On the evening of the second day Drost Aagé had not as yet returned from his expedition, as the protector of Marsk Stig's captive daughters. He had conducted them without impediment to the king's castle at Vordingborg; but as he was about to ride into the arched gateway he was attacked from behind, and dangerously wounded, by an unknown hand. Aagé was carried, in a state of insensibility, into the castle, while his huntsmen vainly pursued his stealthy foe, in whom they thought they recognised the same tall horseman in peasant attire, and mounted upon the little Zealand horse without a saddle, whom they had several times seen on the road, but who always vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and who they conjectured must have followed their track by secret paths from Esrom.
The commandant at Vordingborg had received the wounded knight, with great alarm; he instantly recognised in him the young Drost, and the favourite of the king. As soon as Drost Aagé had recovered his consciousness, he informed the commandant of the rank and position of the two ladies, and also that they were to be considered as state prisoners, for whose security he would be responsible, although their stay here was to be rendered as agreeable as under such circumstances it was possible to make it. The commandant instantly ordered the gates to be barred, and sentinels to be stationed; but he threw open the interior of the castle without reserve to his guests, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the king of what had happened.
Meanwhile the assembled party at Sjöborg were in some degree tranquillised, when on the noon of the third day the king again made his appearance at table, where he sat, with a calm and almost cheerful countenance, between his brother Christopher and the papal legate. Their secret negociation seemed to have taken a friendly turn, and great reliance was placed in King Eric's manly sense and political wisdom. Report said that the Italian prelate seemed to bear our northern climate excellently well, and perhaps might not be disinclined to take up his abode here, if the king should come to an agreement with the papal see, and the archbishoprick of Lund became vacant by the deposition of Grand. It was conjectured that the formal annulment of the archbishop's authority, and of his own self-empowered sentence of excommunication, had been the subject of the king's conferences with the unfathomable Isarnus, and it was reasonably hoped that the cardinal would grant this important condition of the archbishop's release, ere the king fulfilled the demands of the pope. But some days elapsed without any apparent decision being taken. Meanwhile, no change took place in the condition of the captive archbishop, who remained in close confinement.
Although neither the king nor his loyal and devoted subjects recognised the validity of the sentence of excommunication pronounced on them by the archbishop, so long as it was not formally ratified by a papal decree, this awful procedure had nevertheless taken place, and with such publicity that it could not but be generally known. The rumour quickly spread throughout the land, and terrified the people. The threats against those who should not within ten days withdraw all help and companionship from the king had struck terror into many, and several of the domestics, and of the guard of halberdiers absconded from Sjöborg. The tales recounted of the ecclesiastical captive's skill in the Black Art now contributed still more to alarm his guard. At every unusual sound from the dungeon in the night the turnkeys stole from their posts, and the bravest men-at-arms dared scarcely remain without the prison door, where with trembling voices they often sang valiant battle songs to keep up their courage. The prisoner was guarded with still increasing anxiety. A very suspicious rumour rendered watchfulness still more necessary. Some fishermen from Gilleleié, who supplied the castle with fish, had related in the kitchen that a foreign bark was constantly sailing to and from the coast. The persons on board appeared to be fishermen, and were busied during the day with nets and fishing-tackle, but during the night they landed, and a tall knight in disguise, accompanied by some seamen of suspicious appearance, were seen to lurk in the neighbourhood of the castle. This report had not indeed reached the ears either of the king or the Marsk, but orders were issued that the guard should be doubled in the captive's tower, and that the steward should answer with his life for the archbishop's security. The lower classes now believed that the king would pass sentence of death upon him, and command him to be executed.
With the expression of fear and anger in his countenance, as well as of fatigue from a night's watch, the steward one morning descended the stairs of the tower prison with the keys in his hand. "All folk seem possessed here," he muttered. "I shall now have to watch myself to death over that confounded Satan."
"Did I not always say so, master? He will drive us all crazed at last," sounded a merry well-known voice in his ear, and Morten the cook stood before him in the twilight at the bottom of the tower stairs.
"Morten! thou crack-brained vagabond! is it thou?" called the steward; "where in all the world hast thou been? Folk said thou wert surely bewitched, and gone to the devil, and I began almost to think so myself. The whole pack of them here are losing their wits, and one after another runs off from me. Speak, man! where the devil hast thou been?"
"Ah! dear master," sighed Morten. "Thank St. Hubert that you are so pious and virtuous, and condemn not a weak worldly-minded fellow who hath been forced to do hard penance for his sins' sake. Ye have doubtless observed how I delight in dancing and singing. In former days I was not afraid of a little drink, either; but on St. Vitus's day it behoves us to be cautious. As a punishment for my ungodliness in a drunken bout, I was afflicted with St. Vitus's dance, and I thought I should have danced for a whole year, as hath chanced to many a poor sinner before. Perhaps you or other virtuous folk have prayed for me, for I got off for a few weeks' sickness; but in all that time I was not able to give any account of myself, and I have so danced the country round that I can hardly hang together."
"Indeed!" answered the jailor, looking at him suspiciously; "hast thou had that sickness? It is a rare one, though, and many will have it that it is nought but an idle superstition."
"Dear master! remember ye not then how it seized Claus Spillemans last year? He ceased not dancing till he dropped dead in Sjöborg streets."
"Well, that is true enough; he went mad, no doubt, on St. Vitus's day; but it was not upon that day thou did'st kick up such a riot, and did'st run off from the turnkeys. Be honest, Morten! hast thou not suffered thyself to be seduced by the bishop to run errands for him? Thou hast tramped the country sturdily round, that I see right well, and if thou now hast a fancy to be hanged for thy zeal in the service, thou comest in the very nick of time; both the king and the Marsk are here, and when the one passes a sentence, the other is at hand to execute it."
"Dear pious master! what do you take me for?" answered Morten, putting on a look of astonishment. "Had I run errands for such a traitor I must have been stark mad indeed to come back again now, and let myself be hung for it. No, trust me, master, I am not so brutishly stupid. To tell you the whole clean out, I was drunk beyond all bounds that evening; whether it was St. Vitus's day or not I do not quite exactly remember, but I have had neither sense nor recollection since. I must have doubtless scoured the country round like a madman. I have now come to my senses for the first time, and found the way to Sjöborg again. Here's been fine excommunicating work between the bishop and the king. If I can be of any use to you, say the word! I could break the archbishop's neck with the greatest pleasure in life if I could thereby save king and country. If you have any doubt of my honesty, I will only just fetch my traps, and take myself off with all reverence."
"No, stay; I will believe thee, because of thy honest face, Morten," said the steward, hastily, and casting a sharp look at him, while a new and daring thought seemed to flash across his hangman's soul. "I have never needed thee more than at this very time. My new cook hath also run off. I have only one turnkey left. I must myself be every thing and every where."
"That is more than can be required of any Christian soul, master. The Devil himself can hardly take that upon him."
"Drunk and mad thou must surely have been," muttered the keeper, still looking narrowly at him. "Hum! so long a drunken fit, though, have I never heard the like of. St. Vitus's dance? Truly that is an ailment akin to madness; no man can answer for what he does in that state. Hum! since thou art come to thy senses again, Morten, I will even take thee again into service. In the day thou may'st be needed in the kitchen, and in the night--well, we can talk of that afterwards. Old Mads the turnkey is good for nothing; he hath now got his nephews to help him, and I count not on them either; and those foolish men-at-arms are afraid of being excommunicated or bewitched."
"If I can help you with the night watch that shan't stand in my way," said Morten; "whatsoever I can do to plague and anger the bishop I do with hearty good will. I would only counsel you not to set me to watch in his chamber, for if St. Vitus's dance come over me I were in a case to dance to the devil with him. It is a kind of cramp, you must know, and I might easily squeeze the life out of whomsoever I get hold of."
"Well, well, Morten; there is no need for that. Thou art now perfectly well and reasonable," muttered the keeper, with a grisly smile. "I must have some one to help me, or I shall go mad myself. One misfortune follows another. The king is a violent man, and the junker has no great weight with him. It is an easy thing to get into trouble when one has a devil to watch, and stern masters to account to. Now comes that confounded report of the vessel at Gilleleié, which plys to and fro to help the bishop to flight."
Morten turned quite pale. "Our Lady preserve us!--say they so?" he exclaimed, hastily; "then, by my troth, master, there is need of watchfulness; yet it is just as dangerous to loose as to tie a mad dog."
"It will cost me my life if he escapes, Morten. I have the king's own most gracious word for it. I never let the prison keys out of my hand. The king's people are on guard, but I dare not trust them. I carry my life in my hands. I will now depend upon thee. Come!" So saying, the agitated steward took Morten by the arm, and led him across the yard towards the kitchen. It was a fine clear winter's morning. It had frozen so hard during the last few nights that a part of Sjöborg lake was covered with tolerably hard ice. As the steward and the cook crossed the castle yard they saw all the king's huntsmen, with horses and hunting equipments, waiting before the castle stairs, and the royal car drove up. "What is agog now?" asked the steward.
"We are off with the king to the chase at Tikjob," answered one of the hunters. "The great lord from Italy wants to go to Esrom. He will surely either ride, or be borne on our shoulders."
"When come ye back?" asked the steward.
"Faith, I know not," answered the huntsman. "To-morrow we shall have to go with the king to Esrom. There is a great council to be held there, they say."
"Then it surely concerns the life or death of him yonder," muttered the steward, pointing to the prison tower. Morten the cook became attentive, and stopped; but he soon hasted towards the kitchen door, where he stood, half concealed, as the door of the castle stairs opened, and the king and Prince Christopher came forth, and mounted their horses, together with the Marsk, the two Swedish lords, and a numerous company of knights. The king and his train halted, and when Cardinal Isarnus, with his famulus and his clerical train, also descended the stairs, the huntsmen and attendants bowed low whilst they took their seats in the royal car. The train, headed by the king and Count Henrik, then issued forth out of the castle gate, amid the joyous sound of the hunting horns. Morten continued standing by the kitchen door. He had gazed on the young chivalrous monarch with a mingled feeling of fear and admiring interest, and a secret struggle seemed passing in his mind, as his glance turned from the noble and kingly form which had just passed him, to the gloomy prison window from whence he thought he heard a distant and smothered sigh. The steward had already twice called to him without his hearing; he now called again, with a round oath. The cook hastily passed his hand over his face, and struck up, in a shrill voice, one of his merriest ballads, as, with jest and laughter, he joined the domestics in the kitchen. During the rest of the day a monastic stillness reigned in Sjöborg castle. When the evening closed in the steward appeared unusually friendly and confidential, and treated his cook to a flagon of good wine from the king's travelling store. Before he sat down at the drinking table he had convinced himself with his own eyes that his dangerous state prisoner was under close keeping, and that the old turnkey and his comrade, as well as the guard without the prison-door, were at their posts. When he had fortified himself with some cups of wine, he began to unburden his heart to the cook. "I am an unfortunate man," he sighed forth. "I have not closed my eyes to sleep these three nights. Each time I shut an eye it seems to me the bishop hath fled, and I am dangling from the gallows. It hath not fared much better with the king himself," he continued; "if he now condemns him to death, despite pope and clergy, he and the whole kingdom fall into trouble. If he lets him slip hence alive, matters are just as bad. I once dreamed the bishop had hung himself in his chains. Oh! would it had pleased the Lord it had been so indeed!"
"A pious wish," answered Morten. "I would willingly lend a helping hand towards the fulfilment of that dream; of course, master, I mean in all pious secrecy; and I blame you not for this. In your case it would be almost a necessary act of self-defence, and, at the same time, a good deed for king and country. Is it not so?"
"Art thou mad, Morten! it might cost me my neck," muttered the steward; "for ought I care he may hang himself, in the Lord's name, whenever he pleases, if I only know nothing of it. If any good friend would lend him a helping hand, it might indeed, as thou say'st, save king and country, and deserve a rich and royal recompence; but I may thank my Lord and Maker if I can save my own life. Had I but a faithful fellow who durst watch in the chamber with him to-night I should sleep in quiet. Hast thou not courage enough for that, Morten?"
"Oh yes; why should I not, if I get well paid for it? If he gives me any trouble, it were an easy matter to make away with him, without any one seeing or knowing aught about it."
"Art thou serious, Morten? Hast thou really courage to----"
"To make an end of him, master?"
"Hush! No; I say not that. St. Gertrude preserve me from tempting any one to do that deed, even though it might be a benefit to state and country, and might make a poor fellow happy for life. No; that was not my meaning. Darest thou let me shut thee up with him to-night?"
"Yes, on one condition, master."
"What is it?"
"That you will not be wroth and complain of me if perchance you were not to find us to-morrow morning in the same trim as to-night."
"Pshaw, Morten; it matters not to me in what trim I find you. I will pay ten silver pieces for every night you watch beside him, and a hundred for the LAST."
"But even were that pious lord, through his witchcraft, to get loose after a fashion, I should surely get the blame of having let him slip."
"Ha, ha! thou art a merry wag, Morten," muttered the steward, with a horrible laugh. "The liberty thou canst give him, when I have locked the door after thee, shall not disturb my night's rest. Of course," he continued, with an uneasy and inquiring look, "thou must first let me search thy garments, to see that thou has not a file or any other tool with thee; that is a precaution I have ever used when I let any one watch with him in the chamber."
"That is but reasonable. You are a conscientious man." So saying, Morten pulled off his jerkin, and turned his pockets inside out. "But now I think of it, master, it won't do after all. If St. Vitus's dance should come over me."
"Pshaw! thou art quite well and hearty."
"But I am too hot-headed, master; and the bishop is wrath with me from former times. I have now and then plagued him a little, as you know, and should he take it into his head to insult me, or get hold of me, and I were forced to defend myself, it might cause a little stir, and set the guard and the whole castle agog."
"That needs not be. Thou art a bold fellow, Morten. Come! The guard shall not stand too near the door, and disturb thine and the bishop's rest, and shouldst thou get into a dispute with him about the state of souls after death, or such like learned matters, lay folks shall not be the wiser for that. Drink a cup of wine to a good night, and then let's away. I want rest, and so doth the bishop. It is late." Morten nodded, and drank.
With a horrible smile on his coarse hypocritical countenance, Jesper Mogensen snatched up a lantern, and descended the staircase leading to the prison door, accompanied by the cook. He paused once or twice with uneasiness and suspicion, and held up the light towards Morten, who followed him with a cheerful countenance.
"Thou look'st as well pleased as if I were leading thee to a jolly night revel," he muttered; "go on before. I cannot endure that rustling behind me."
Morten obeyed, and assumed a thoughtful look.
"Let not the guard smell a rat," he whispered, and pointed to a cord which was twisted round his waist. The keeper nodded, and seemed reassured. He ordered the guard to move further from the door, which he then half opened, and peeped in, holding the lantern before him. As soon as he had seen the captive lying quietly with his hands fettered, he pushed Morten into the chamber.
"A good and quiet night," he said, with a grim smile, clapping to and locking the door behind him; he also carefully barred it without, and then descended the stairs. The nearest sentinel observed that he often looked timorously behind him, as if his own footsteps sounded suspiciously in his ear. "The stupid devil!" he muttered. "What he doth he shall himself answer for; it is no concern of mine."
When Morten entered the murky prison, he stood in silence, until the sound of the locking and bolting of the door had ceased, and until the hollow tread of the steward's iron-shod boots died away on the stairs; he then approached the captive's couch, and was about to speak, but he now heard singing and loud voices in the upper chamber. It was old Mads the turnkey making merry with his nephews and the young fellows from the village who were to keep watch with him. Morten listened in silence. He perceived from their inarticulate voices and drowsy songs, that the mead and Saxon ale he had secretly brought them had been greatly to their taste. Through a little hole in the ceiling above there fell a ray of light from their lamp upon the archbishop's couch, and lit up his long pale visage. He lay with closed eyes without stirring, apparently in a sound sleep. Morten seated himself upon the damp stone floor, and interrupted not his repose until the noise of the carouse had entirely ceased, and he heard in the stillness of the night how they were snoring overhead. "Sleep you, venerable sir?" he whispered, as he rose up from the floor.
"No, thou faithful servant of the Lord!" answered the archbishop, in a weak voice, and raised his head. "I and the Lord's vengeance do but seem to sleep, until it is time to wake and act."
"Now is the time to show clean heels," continued Morten. "Is all ready here?"
"Long since. Thou hast tarried long; yet even that was an ordering of the Lord. I was destined even in my chains to become a chastising rod in the Lord's hand; but I was well nigh believing thou had'st failed me, or wert betrayed."
"You thought, then, I was either a fox or a sheep, reverend sir. Have you the rope ladder?"
"Here--but be cautious, Morten. Tie it to the thickest bar in the grate; that is secure. Take the others out; they are filed through--but make no noise! I can rid myself of the fetters. Thy file was blunt, but the Lord sharpened it in my hand. His angel hath struck mine enemies both deaf and blind."
"But now comes the knotty point, pious sir," whispered Morten, as he lingered, with an ambiguous smile. "Now all depends upon whether the Lord's angel will help you still farther. Up to the window he hath indeed taught you to creep, but we have to descend thirty-six feet from thence to the tower wall, and then we still have that confounded castle wall besides. Over the moat and lake the Lord hath indeed laid a bridge. See you this cord? Were I now to strangle you with it I might perhaps make my fortune; but I am too pious a fellow for that. I will but fasten it to the slip knot, that we may be able to draw the ladder after us. I will go down first to aid you. Look now. I will answer for the ladder, if you can but keep your hold, till I can reach you from below. But----"
"With the Lord Almighty's help"--whispered Grand, in an anxious tone, and looking at the jolly cook, with a half suspicious glance--"assist me first up to the window, I am weary and weak. Now, what art thou thinking of, Morten? Haste, or we are betrayed."
"A little scruple has just entered my head, venerable sir," whispered Morten. "I am a good Christian, and I know well enough both you and the pope have my soul and the souls of all Christians in your pockets. You have saved my life, do you see, and therefore have I promised to free you, whatever it may cost; but I am also a Danish man, and you cannot ask that, for your sake, I should betray state and kingdom, or plunge our young brave king into misfortune. Had I seen him sooner, and known he was so noble a lord, I might perhaps have thought better on what I promised you. I know you have excommunicated him, and given him over to the Devil, but by my soul he is too good for that, and if I am now to set you free you must promise me, by our Lady and St. Martin, that you will recall the ban, and do no harm to him or any other man in the country."
"Dost thou rave, Morten?" exclaimed the archbishop, greatly surprised and enraged; "would'st thou ape the tyrant, and prescribe conditions to me? If thou doest not that thou promised me, I will excommunicate thee also, and thou shalt be eternally damned."
"In that case, reverend sir," whispered Morten, hastily creeping out of the window to the rope ladder, with the loose end of the cord in his hand, with which he could slip the looped knot that fastened the ladder,--"In that case I will bid you good night, and take the ladder with me to hell."
"Morten! good Morten! betray me not," whispered the archbishop, in a beseeching tone, climbing with haste up to the window. "I will not deal harder by the king or any one here than I am compelled for the Lord's and the church's and my conscience sake."
"Then will you loose him from the ban as soon as you are free and in safety yourself?" asked Morten, still keeping his stand on the ladder.
"Yes, surely; yes, surely; only be silent, and help me."
"Then I will believe you for the present," whispered Morten, and crept down the ladder. Its last step was still ten feet from the ground, but the dexterous cook clung fast to it with his hands, and jumped down without any great difficulty. The archbishop had now also got out of the window, and with much effort held fast by one step, while he groped with his foot for the other. But on lifting his foot from the last step, to his great dismay he discovered that the ladder was much too short, and that in all probability his life would be endangered should he come to the ground without assistance.
"Help me, help me, Morten!" he entreated in a low tone. "In the name of the all-merciful Creator, help me!"
"Yes, if you swear to keep your word, on pain of excommunicating yourself to burning hell, venerable sir," answered Morten, extending his arms to catch him in case he fell.
"Yes, assuredly, by all the saints and devils!" stammered the alarmed captive; "only catch me; I must let go my hold!"
"Let go then! in the Holy Virgin's name!" whispered Morten; "if you are a pious man of your word you shall assuredly not dash your foot against a stone."
The archbishop now relinquished his hold of the last step of the ladder, and let himself drop, but though instantly caught in the cook's powerful arms, he was unable to repress a smothered burst of pain and sorrow, as his swelled feet struck hard against the stone pavement, and when Morten withdrew his support, he fell speechless and breathless to the ground.
"You have surely not sworn falsely in your heart, venerable sir," whispered Morten, anxiously. "This is no time, either, for swooning. If we delay a moment longer the guard may come, and lead you back from whence you came." As he said this, he drew down the ladder, and rolled it up with care. The archbishop yet lay as if lifeless on the ground. Without any longer demur, Morten put both arms round his waist, and carried him in this manner across the back yard of the prison to the high castle wall which encircled the tower and was surrounded by a moat. It was possible to mount the inside wall in case of need, and by dint of great exertion Morten carried the almost senseless prelate up to the top of the wall. There he secured the rope ladder, while the bishop recovered his consciousness, and gained strength to pursue his flight. Without delaying and alarming the fugitive by further stipulations, he assisted him to descend this wall also, and then drew the ladder after him. They passed the frozen moat of the castle; but that part of the lake which they had to cross was as smooth as glass, and the archbishop often fell and bruised himself. With Morten's help he at last got over the ice, but now threw himself despairingly on the frozen ground. "I cannot go a step farther," he exclaimed. "If I am to reach the shore thou must get me a horse."
"Will you give me absolution then, venerable sir, if I can steal you a horse out of the stable here?"
"It is a holy loan, which will bring thee a blessing," replied Grand.
"Good! But if you understand aught of the Black Art, pious sir, forget not your Latin now, but say a charm over the dogs, so that they bark not, and over the grooms in the stable, so that they wake not."
"I will pray to the Almighty to be with us. Haste thee!"
Morten crept towards the neighbouring stable. He went across a dunghill to the stable door, upon which a large cross was marked in chalk by way of safeguard. The usually watchful mastiffs did not bark. It seemed to Morten as if the cross on the stable door gleamed in the moonlight. The door of the groom's chamber he had to pass stood ajar. He peeped in, and saw three men in a deep sleep. In the stalls close by stood two small horses. He untied their halters, and led them out. The stone pavement of the stable and without the back door was covered with horse-litter, and he succeeded in leading the horses out without the slightest noise. He led them slowly towards the sea shore, and often looked behind him, but no one pursued--no dog barked, and the whole seemed to him to be almost miraculous. He found the archbishop where he had left him, in an attitude of prayer. With unwonted solemnity, and with a respect which, however, seemed mingled with a kind of dread, Morten, without saying a word, assisted the prelate to mount one of the horses; he himself vaulted upon the other, and they rode in silence at a rapid trot down to the shore. There a tall grave knight and the two Lolland deserters awaited them with a boat which they had stolen from the fishing village. The knight and both the wild Lollanders bent the knee reverently before the archbishop as he extended his fingers to give them his blessing. With Morten's aid he dismounted, and stepped into the boat. Morten turned the strange horses loose, and seated himself on a rowing bench. With a few powerful strokes of the oar they reached a vessel with a black flag and pennant, which was waiting for them at some distance from the shore. They entered the ship, and let the boat float away. The day had not dawned when the vessel with the black flag sailed with a fair breeze through the Sound, bearing off without impediment the dangerous man, who, even in his chains, had dared to excommunicate Denmark's sovereign.
Sjöborg castle, which in the latter months of the year 1295 was honoured by the presence of royalty, and had been the theatre of such important events, stood desolate and deserted on the morning of the following new year. The gate was shut, and the floating bridge removed. The sentinel was no longer on guard on the battlement over the gate; within, no sounds of gaiety and occupancy were heard; without the southern rampart and the narrowest part of the lake which insulated the site of the castle stood a gallows, at the end of what was called the king's garden, where the roads met from Esrom and Gilleleié. On the gallows hung a lifeless corpse in a short sheep-skin coat, and with a pair of shaggy boots on the legs. A pair of ravens flapped their wings over the sinner's head, and around the stiff frozen body fluttered a flock of screaming crows.
The aged Jeppé, the fisherman from Gilleleié, who on fast days was accustomed to bring fish to Esrom, and to the kitchen of Sjöborg, was returning at day-break from the ferry, opposite the closed castle gate, with his flat fish basket at his back, and stood almost under the gallows ere he was aware of it. His servant, a young fisherman, followed him also with a basket at his back.
"It was true then, after all," said the old man; "they have made quick work of it here. The bird hath flown, and the cage stands empty. Our young king hath been wroth in earnest--by my troth, he does nothing by halves. We may now carry our cod to Elsinore. But what the devil ails the birds to-day?"
"Look, look, master!" shouted the lad; "there he hangs."
"Our Lady preserve us!" exclaimed Jeppé, and stopped. "Ay, there he hangs, indeed, in his old sheep's skin, and in the boots I brought him from Skanór fair, those he squeezed out of me for the freight and the sixteen marks. Why, the soles are whole as yet! I told him not to wear them out with his courtier-like scrapings. Faugh! he looks ugly in the face. 'Tis no wholesome sight on a fasting stomach. Let's take a sup, Olé." He took a little wooden flask out of the basket, drank, and reached the flask to the lad, while they gazed with mingled curiosity and dread on the corpse.
"By our Lady! a foul human carcass is truly soon provided for," resumed the old man, clearing his throat after the strong drink, while he crossed himself, and put up the flask. "Well, I say now what I said before; paid as deserved. He who deals against law shall be dealt with without law. One should otherwise, it is true, speak well of the dead; and this I must say, Jesper Mogensen was in some sort a pious man; he neglected neither mattins nor mass; he went to confession every other day. That we none of us do. But the crow is never the whiter, let her wash herself ever so often, and I would not have given a rotten herring's head for all his piety. What said I the other day to boatman Sóren? 'Mark,' said I, 'that craft will one day run aground under the gallows.' That one could see with half an eye. We will pray an honest prayer for his soul, however, Olé, although he hath haggled many a shining piece from us, and cheated the king out of more pecks of silver pieces than the ravens have now left hairs on his sinful head. Would it might fare somewhat better with him where he now is than it fared with his prisoner at Sjöborg! Much better it were a shame to ask, for a pitiless master he ever was, and graceless rulers are shut out from the Lord."
"True, master," answered the young fisherman; "but might one not almost say the same of our young king himself, to say so with all reverence and respect?"
"Of the king? Art thou mad, Olé?" exclaimed the old man, with warmth; "art thou clean devil-blinded and possessed? Is that the Christianity thou learn'st in the monastery? Thou art a pretty fellow, truly!"
"Be not wroth, master!" answered the lad; "but truth is truth, nevertheless, whether it be sour or sweet, or whether it tweak the nose of high or low, says Pater Gregor, and we Danes are a free folk who dare to speak out in council[14], whether it be against great or small; that you know as well as I, master. The king, by my troth, is not the man to put mercy before justice where the outlaws or their kindred and friends are concerned. Now, there, are Marsk Stig's pretty daughters; he has pent them up in the maiden's tower at Vordingborg, only because their father was an outlawed man; that's not very merciful. Then there's the bishop they have so long plagued and tortured; that's a bad business, says Pater Gregor. Whether or not he was leagued with the outlaws or the Slesvig Duke no one knows or can prove; but, however that may be, he was a mighty man of God, whom none but the Lord and the pope could condemn, says Pater Gregor."
"Ay, indeed! He talks too much, that Pater Gregor," muttered the old man, seating himself thoughtfully on his fish basket. "Those pious sirs of the cloister may say what they will; but this I know, that a more just-dealing king we have never had in Denmark. As to his stringing up that fellow----"
"It was a good deed, master, that I will never deny," interrupted the lad. "If the steward did not exactly help the bishop on his road,--which, no doubt, was what he was hung for,--he still richly deserved the halter for many other things. The king did him no wrong; but that poor turnkey Mads, and his nephew, I am sorry for them. They are pent up, under bolt and bar, at Flynderborg, only because the ale was a little too strong for them that night-watch in the tower. He who helped the bishop but," he added, with a rather sinister roll of the eye, "was surely none other than that gallows bird, Morten the cook. It was both boldly and piously done, says Pater Gregor, and therefore doubtless hath holy St. Martin saved his life, and helped him out of the country; but he is an outlawed man not the less for that, and if the Devil hath not an eye on his soul I am no honest Dane."
"Hark, Olé!" resumed the old man, in a stern voice, and rising from his seat; "take care what thy beardless mouth utters, especially when thou speak'st of the Devil, or of our Lord, or of the king! Touching Morten the cook, I have also a word to say to thee; but first, of the king. 'Tis a bad hand that will not protect its head, they say; the king is the people's head, see'st thou, and when the head aches all the limbs ache also; that hath every true Danish man in our time learnt soon enough. Our young King Eric hath gone through much trouble, from the time he was no higher than my knee, but our Lord hath been with him till this hour, and preserved both his soul and his body, despite archbishop, and pope, and clergy. We are a free folk, 'tis true; each man may speak out the truth boldly and freely, whether it be against high or low; but he who speaks an ill word of the king shall account for it to me, as surely as I have a tongue in my mouth and fists to my oar. Thou art a greenhorn, Olé; thou knowest but little of what passed in the country while thou wert in thy swaddling clothes. Had the outlaws murdered thy father when thou wert riding thy stick thou would'st hardly have taken them to thy arms when ye rode with a troop of horse."
"There, by my troth, you are right, master!" answered the youth, eagerly. "Life for life! I would say, and strike off their heads wherever I met them; it were an honest deed and righteous wrath. But, nevertheless, 'Vengeance is our Lord's,' and a king should be somewhat cooler headed and wiser than any of us; he should rather suffer injustice than put state and country in peril, by standing up so stiffly for his right."
"Old woman's chatter," interrupted Jeppé; "would the egg teach the hen? Justice shall stand, though all the earth should perish. Thus should a king think. He should not bear the sword in vain."
"But, dear master! there is Pater Gregor, and all the pious monks at Esrom, and many wise men in our town, they all of them think the king pushes his zeal and obstinacy too far, and only brings himself and the whole country into trouble; for this he hath now fallen under the archbishop's ban; yet he still will kick against the pricks, and goes just the same to mattins and mass as heretofore."
"That defiance and ungodliness our Lord will pardon him, I think," said the old man, with a nod of the head; "there is, besides, surely no bishop in the country who would shut the church door against him because Master Grand hath excommunicated him at Sjöborg. When that quarrelsome lord was laid by the heels, folks said directly that all churches were to be shut in the country; but, look you, was it so? If ten commands to shut them were sent from the pope in Rome, may I be a flounder if he would be obeyed. But now the archbishop is free, so there is no great need for it. At any rate we have seen before that a Danish king may be under a ban, and yet bear sceptre and crown to his dying day."
"Things may go wrong enough yet, master," answered the lad. "Without the pope's permit he can never wed, and he may have long to wait for it while he deals in this fashion by every canon and priest who sided with the archbishop. There is the rich Hans Rodis in Copenhagen; he hath lost all he owned because he sent a file and tools to the archbishop in the tower. Master Peter in Lund hath not fared a hair better, and all the archbishop's church property is seized. The like of such presumption hath never been heard of in Christendom before, says Pater Gregor."
"In this matter the king will follow the advice of his best counsellors, and neither thine nor Pater Gregory's," muttered the old man. "He and the state council must answer for what hath been done. Folk have tried him rather too much, and there are bounds to every thing, even to piety and patience. 'Beware of a brawl!' said my departed father, God rest his soul! 'but if thou meddlest in one, carry it through like a man.' It avails but little to cast butter against stones. No; hard against hard."
"By your leave, master, so said the Devil, when he leant his back against a thorn bush," interrupted the young fisherman, smiling; "but it is said he repented it when he found what it did for him. I also have heard a wise old saying at times: 'If thou canst not step over, then creep under,' said my aunt to me. Had our king learnt that wisdom of the proud Drost Hessel, who taught him to flourish lance and spear, it would have been better for state and country, says----"
"Pshaw!" interrupted the old man, placing his basket again on his back; "such wisdom may do well enough for thee, and thy aunt, and Pater Gregor, who speak out all ye think; but what is fitting for rats and mice would ill beseem the falcon and eagle. Humility is precious as gold; but where a king would pass he should sooner burst the gate open than creep under it through the mire." So saying, he cast another glance at the solemn witness of the king's stern and speedy execution of justice, and then, silent and thoughtful, strode forward on the road to Gilleleié.
"But, since you side with the king in every thing, master," asked the youth, "how can you then defend mad Morten the cook, or think he will 'scape the gallows? He hath ever sided with the outlaws. That he helped the bishop out of Sjöborg you know as well as any of us. I saw he was with you on Christmas eve, ere he put out to sea again in that black pilgrim ship."
"If thou would'st keep in a whole skin, jackanapes, let that be between us two," exclaimed the old man, in wrath, turning menacingly towards him. "However Morten may have sinned, he now doth penance for it; he who puts out to open sea at Christmas, to serve his Lord and Saviour, is no bad Christian, according to my notion, and therefore no traitor to his country."
"But every one knows----"
"Gossip! we know enough! What Morten hath to do either with the bishop or the outlaws concerns not thee or me; but this I know for certain, since he hath seen our young king himself, and taken money at his hand, he hath been true as steel to him in his heart. That Master Grand got loose was perhaps a God's providence," he added. "In this matter I even think myself our brave king hath set rather too boldly to work. If Morten hath had a finger in the game it may cost him dear; but that he neither meant ill to country or king I will stake my neck upon."
"A juggler and a godless churl he is, nevertheless; and an outlawed vagabond and sure gallows bird to boot, if he sets foot again on Danish ground," said the young fisherman, eagerly. "'Tis both sin and shame, master! that your young pretty Karen will weep her blue eyes red for his sake."
"Ha, indeed! hath that come out?" said the old man; "thou would'st rather, I warrant, she should weep them red for thy sake, if weep she must. Drive these fancies out of thine head, Olé! If Morten come back ere St. Hans day, as he promised Karen and me, and can give account of himself, thou shalt have leave to dance at his wedding; but if ye would speak ill of him to me or to Karen, thou may'st pack up and pack off. Now thou knowest my manner of thinking." So saying, the old man marched forward with rapid strides. The youth followed him, crest-fallen and in silence, till they drew near the shore, where Jeppé unmoored a fishing boat for the purpose of sailing up the coast with the fish he could no longer dispose of at Sjöborg.
"You must not suppose I would speak ill of Morten," resumed the young fisherman, as he set down the basket in the boat, and stepped over the gunwale after his master. "'Twould be of no use either; you and Karen are now so bewitched by that gallows bird. I must own myself he is a comely, sharp-witted jolly fellow, although he begins to get somewhat into years; indeed, as for that matter he might almost be her father. If he helped the bishop to flee out of piety and Christian charity, he hath perhaps done a good deed, but folk will hardly say it was for the Lord's sake. Your pretty little Karen would be better mated with a young fellow than with an outlawed and almost aged vagabond, and--"
"Thou beardless greenhorn! what is thy head running upon?" exclaimed the old man angrily, and stamping as he spoke. "Think'st thou it needs but a smooth chin, and a milk-sop look, to cut out an honest fellow with my daughter? Out of sight out of mind, say many young folk now-a-days; but that shall none say of me and my daughter. If I hear a word more of this matter from thy mouth, Olé! it shall be the last we exchange together. But what devil is this?" he exclaimed, in surprise, as he perceived there were three in the boat; "whence came that fellow?"
"Will you carry a passenger across to Skanór, for fair words and fair recompense, good people?" asked a tall man, suddenly rising from under one of the rowing benches, where he appeared to have concealed himself under the sail. He wore a dirty peasant's cloak, but it fitted ill, and a knight's shoulder scarf peeped from under it, together with the richly gilded hilt of a sword. He seemed to strive in vain to conceal a large scar on his forehead under the goat's-skin cap; his pale and frigid countenance, and furtive glances from under his rusty-coloured meeting eyebrows, inspired a feeling of distrust; he spoke Danish, but with something of a Norwegian pronunciation, which, however, seemed not to be natural to him, but assumed for the occasion.
"What have you to do here in my boat?" growled forth Jeppé, measuring the intruder with a bold look. "If you would cross to Skanör, why go ye not to the ferry?"
"The king hath stopped the ferries on account of the archbishop," answered the stranger. "Every man knows Grand hath escaped hence by sea, and yet the stupid dullards hunt after him here, both by day and night. Not a cat can leave the country, and there is now hardly a wood or morass left where a friend of the pious archbishop may hide himself. I see you take me for a deserter. It avails not to withhold the truth from you. I am a persecuted man; save my life, and bring me to a sea port from whence I may escape; I will richly repay you for it."
"Well!" said the old man, and his stern look relaxed. "No doubt an honest man may get into trouble, as hath chanced ere now; he is often forced to quit the country in disguise who afterwards can return with honour. The wind is fair, my yawl will weather the trip bravely; but I must first know who you are, and wherefore you are outlawed?"
"Outlawed!" repeated the stranger, with a start; "who says I am outlawed, with law and justice, because I fly from lawlessness and shameful injustice? I am a kinsman of the great Archbishop Grand, whom they have here so shamefully and unjustly maltreated. If I would not expose myself to the same tyrannical treatment, from which our Lord and pious men have freed him, I am now forced to seek safety by flight."
"But your name?" resumed the fisherman, as he suddenly placed the oar against a stone, and pushed the boat out to sea, with such force that both the stranger and the astonished young fisherman tumbled over the bench. "You will not call yourself outlawed, then?" he continued calmly, while the stranger stood up, and cast an anxious look on the wide space between the boat and the shore. "I should incline to think ye were so, nevertheless. Are ye not called, because of a little mistake, Squire Kaggé with the scar? Were ye one of those who slew the king's father in Finnerup barn? and if it be you who lately sought to take the king's life, I should be a rascal if I stirred a hand to bring you to any other free port than the gallows."
The stranger's countenance had become fearfully distorted; he thrust his hand as if convulsively under his cloak, and drew forth a long glittering knight's sword. "You must either set me instantly on shore here, or bring me to Skanör harbour; no matter who the devil I may be," he cried. "The squire whom Denmark's greatest man dubbed a knight lets himself not be carried to market with cod and flounders by a vile fisherman."
"Big words and fat flesh stick not in the throat," answered Jeppé, quietly brandishing the heavy iron-tagged oar like a lance over his head. "Here I stand on my own ground, and here I am master. Cast your dyrendal[15] from you, Sir Malapert! or you shall feel one upon your skull which will make you forget the stroke of knighthood you got from the greatest man. If that man be Stig Anderson,"--he added, "you need not mention your fair name or your fair deed--for in that case you were as certainly with Marsk Stig and the grey friars in Finnerup barn as you are now with Jeppé the fisherman on the road to judgment and the gallows."
"We shall see," shouted the stranger, like a madman, and rushed on him with his drawn sword, but at the same moment he fell back senseless in the boat, while the hat flew from his head before a stroke of Jeppé's iron-tagged oar.
"Take the dyrendal from him, and bind him, Olé, while I loose the sails," said the old fisherman calmly, as he threw down the oar, and began to unfurl the sails. "That blow he dies not of. If the king will give him his life, that's his affair; but none shall say that old Jeppé the fisherman sided with such like outlaws, and let a regicide slip whole skinned from Gilleleié."
The young fisherman obeyed his master. The sails were soon unfurled, and the fishing yawl sailed swiftly along the coast.
Jeppé was not mistaken. His captive was the renowned Aagé Kaggé who had been outlawed with all those who had taken a personal share in the murder of Eric Glipping. He had entered the service of the King of Norway, but had ventured to Denmark to bring Marsk Stig's daughters from thence; and also, as it appeared, with other less peaceable intentions. That he had been a party to the murderous attack of the crazed Jutlander upon the king the Drost's huntsmen had borne witness, and there seemed also every probability that it was he who had attempted the assassination of Drost Aagé, as he was riding with Marsk Stig's daughters into the gate of Vordingborg castle. Every burgomaster and all commandants of castles throughout the country had received orders to trace and to seize him, wherever he was found. As an outlaw, besides, every one who met and knew him was empowered to slay him on the spot. Although in general he, like all those outlawed regicides, was held in great detestation, there was still one heart which throbbed for him with love and sympathy,--the wayward, restless heart of the captive Lady Ulrica.