The king rode quietly past the beach. I was somewhat wrath with him, I must needs confess. I was on the way to the bishop's dungeon, on account of my having taken the balista a little in hand; but then I caught a sight of that devil of a pepper 'prentice; he stood not a yard from me in a boat, and would have pushed past us; it seemed to me that he stared after the king, and fumbled with his hand in his breast, as if after a dagger. Whether it was the right rascal or not, there was not time to discover. The fellow looked confoundedly suspicious, and one pepper 'prentice, more or less, of what consequence was it, when the king's life was in question? so I jumped into the boat. Ere I wast fully sensible of it I had the fellow by the throat, and had tumbled blithely with him into the stream."
"Have you sent the pepper 'prentice down to his home, noble sir?" said Canute with restored cheerfulness, and somewhat proudly,--"then I have sent a bottle-nosed Hanse grocer to hell, from an ale tavern. None can say we have been idle here in Copenhagen. We serve the king as well as we can--although we may have come a little out of the way he sent us. If you only have but hit on the right man! your exploit was far more daring and dangerous than mine, noble sir! But in two particulars I have been more lucky, however; I know I hit on the right person, and know also I mastered the rascal to some purpose. It was he who would have hung us in the morning, and who would have taken the king's life, had he had power and courage to do so."
"The Rostocker! Berner Kopmand?"
"The same! He now lies dead as a herring, in the ale-house; he will never be laid in Christian ground, if my honest friend the herald is in the right. But come, sir!--if you can bestir yourself, let's get out of the bishop's town, and the sooner the better! If the provost or the bishop's men pounce on us, we shall not 'scape from their dungeons all our life-time."
With some difficulty the wounded knight followed the squire, and they soon reached the east gate at the end of East Street. The gate was shut, but its lock and bolts had been forced in the insurrection. The fugitives opened it without difficulty, and entered into the large grass-grown marketplace, where the Halland vegetable vendors especially had their landing-places and stalls. Meanwhile, Sir Helmer felt weaker at every step. With the help of the squire he dragged himself with difficulty to the chapel by St. Anna's bridge; here he sank down powerless before the chapel door;--all grew dark before his eyes, and he was near falling into a swoon.
"The Lord and St. Anna assist us!" said the squire, hastily seizing a wooden bowl which stood near the chapel; he sprang with it to the running stream under the bridge, and soon returned with the bowl full of clear, pure water.
"Drink, sir! drink in St. Anna's blessed name!" he said, eagerly, "and then I will bathe you on the head, and on every part where you feel pain. If St. Anna's stream hath the wondrous healing power it is said to have you will assuredly soon feel yourself strengthened, provided you are a good Christian, as I surely hope."
The knight drank, and washed the blood from his face, which, as well as his neck, was scratched and lacerated; he was besides bruised all over his body, and exhausted to a great degree. The cold water refreshed and strengthened him, as he fancied, in a wonderful and incomprehensible manner. Around the chapel lay a number of crutches and rags, cast aside by the sick and paralytic who had here been healed. Inspired with sudden enthusiasm by his regained strength, and by the miracle he believed he had here experienced, Sir Helmer sprang up and knelt before the image of St. Anna over the chapel door. "Thanks and honour, holy Anna!" he exclaimed in a lowered voice, and with clasped hands, "it was nobly done of thee; it was doubtless for the sake of my fair young wife--for the sake of my Anna's pious prayers! When we meet again in health, we will assuredly not forget the wax lights and purple velvet for thine altar." He then arose, and exulting in his strength, flapped his arms around him, as if to certify himself of the fact of this restoration; he embraced the squire, and then flung him off to some distance on the grass, with as much ease as he would have flung his glove. "Look, there lies my crutch also, to thy thanks and honour, holy Anna!" he exclaimed in a loud voice, "he is a rascal who doubts of thy wondrous power; thou hast given me strength and vigour again."
"Ay, indeed! thanks and honour be to St. Anna for it!" panted the squire, as he rose half in alarm. "You are now, by my troth, in full vigour. Sir Helmer! as I can testify; but you are somewhat strange and violent in your devotion; you must excuse my not continuing to lie here among the other crutches!"
Helmer bounded blithely on the green sward, to try whether his legs also stood him in good stead; he seemed again preparing to wrestle with the squire, but Canute sprang aside. "Keep your devotion within bounds, noble sir! and listen to a word of sense!" he said, seizing the intractable knight by the arm. "A boat lies unmoored here, let's take possession of it, and row up the great canal!--then perhaps we may slip whole-skinned out of the town, and get to Sorretslóv. If there is any reasonableness whatever in the king, he will not cause us to be hanged, because we have chastised his enemies and persecutors; but if they get hold of us here he will find it hard, despite all his power, to save us."
"Had I but my good sword!"--said Helmer. "Lend me thine, brisk countryman! Do thou row the boat! and I will defend us both."
"Yes, if you will be mannerly, Sir Knight, and not try your sword on me, in honour of St. Anna!"
Helmer laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. They were soon both seated in the boat, and pondering how best to provide for their safety. Helmer sat sword in hand at the rudder, and the squire, despite the pain of his lacerated hand, rowed with powerful strokes of the oar up the stream which enclosed the town on the north-east. They stopped not until they reached the fishermen's houses at Pustervig. Here the northern boundary of the town was protected by a new fortification of palisades. While the squire rested his wearied arms, they consulted together whether they should now row to the left, through the canal, to get out through the north gate, where, however, it was uncertain whether they would not be stopped and seized,--or whether they might not with greater safety, although with more difficulty, pursue their flight up the stream to Sorretslóv lake. This last plan they considered to be the most expedient. Helmer now seized the one oar, and they began to row briskly forward. The night was calm, and during the whole passage from St. Anna's bridge they had not seen a single human being. But an arrow from a cross-bow now suddenly whistled over the heads of the fugitives; they heard a splashing of oars behind them, and saw two boats push off from the beach at Pustervig.
"The murderer! stop him, shoot him! a hundred silver crowns to the man who seizes him!" called a loud voice from one of the boats.
Helmer and the squire recognised the voice of Henrik Gullandsfar, and kept on rowing. The one boat lay to behind them to stop the way in case they should retreat. The other, which was manned with the provost's men, and was steered by Henrik Gullandsfar himself, pursued them with four oars up the river. In the bow stood two cross-bowmen, who constantly aimed and shot, but as it appeared without real skill in the management of this dangerous weapon, with which the strongest armour might be pierced, and people wounded almost without perceiving it.
"You shoot badly, knaves!" shouted Helmer. "Is that the way to hold a cross-bow? Come but nearer, and I will teach ye to handle it!" he continued, letting go the oar and brandishing his sword over his uncovered head, as he stood in the stern of the boat. "As surely as St. Anna hath given me my strength again, it shall not fare a hair better with ye than with my departed brothers-in-law." Another cross-bow bolt whistled over his head, but without injuring a hair of it--another split the gunwale and broke the tiller. Helmer seized the harmless bolt, and just as he was about to be overtaken, flung it back with all his might whence it came. It whistled past both the cross-bowmen, but hit Henrik Gullandsfar on the forehead, and the merchant fell backwards without life sufficient to utter a cry.
"Death and misfortune! 'Twas Helmer Blaa who threw!" cried one of the provost's men. "The devil a bit will I fight with him.--Let's be off!"
The provost's men and the cross-bow shooters now took to flight down the stream with the body of Gullandsfar. Sir Helmer again seized the one oar, and the two bold fugitives rowed unmolested up to Sorretslóv lake. Here they sprang ashore on the green sward, leaving the boat to float back with the current.
"We have got thus far on dry land," said Helmer, looking around him; "we are without the town paling, and are scarce a hundred paces distant from the king's castle. When the king hears of our exploits, perhaps he will say, it was bravely done, but will cause us to be bound and thrown into the tower, according to strict law, and there we may be suffered to lie until his council and the bishops are agreed whether we are to be punished with death or only with imprisonment for life."
"Would you scare me, Sir Helmer?" exclaimed Canute, in dismay. "As soon as we reach the king's castle yonder, we surely stand under the king's protection."
"But here he is on the bishop's preserve as well as we. We have forgotten that in our hurry," observed Helmer; "the sixteen villages in this neighbourhood belong to the little Roskild bishop. Bishop law and church law are valid here; and this I know beforehand, the king will not swerve a hair's-breadth from what is lawful for our sake, even though we were his best friends, and had saved his life an hundred times over."
"Death and confusion! What shall we do then? In that case we were mad should we take refuge with him here?"
"So I think, countryman! But help us he shall, whether he will it or no. Knowest thou the two white horses here in the meadow? Look! how they dance in the tether and snort towards the dawn."
"The king's tournament prancers!--the very apple of his eye! Every knights' squire knows them. You have surely not lost your wits, Sir Helmer! What would you be at?"
"Thou shalt soon see," said Helmer, approaching the starting and rearing steeds. "So! ho! old fellows! stand still!--if we have risked our lives for the king, he can doubtless lend us a pair of horses. Had I my good Arab it should fly with us both faster than the wind. The pepper 'prentice I answer for," he continued, still enticing the horses. "I have soused and pumelled him so soundly, that he will do no mischief again in a hurry, if there is life in him yet--and I dare wager my head it was the right one. If thou hast made an end of Berner Kopmand, countryman, I answer for Henrik Gullandsfar, and the archbishop hath gone to the devil; there is now no great danger astir, and the king needs us no longer here. I am no great lover of trial and imprisonment, seest thou? and if the king does not need my life, I know of one who will give me a kiss for saving it.--So ho, there! That's right, my lad!--a noble animal, by my soul! I desert not from the service to run home to my young wife,--that none shall say of me. Do thou like me, countryman! I will now ride on the king's prancer as his bridesman to Sweden, to perform what I have neglected. If thou wilt come with me, come then!" Meanwhile Helmer had caught one of the spirited steeds. In an instant he was upon its back, and galloped away over hedge and ditch with the swiftness of a deer. The Drost's squire did not long hesitate; he was soon seated on the back of the other, and followed Sir Helmer at a brisk gallop.
CHAP. V.
When the sun rose over the Sound, signs of cheerful animation and active stir were already perceptible in the village of Sorretslóv, while the bishop's town still lay shrouded in fog, ensconced behind its trenches and palisades, and seemed to slumber after the wild revels of the preceding night. Peasants were seen removing cattle on the pastures, between the village and the northern gate of the town. The grooms of the king's household were riding the horses to water from the farms and meadows of the royal castle, at the large pool in the midst of the village; but around the pasture near Sorretslóv lake, where the king's trained tournament-steeds had grazed, two grooms were running in despair, vainly seeking the fine horses which were entrusted to their charge.
"Help us, St. Alban! and all saints!" cried the younger groom. "If the Marsk comes home he will slay us, at the least."
"And the king!" groaned the other--"the king will be wrath; and that is even far worse. We must find them though we should have to run to the world's end. Come!"--They sprang away over hedge and ditch, where they saw the dew brushed off from the grass, and fresh traces of galloping horses' feet on the meadow; at last they recognised the well-known trained step of the steeds on the road between the two lakes, and were soon far away.
It was a fine spring morning;--the king was, as usual, stirring at an early hour. Accompanied by Count Henrik, he had mounted the flat-roofed tower of the castle, from whence there was an extensive and noble prospect over the whole adjacent country. Count Henrik had been required, circumstantially to repeat his account of the flight of the cardinal and the archbishop, and the very different greeting of the prelates. The king was grave, but in good spirits; even the last threat of the archbishop had not discouraged him.
"With God's blessing," he said with emphasis, "I await my chief happiness from the hand of the Almighty, and the heart of my pious Ingeborg, but neither from the mercy of the pope nor the archbishop. Were my hope and success in love really sin and ungodliness, no dispensation could ever sanctify it before Heaven and to myself."--He paused, and gazed with a calm and enthusiastic look on the rising sun, and a heartfelt prayer seemed as it were to beam from his bright eye. "My deadly foe went hence alive," he continued;--"well! I have now performed my promise to him. I let him 'scape hence alive. More none can ask of a frail mortal; but it is the last time I promise peace and respite of life to the enemy of my soul. So long as the Lord grants me life and crown the presence of Grand shall never more infect the air I breathe."
"This insurrection was quite opportune for us, my liege," observed Count Henrik, with a confidential smile--"the foe you came hither to banish hath been as good as stoned out of this country by the brisk men of Copenhagen, on their own responsibility."
"That I asked them not to do," answered the king, with proud eagerness; "had I willed to use temporal power, against my ecclesiastical foes here, I should not have needed the help of a mutinous mob. The town hath suffered wrong; but mutiny is, and ever will be, mutiny; and, as such, deserving of punishment, whether it happens to suit my convenience or not. I consider the conduct of the bishop and council to be arbitrary and illegal," he continued. "I hate ban and interdict as I do the plague, as is well known; but it shall not therefore be believed I favour revolt and rebellion against any lawful authority. It was well done to force the locked churches. No Roskild bishop shall place bars and bulwarks between us and our Lord; but it was not for the Lord's sake they besieged the bishop's castle: their devotion was also very moderate; it was more like howling wolves singing 'credo,' than christianly-baptized people. Had you seen, with me, the riots yesterday evening, in St. Nicholas church. Count Henrik! you would hardly take on yourself the defence of these insurgents."
"I rode past St. Nicholas church-yard in the night, my liege!" answered Count Henrik. "What was doing there pleased me but little, it is true. It seemed as though a crowd of spirits moved among the graves, in the moonshine: there was a strange muttering. I heard shouts and prayers, which sounded to me like curses. It was St. Erik's Guild brethren, who were chaunting prayers, it was said, and taking counsel against the bishop. Those good people I will no longer defend; there must be wild fanatics and turbulent spirits among them. But chastise them not too hardly, in your wrath, my liege!--even though you should now be forced to lend a helping hand to prelatical government. When the Lord's servants shut the Lord's house themselves, and hinder all orderly worship, it is surely no wonder that the plain man seeks to edify himself as well as he can in his own way: a mixture of defiance and ferocious fanaticism with this species of devotion is inevitable, but whose is the blame, your grace? Where God's word is silent, the evil one instantly sends forth his priests among the people, and drives them mad."
"Ay indeed! those are true words. Count! It is usually the fault of the shepherd when the flock strays. Spiritual government is a matter I dare not much intermeddle with, but this I have promised, and I shall honestly keep my promise: every church door in the country which they would hereafter shut, I will cause myself without further ado to be forced with the staff of the spear; and every priest or bishop who hinders my, or my people's lawful and orderly devotion, I banish from state and country, as I have banished Archbishop Grand--let the pope excommunicate me a thousand times over for it! Look! in this I am agreed with my brave and loyal people, and with these rather too brisk Copenhageners. What I here tell you, I cannot give any one under sign and seal," he added, "but I will whisper it in confidence into the ear of every Danish bishop and future archbishop; none shall say, however, I side with rebels. If authority is to be used, that is my affair; but there shall be peace and order here. I will uphold the rights of every lawful authority, whether it be spiritual or temporal, our highest rights, as God's children, and the rights and authority of the crown, unimpaired."
The king was silent--his cheek glowed, and an expression of fervid energy beamed in his countenance, as he turned from the fair spectacle of the rising sun, and looked out upon the fog-enveloped town, the church towers of which glittered in the dawn of morning. He now opened a letter and a small packet, which a skipper from Skanör had brought him from Drost Aagé. He read the letter with attention. It contained an account of the Drost's meeting with the Hanseatic merchants and Thrand Fistlier at Kjöge, and at Skanör fair, as well as of the disturbance which had been caused by this mountebank, and the Hanseatic forgers; and also how the Drost, partly to save the artist's life, had been under the necessity of sending him prisoner to Helsingborg. In the packet was one of Master Thrand's optic tubes, and some polished glasses, which Aagé had bought at Skanör fair, and which he now presented to the king as extraordinary rarities. In the letter, Aagé had not been able to conceal his suspicion of the wonderful mountebank, and the singular uneasiness which this man's operations and expressions had caused him.
Count Henrik also, had lately received and read a secret epistle from the Drost, in which Aagé conjured him to caution the king respecting the captive Icelander, and above all to keep a watchful eye on whoever approached him. "Trust not the junker!" Aagé wrote, "God forgive me if I do him injustice! Kaggé is alive and under convoy of the foreign merchants, who threatened the king at Sjöborg; Helmer and my bravest squire are in their power. The revenge of the outlaws is unwearied. Stir not from the king's side! watch over his life, while I care for his happiness."
"Truly! my good Drost Aagé is a strange visionary," said the King, shaking his head with a smile, as he tried the glasses with a feeling of wonder at the power of these instruments; "my much-loved Aagé is ready to side with the ignorant mob, and regard the fruits of the noble arts and sciences as the work of the evil one."
"How! my liege!" asked Count Henrik, in surprise.
"That good friend of mine is still somewhat weak both in mind and body;" continued the king, "he is afraid our whole fair world will perish, because here and there people get their eyes opened, and learn to see things better and more justly in nature. The Lord knows what new danger he can now be dreaming of from this artist. Just look here. Count!" The king reached Henrik the optic tube. "It is one of the discoveries of the great Roger Bacon, the wise English monk we have heard so much of--a skilful Icelander hath arrived here in the country, who hath known him, and learned the art from him. These kind of things he brings with him; he is said to understand many wonderful arts, and knows secrets in nature which may be of importance, as well in war as in the general advancement of the country; Aagé, I suppose, means only we should be cautious and not trust him over much. I will see and know that man; he certainly doth honour to our northern lands, and he shall not have visited me in vain;--now what say you, Count? Such glass eyes may be useful, I think, both for a king and a general, when he should take a wide survey!"
"Noble! astonishing!" exclaimed Count Henrik, "the town, the river, the whole of Solbierg, seem as near as if close at hand."
"And a skilful coiner, and a rare judge of metals, is this Icelander besides," resumed the king with satisfaction, as he glanced over the letter, "he is just the man we need, now that the land is inundated with the false coin of the outlaws; if he were in league with my foes, as Aagé fears, he would hardly venture into my sight; as yet no enemy hath faced me, unpunished. He is reported to hold many erring opinions in matters of faith; but what is that to me? If he be a heretic, so much the worse for himself; in what concerns temporal things he is apt, I must confess."
"If he be a Leccar brother, as Drost Aagé thinks, then beware of him, my liege!" observed Count Henrik. "I thought that sect was banished in all Christian lands, and in Denmark also, on account of their dangerous opinions."
"On account of opinions, I have never banished any living soul," said the king: "for ought I care, every man may think and believe what he will, provided he obeys but the laws of the land, and seduces not the people to insurrection and ungodliness. One description of madmen I once banished, however--it is true," he added, recollecting himself: "what they called themselves I have now forgot; but the madness I remember well enough--they were self-appointed priests, without a consecrated church or true doctrine. They scoured the country round, and preached both to high and low, and would, in short, have made us all heathens. They denied both our Lord and our blessed Lady, and all the saints and martyrs besides; they would have nought to do either with church or pope; and in fact, just as little with kings and princes, or any temporal government; they zealously affirmed that we should obey our Lord only--but when it came to the point, their Lord was but their own ignorant and perverted will. From such mad doctrine we may well pray our Lord to preserve us and all Christian lands."
"But that is exactly, as far as I know, the creed of the Leccar brethren," observed Count Henrik. "We have chased the sect from Mecklenborg also, and the pope hath doomed them to fire and faggot."
"You are right, they are called Leccarii in Latin," answered the king: "the holy father's caring for their souls, by burning their bodies, suits me just as little as his excommunicating, and giving us over to the devil. That mistakes may be made in Rome we are all agreed. If the learned Icelander belongs to yon sect, he must doubtless decamp," he added, "and that I should be sorry for; but I must hear it from himself, ere I will believe it; it is inconceivable to me how madness and learning can dwell together in one brain."
"Look once again, my liege!" said Count Henrik, handing the optic tube to the king. "Yonder comes a boat up the canal towards St. George's hospital; if I am not mistaken it is steered by a couple of clerks; perhaps the bishop would now vouchsafe us tidings, and put up with your protection."
From St. George's lake flowed a broad rivulet, which bounded the pasture ground of Sorretslóv and divided it from the meadows of the village of Solbierg. This rivulet, which widened into a canal, flowed down under the west gate of the town, and ended its course in the Catsound. Between the stream and the town of Sorretslóv lay St. George's Hospital. A large boat came slowly up the river, in which the forms of two men, attired in black, were discernible. They rowed with unsteady strokes of the oar, and with great exertion, against the stream. The boat put ashore at the pasture ground opposite St. George's hospital. The sable-clad personages sprang out of the boat and drew it on land. The king and Count Henrik thought they recognised the archbishop's confidential friends, Hans Rodis and the canon Nicolaus, and paid close attention to their proceedings. A large loose sail was taken from the boat, from under which four ecclesiastics rose up, one after another, and stepped on shore. They looked around on all sides with caution, and proceeded along a by-path, with slow and uncertain steps towards the royal castle. They were all four soon recognised. It was the domineering little Bishop Johan, with the haughty abbot from the forest monastery, accompanied by the provincial prior, and the inspector of the Copenhagen chapter. They seemed to have secretly taken flight from Axelhuus in the morning fog, to place themselves under the king's protection, and perhaps to demand the help of arms against the mutinous town.
When the king recognised them he became grave, and fell into a reverie. He reached the optic tube to Count Henrik, and seated himself in silence on a bench on the southern side of the tower, whence he had a view of the town and the north gate. Count Henrik remarked that the two suspicious-looking canons had yet another person in the boat, whom they carried on shore; he appeared to be either sick or dead, and was closely shrouded in a mantle. The canons looked around on all sides, and bore, seemingly with doubtful and anxious steps, the sick or dead man up to St. George's Hospital, where they were instantly admitted. Count Henrik considered their conduct most suspicious; he determined, however, not to name it to the king; and resolved to examine himself into the affair, and to inspect the hospital that very day.
The town was by no means so tranquil as was supposed. The nocturnal assemblage in the churchyard of St. Nicholas had not dispersed until near daybreak. The bishop's men had heard wild threats of fire and murder, and taunting speeches against their master. A new and bloody outbreak of the insurrection was feared whereupon the bishop had not deemed it advisable to await the dawn of day at Axelhuus, although it was probable that he most unwillingly took refuge with the king, who he knew was incensed at the enforcement of the interdict.
The bishop's stern protest against the demi-ecclesiastical assemblies of the guild-brethren of St. Canute, had rendered that fraternity his bitterest and most dangerous foes. During the shutting of the churches, the devotion of the guild-brethren, which was almost always blended with fanaticism and intemperance, had assumed a wild and desperate character. They were charged with the most licentious impiety, it was believed there were atheists and Leccar brethren among them, who sought to sever them from the church and from Christendom, as well as from burgher-rule and obedience. A secret dread of the extravagancies and gloomy deportment of these persons prevailed among the best-informed and better class of burghers, who, however, had themselves, on account of the shutting of the churches, made common cause with the guild-brethren, and deemed a general revolt against prelatic tyranny to be necessary.
Ere the sun had dispersed the thick morning mist which lay over the town, the burghers of Copenhagen thronged in crowds to the council-house, where they assembled a council, though it was not the usual day of meeting.
Meanwhile, mattins were performed in all the churches in the town, and no priest dared any longer to observe the interdict. All the churches were unusually crowded, but no disturbances took place. It was only from the stone-built houses, where St. Canute's and St. Eric's guild-brethren had rung their bells ere daylight, and were now performing their morning's devotions, before full goblets and with locked doors, that wild cries and sounds of tumult proceeded. As soon as early mass was ended, a great procession passed through North Street and through the north gate. It was the deputies of the town and council, who had drawn up at the council-house a long list of complaints against the bishop, and as long a justification of the recently-suppressed insurrection. This document they now intended to present to the king, as they were willing to enter into any treaty with the spiritual Lord of the town, which their sovereign might consider just and reasonable. A continually increasing crowd accompanied this procession. None of the guild-brethren were to be seen among the deputies of the town; but a number of these gloomy agitators soon joined themselves to the train, and sought to excite suspicion in the populace respecting this negotiation of peace. The guild-brethren, meanwhile, seemed at variance among themselves; the king's presence had struck terror into many, and their wild plans of overthrowing all spiritual and temporal rule lacked concert and counsel. Hardly had they quitted their guild houses ere the provost's men and the bishop's retainers, assisted even by the burghers, took possession of these buildings, and stationed guards before them. The dispersion of this degenerate and dangerous fraternity was now become one of the most earnest wishes of the council and burghers.
The king had not left the tower of Sorretslóv when the throng hastened forward towards the village and his unfortified castle, in the direction of the southern gate; while the bishop and the three prelates, with their slow and dubious pace, had not as yet reached the approach from the by-path to the western castle gate. Count Henrik's attention had been wholly engrossed in watching the tardy and undecided movements of the ecclesiastics, and the king had been so lost in thought that he did not observe the crowd until the distant murmur of many thousand voices reached his ear. He rose hastily, with a quick glance on both sides, and appeared wroth, but undecided only for a moment. "The gate shall be barred. Count! the black snails shall be brought up here!" he exclaimed impetuously in a loud voice to Count Henrik, pointing to the ecclesiastics below, who again paused on the by-path, and seemed to hesitate. "Let them be brought to my private chamber instantly, even though it should be by force. They are my prisoners."
Count Henrik started.
"Look!" continued the king, pointing towards the village and the road. "They flock out hither by thousands; but, by all the holy men! whoever disturbs the peace of the royal castle shall be chastised as he deserves. Ride to meet the throng. Count! announce my will to them--say their bishop is in my power. Every fitting proposition I will listen to; but every agitator shall instantly be banished; whoever obeys not shall be punished as a rebel."
"Now I understand you, my liege," said Count Henrik, and instantly departed.
The king's command was immediately put into execution. With great fear and dismay, the bishop and his three ecclesiastical companions beheld a troop of horsemen gallop out of the castle towards them, while a willow hedge hid the main road and the concourse of people from their sight, and they still stood close to the meadow gate, debating whether they had not acted with precipitation, and were not about to encounter a still greater danger here than that from which they had fled.
"Treachery!" cried the bishop, drawing back. "I feared it would be so. Fools that we are to trust to the generosity of an excommunicated tyrant! Now we may all fare as did Grand, and may come to rot alive in his dungeons."
"I will answer for the king's justice, even should he imprison us," said the general superior of the chapter.
"Ha! you betray me! you side with the tyrant! you counselled me to this step."
"Look, my brother!" cried the abbot of the forest monastery, pointing in dismay to the right, where but a single-fenced meadow separated them from the road and the concourse of people which now came in view. "The whole town is flocking hither. They have spied us--hear how they howl and bluster! They are springing over hedge and ditch towards us. Let us thank God and our guardian saint for the king's horsemen; it is better after all to fall into the hands of one tyrant than into those of a thousand."
At this moment the king's horsemen surrounded them, and saluted them with courtesy. "Follow us, venerable sirs," said their leader, a brisk young halberdier. "We have orders to bring you to the king's castle."
"In the name of the Lord and all the saints we accept the king's convoy!" said the bishop, looking around with uneasiness, while his cheeks glowed, and he seemed but half to trust to this unexpected safe conduct.
"The bishop! the bishop! Seize him! stone him!" shouted a whole crowd of the excited rabble, who, headed by some guild-brethren, had quitted the burgher procession, and ran, with weapons and stones in their hands, over the meadow towards the ecclesiastics.
"Back, countrymen!" shouted the leader of the horsemen, brandishing his sword. "We lead him captive to the king."
"Captive! the bishop captive!" exclaimed the insurgents with joyous shouts. "That's right!--long live the king!--to the dungeon with Grand's friends and all king-priests!"
"Captive!" repeated the bishop, clasping his hands; "ha, the presumptuous traitors!"
"Compose yourselves, venerable sirs," said the young halberdier, in a lowered tone. "I obey the commands of my sovereign; if you refuse to comply I shall be compelled to use force; but whether you are the king's guests or his prisoners you will assuredly be treated as beseems your rank and condition."
The ecclesiastics were soon within the gates of the king's castle, and looked doubtfully at each other, as one door after another was with much deference shut behind them, and they stood at last in anxious expectation in a vaulted chamber, which, with its high windows and the little iron-cased door, which was also secured behind them, bore a greater resemblance to a prison than an apartment destined for the reception of guests. There was no want, however, of furniture or comfort; there were writing materials as well as both edifying and entertaining books. It was the king's private chamber.
The deputies of the burghers and counsel started almost in as great dismay as the bishop and his clerical companions, when they beheld themselves surrounded on a sudden by royal halberdiers and horsemen before the castle gate. The captain of halberdiers dismissed the half-armed mob, who had followed the procession with shouts and threats against the bishop, and with frequent acclamations for the king, on occasion of his having (according to report) thrown the bishop into prison.
"In the name of my liege and sovereign!" called Count Henrik, on horseback, as he waved his hat, "the castle is open to the deputies of the loyal burghers; but every one who bears arms here, or combines to cause riot and uproar disturbs the peace of the king's castle, and is guilty of treason. Your lord bishop is at this moment in the king's power, but he is also his guest and under his protection. Every insult to the bishop here is an insult to the ruler of the land. The king will judge justly, and negociate a peace between you and your lord. Ere the sun goes down the result of his mediation shall be made known. Now, back! all here who would not pass for rebels!"
The restless crowd returned silent and downcast to the town. The arrogant bravado of the insurgents that they had the king on their side, had been suddenly put down. Their confidence in his presumed wrath against the bishop, and his partiality to the burghers of Copenhagen, appeared to have given way to a reasonable apprehension of his justice and known severity. It even seemed to them no good sign that the bishop, in his distress, had sought shelter at the royal castle--and the guild-brethren muttered that when it came to the push, the powerful and the great ever sided together after all; even though they were deadly foes at heart, and that every thing was visited upon those of low degree whether they were guilty or not.