PART III.

Half an hour after Lady Ingé had left Drost Peter in Viborg Cathedral, by the grave of the murdered king, she departed, in the plain dress of a citizen's daughter, through St. Mogen's Gate, in company with her father. Many travellers were proceeding the same way; but before midnight, by order of the young king, every gate was barred.

Duke Waldemar and Sir Abildgaard had accompanied the procession from the cathedral. The old Borrewold Castle had been prepared for the reception of the royal family and their followers; and there, late in the evening, the queen and the young king held a council, with locked doors, at which were present the Margraves of Brandenburg, Chancellor Martinus, and Drost Peter, who had hurried from the church with the important intelligence that Marsk Stig himself was in Viborg, and had had the audacity to be present at the funeral. Every precautionary measure was instantly adopted. The approaches to the royal apartments in the Borrewold were guarded by Sir Thorstenson and Benedict Rimaardson, with the royal trabants. Mailed horsemen and landsknechts blocked up every avenue to the castle. The trusty civic guard of Viborg was armed, and, at the chancellor's suggestion, the orders of the king were immediately issued to shut the gates of the city, and to institute a strict search throughout it, during which every suspicious person was seized and imprisoned.

It was past midnight. The duke, with great inquietude, paced up and down his sleeping chamber, situated in the eastern wing of the castle, facing the Viborg lake. The events of the journey and the interment had strongly excited his fears. The expressions of the chancellor on their way to the city, and his searching looks in the cathedral, had created in him a feeling of uneasiness, which he in vain endeavoured to overcome. His anxiety was farther increased by the stern preparations going forward in the castle, which had not escaped his notice. On every side he heard the tread of armed men--in the court-yard, as well as in the passage outside his chamber.

Although both himself and his drost were waited upon with the greatest attention, and even with regal pomp, it still appeared to him that all his movements were watched; and the strong guard outside his door was far from pleasing to him. He had despatched Tuko Abildgaard into the city, an hour before, to ascertain the cause of the excessive noise and clang of arms he heard there, and he had not yet returned. The door was at length opened, and the young knight entered, breathless.

"What is the meaning of the din?" inquired the duke: "is the town in an uproar?"

"Not precisely so; but matters look suspicious," replied Sir Abildgaard, with some agitation. "They are searching everywhere for the marsk. I have been three times laid hold of, and your name was barely powerful enough to liberate me."

"Have they seized the marsk?" asked the duke, hastily.

"Nay, sir duke: it is rumoured that he left the town before the gates were secured. The Stig knew well what he was about; but what he wanted here to-day, I am at a loss to conceive."

"That is easily understood," replied the duke. "To know in what temper the people are, must be to him of much importance. Great grief or lamentation I did not observe; neither saw I peasant or burgher in the procession."

"But now the wind has shifted, sir. The sight of the queen and of the young king has worked a wonderful change in the mob. You should hear how they growl against the daring marsk and his friends, and how they lament and extol the deceased king, the soft-hearted fools! We shall now have Reinmar von Zweter and all the German poets in vogue, and Erik Glipping will become a great man in his grave. But it is always thus. When the wild beast, that every one pursued, has fallen, even his greatest foes lament over him, as if he had suffered shameful injustice; and they admire the monster for his powerful claws, when they have no longer anything to fear from them. That wavering turncoat, Sir Lavé, from Flynderborg, has been here, with the marsk: he was seized with qualms in the church, it is said, and behaved like a madman during the funeral. Fortunately, he has disappeared. Had they caught him, he was in a condition to betray us all."

"Us?" repeated the duke, suddenly changing his tone of familiarity to one of pride and coldness: "remember to whom you are addressing yourself, Tuko! What connection had I with these conspirators? Look to your own safety. After what you have stated, I would advise you to be careful. Rely not on my name: unless you can, like me, wash your hands of what has happened, and swear you had no part in it, I cannot aid you. I am here, with the young king, as his nearest kinsman and protector. With Marsk Stig and his transactions, I can have nothing to do. The late conspiracy at Möllerup is already talked of as a well-known affair, and you are named as having been concerned in it. But for me, I knew nothing of it, and nothing will I know."

"But, most gracious sir," exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, in astonishment, "you stated no objections when you accorded me permission to travel; and, though you did not expressly send any message by me, we perfectly understood each other. What I promised in your name, I have never doubted but that you would fulfil."

"What you have promised, you must yourself perform. I have promised nothing that I dare not proclaim to the world. That which I promised and swore to the deceased king, in our covenant at Sjöborg, I have kept to the letter. From that hour I have undertaken no step against the crown and kingdom, and yet here they have no confidence in me. I must remain contented with respectful servants, and an ample guard of honour, while the margraves and Drost Hessel are present in the council. But I shall speedily teach these gentlemen who is the guardian of the king, the legal protector of the kingdom; and the daring rebels, too, shall know that I am not the man who, contrary to his oath and duty, will be found protecting traitors and regicides."

Sir Abildgaard stood as if thunderstruck. "My noble duke," he said, at length, "you must be jesting? You will not strike down, in his moment of need, the faithful friend who has placed his life in jeopardy for your sake? I, who so cheerfully shared imprisonment and adversity with you--you cannot seriously propose to use me as a mere tool, which you can suffer to be broken and cast aside with unconcern, when you have no farther need of me? If this, however, be the friendship of princes, I must indeed have been the most obtuse animal in the world, when I thought I had discovered generosity and magnanimity under purple."

"Tuko," said the duke, with a transient expression of emotion, and a proud commanding look, "link not your common notions of friendship and generosity with that great chain of thought that binds my princely life to the throne of Denmark. Have you been familiar with me from my childhood, and not yet learnt to separate the thought from the word? Think you this hand can ever be so mean and base, as to crush the true and active friend of my youth, who spoke and acted, while I was forced to sleep and hold my peace? Learn truly to estimate your princely master, who ceases not to be your friend, although he must now, for loftier reasons, assume the appearance of a stern enemy. If, with me, you have discovered the true meaning of living for a great and noble object, know also that the paltry vulgar virtues, which people call friendship, fidelity, gratitude, and I know not what, are at bottom but pompous nothings, which only command the respect of children in spirit and statecraft, and which the matured ruler-mind hesitates not to cast aside when, from the puppet masses, he can embody for himself the great idea for which he lives and labours. If you now comprehend me, Tuko, you will at once acknowledge and respect that mighty spirit you nurtured in its developement, and by whose side you shall again stand when I have reached my goal, and you have acquired strength to follow me. Meantime, you must depart: this night must you fly; and by your flight accuse yourself, and betray what you can no longer conceal. You, and all the other delinquents, I adjudge outlaws. As the king's guardian, and protector of the realm, I shall pursue you with rigour when the proper moment has arrived. But if there be a great spirit in you, as I have believed, you will not therefore hate or mistake me; and when the season of persecution is over, you shall find that Duke Waldemar was not a selfish or faithless friend, and that you were no credulous fool when you trusted to generosity and magnanimity under purple."

"Now, I understand and admire you, noble sir," replied the artful knight, bowing profoundly, "though I must flee you as from a stern pursuer. What I have done for you in secret shall cast no shadow on your glory. You can stand high and pure by the infant throne, and condemn your friends without blushing. Good--I shall fly--whither I dare not say; but wherever, in the north, there sits enthroned a powerful protector of Marsk Stig, there is the place of shelter for his persecuted friends. Farewell, noble duke: your drost shall soon be gone. Spare not the hardened sinner when he gains a respectable distance; but remember also, that none of us are immaculate, and let mercy take the place of justice when the hour of condemnation has arrived."

So saying, he retired into a side apartment, and speedily returned disguised as a right handsome pantry-maid. He curtsied to the duke, mimicking with much drollery the bashful manners of a servant-wench.

"Dearest gentleman," he said, with the accent of a Jutland peasant-girl, "I am a modest, innocent lass, and hardly know how I could have found my way into the presence of such a grand young lord. Pardon my intrusion, and allow me to quit this place pure and uninjured, that the slanderous world may think no ill of me. That you are a dangerous gentleman for such as me, is well known; and your guard of honour will certainly not be surprised if I conceal my modest face from them. Thanks, worthy gentleman, for your gracious kindness. For your sake I must now hide from the world for a long time, and you must pretend not to know me, though I shall probably grieve for what is yours, and you will not certainly repel the hand of your humble servant."

"Art thou a fool? Is this a time for jesting?" exclaimed the duke, in a low tone; and, opening the door into the passage, "Good night, my child," he said, aloud, patting the cheeks of the pretended girl in the open doorway. "Run on, now: these brave soldiers will not harm thee. But take care, in future, that thou dost not thus go astray after wedlock fancies, and mistake a knight's closet for the pantry."

The rough landsknecht outside the door smiled in his beard, and, without suspicion, allowed the tall pantry-maid to slip past.

The duke closed the door, and cast himself, in gloomy thoughtfulness, on a chair.

"Flee, miserable coxcomb!" he muttered, "and find a shelter now where thou canst! Thou wilt hardly escape without getting thy wings scorched."

In a minute afterwards he fancied he heard a scream. He approached the window with some uneasiness, and distinguished a cry of "Seize her! it is a disguised traitor!" shouted by a gruff voice in the street. There followed some shrieking and tumult, which, however, soon died away in the distance.

The departure of the intimate friend of his youth, and concern for his fate, seemed to have disposed the duke to melancholy; but the feeling was not of long duration.

"Bah!" he said to himself, as he proudly paced the floor, "when the ancient heroes tied fire beneath the wings of swallows, and sent them forth as instruments of conquest, what cared they for the piping of the little creatures?"

He again threw himself on a chair, and fell into deep thought. Since his imprisonment at Sjöborg, where he had often held converse the whole night with his owl and his dead kinsman, as if the latter answered him from the inscribed prison-wall, he would frequently, in his closet, talk half aloud to himself; and it was rumoured and believed by many, that he was leagued with powerful spirits.

"As far as I know," continued he, wrapt in his gloomy fancies, "the first great stage is mounted: it requires courage to stand upon it, for it is bloody and slippery; but I did not stir a hand--not a word escaped my lips. I stand pure and free; and where is he who can accuse me? The next stage is a minor. It, too, must be ascended--but without crime. The fair hand that shall help me up is cold, but it may be warmed. It will lose me a pious soul, but a love-dream shall not stand in my way. On! on!--and then--then shall no one say, 'Behold! there goes King Abel in his grandson!'"

Next forenoon, when Duke Waldemar left his apartment to appear in the royal presence, the guard of honour lowered their lances respectfully before him. The queen and the young king received him with an attention that surprised him; whilst Drost Peter's salutation, though somewhat cold, was courteous. The duke surmised that the council had resolved to invest him with that full power and authority which they could not refuse him without overstepping the law of the land, and rousing a dangerous and powerful enemy, who, in open league with the conspirators, could easily overthrow the yet unstable throne.

The consciousness of this power, and the feeling that he was already secretly dreaded, although his authority was not publicly acknowledged, imparted to him an air of confidence and almost kingly dignity that did not ill become him. He approached the queen with as much ease and freedom as if he had already been for a long time her adviser, and the guardian of the young king. He spoke of the critical state of the kingdom, and of the measures to be adopted, with sagacity and zeal, but at the same time with the decisive air of a co-regent. This demeanour was, however, attended with so much politeness, and respectful acknowledgment of the queen's important influence as royal mother, that the fair and proud Queen Agnes could not possibly be offended. She appeared to have already been more favourably disposed towards the duke by her brothers; and, now, she could not but admire the delicacy with which he advanced his claims, without seeming at all assuming or importunate.

The constraint which was apparent in the queen's demeanour at the beginning of the conversation soon disappeared, and Drost Peter observed with concern the manner in which the duke, by his subtle flatteries and vehement denunciation of the conspirators, contrived to disarm the queen of every suspicion that had previously attached to him.

"It is a horrible conspiracy!" exclaimed the duke, warmly. "Many of the most important men of the country appear to be engaged in it. A rigid investigation has become necessary, that the guilty may be discovered, and the innocent remain unsuspected. My former misunderstanding with the king, and that youthful folly for which I had justly to atone at Sjöborg, and which there I also learnt to forswear and repent, may have exposed me to a distrust, which I hope soon to remove by faithful deed and counsel. In a magnanimous soul an unfounded suspicion can never take deep root, though there be spirits mean and distrustful enough to nourish it. I blame no one, however, for being vigilant and cautious," he continued. "In these unhappy times, distrust insinuates itself into the closest relations of friendship and kindred. Would you believe it, noble queen, even the friend of my youth, Drost Tuko Abildgaard, had given me cause for strong suspicions, which, I regret to say, are now confirmed; for last night he disappeared."

"How?" exclaimed the queen, with surprise: "your drost--the young Sir Abildgaard?"

"Even he, noble queen! Is it not melancholy? A man, whom I regarded for so many years as my friend--he who shared my youthful follies, and was, indeed, partly the cause of them--though for that he shared my imprisonment in Sjöborg, which he left, as I believed, with the same abjuration of his errors that I made--I have now reason to believe that he was present with the conspirators at Möllerup, in the foolish expectation that I should approve that horrible project, if it could be executed before I dreamt of it. Yesterday, having heard with what horror I condemned the conspirators, he fled, and I have not since heard of him."

"Respecting this affair, illustrious sir," observed Drost Peter, "I have to inform you, that Sir Tuko Abildgaard was last night apprehended in a suspicious disguise, but afterwards escaped by a daring artifice, and is not yet discovered."

The duke remained silent, and merely raised his hand to his eyes, as if unable to restrain an emotion that seemed to do honour to his heart.

"Noble duke!" exclaimed the queen, with warm interest, "what you have lost in that false friend you have gained in my esteem and confidence. That your drost was among the conspirators was well known to me; and there was a moment when even those who defended you most zealously were forced to admit that your intimate connection with this knight was unaccountable. My brothers are your friends. From them I have learnt your disinterested sympathy, as well for me, as for the crown and kingdom. They were witnesses of your horror upon first hearing of this audacious crime; and it will greatly rejoice them to learn, that the incomprehensible enigma of your relation with Sir Abildgaard has thus been solved."

The duke blushed slightly; but hastily availed himself of the advantageous impression he had made upon the queen. He advised that a Dane-court should be held at Nyborg in the spring, where he would himself be present, and, in conjunction with the queen, assume the guardianship of the young king. In the meantime he hoped to show himself worthy of that important office, by securing the country against the daring marsk and the rebels. He suggested that the queen should, for the present, remain with the young king at Viborg, where the strong garrison and the fidelity of the burghers rendered any hostile attack impossible. This had been the advice of Drost Peter and the chancellor, in which the Margraves of Brandenburg had also concurred.

The same day the duke left Viborg, apparently on the best terms with the royal house. A short time afterwards it was announced that he had raised an army in South Jutland, to oppose the marsk and his adherents.

But Drost Peter trusted him not; and old Sir John, who, quite recovered, soon arrived at Viborg, shook his head doubtfully at these tidings. They suspected that the duke merely pretended to arm himself against the marsk, in order to muster a respectable force, with which he could assert his claims at the Dane-court, and secure his election to the regency.

Whilst nearly all the conspirators, stricken with horror at their own deed, had sought refuge in Norway, Marsk Stig had buried his wife, and, with his two daughters, had left Möllerup, where he no longer considered himself secure. At great personal risk he had been present at the king's interment, and had marked how little favourable to him and his cause was the temper of the people.

Nevertheless, it was quickly rumoured that Rypen House and Flynderborg were in the hands of the rebels, and that the valiant marsk, with seven hundred men in iron, and his warlike engines from Möllerup, had taken a strong position on Helgeness and Hielm, from which points he appeared resolved to carry devastation through the country.

Helgeness is a peninsula, girded by immense heights. It stretches, like a promontory, from Molsherred towards Samsoe, between the bay of Vegtrup and that of Ebeltoft. The neck of land by which this peninsula is connected with North Jutland, is only two hundred paces in breadth. With the utmost haste, the marsk had caused this approach to be cut off by a deep trench, and a wall of large hewn stones, at which they laboured day and night; the old castle on Hielm Island being fortified at the same time.

This singular little island is only about an English mile in circumference. It lies in the Cattegat, about two miles east of Helgeness, and about a mile from the point that runs out from Ebeltoft parish. The old castle on the island is said to have been built in pagan times, by the famous King Jarmerik, who was there slain. The island and castle belonged, at the period of which we treat, to Chamberlain Rané Jonsen, as did also a tenement or farm-house on the point, which, for many ages after, was called Rané's barn-yard. The island possessed a good haven, where lay Jarl Mindre-Alf with his pirate-vessels. There was no want of fresh water; and Fru Ingeborg had, with much prudence, advised her husband to make this his place of refuge. Here he was in greater security than at Möllerup, had firm footing on the Danish coasts, and could receive supplies from Norway without impediment. The island was already, from its situation and heights, so well fortified by nature, and the old castle was so favourably situated, that it did not seem difficult to make the place impregnable. There were now added two lofty towers, with loopholes and strong battlements, and the castle was provided with deep double trenches.

The marsk had not awaited the permission of his kinsman, the crafty Chamberlain Rané, to occupy this important position, and probably he did not expect much complacency from him. The latter, indeed, appeared to have intended this secure asylum for himself, should all miscarry. Hence, on the marsk's arrival, he found a brave little garrison in the castle, who had strict orders from the chamberlain to defend it against every one to the last extremity. The marsk had therefore to take the place with the strong hand, and was so exasperated by the unexpected resistance he encountered, that he allowed the whole garrison to be slain. For this reason, it was afterwards sung, in the old ballad:--.

"Marsk Stig he captured Hielm so steep--

The truthful tale I tell:

Full many a cheek was blanched that day,

And many a hero fell."

Here the marsk erected his lithers and other formidable machines on the old rock-fast walk and visited Helgeness almost daily, to superintend the fortifications there. His seven hundred ironclad men were garrisoned in Hielm, and on the peninsula. Some of the peasants in the neighbourhood had voluntarily declared for him; but many he caused to be seized, and compelled them to bear stones and labour on the works. The towers on Hielm speedily arose, as if by miracle, terrifying the oppressed peasants all around, who were constrained not only to work on the walls of Helgeness, but also to supply provisions for the garrisons of both places.

These misfortunes were attributed by the depressed people to the bad government of the murdered king; and the feelings they then indulged are plainly indicated in the ballad which, a few months after the king's death, blended mournfully with the blithe spring song of the birds, and in which the new fortress was described as a monster who had risen from the sea, with horns like towers. Therein it was sadly sung:--

"The peasant he goes out o'er the field,

And there he sows his corn:

Help us, our Father in heaven high,

Now Hielm has got the horn!

"God pity us poor peasants gray,

That Glipping e'er did reign:

Alas, that he was ever born

To be the peasants' bane!"

This ballad the stern marsk himself heard a young peasant-girl singing, one fair morning in the beginning of May, while, mounted on his war-steed, he was surveying with pride the strong defences, to which a few peasants and prisoners of war were still engaged in dragging the last stones.

One of the strongest workmen on the walls was a stalwart old man, in a worn-out leathern harness, who, notwithstanding the presence of the marsk, had sat quietly down on an angle of the wall, his arms crossed, and regarded the proud general with a wild, disdainful look.

The peasant-girl, carrying bandages in her hand, advanced leisurely along a footpath, beyond the wall. Her song seemed to surprise the marsk. The old prisoner on the wall also listened attentively. The girl first sang aloud, at some distance:--

"They were full seven score men and seven

Upon the muir who met:

The king is slain--how rede we now?

And where now shall we get?

"The king is slain, and lies a corse--

The peace we've broken down;

Here we can neither bide nor bigg

In field or burrow-town.

"But we will on to Scanderborg,

And bid the queen good-day,

And ask the lady how she doth

Before we farther gae.

"She may forget how she would mock,

And all our words deride:

The fire is now in the mocker's house,

And she the stour maun bide."

Marsk Stig started. He heard his own words to the conspirators, at the council on the heath immediately after the king's murder, and something of what had passed between the queen and him at Scanderborg.

The peasant-girl drew nearer, and sang, with a loud voice, what had been preserved in the ballad of the words of the queen and the young king:--

"Welcome, Marsk Stig, thou self-made king!

Now shalt thou have thy due;

This night of blood, should King Erik live,

Full dearly shalt thou rue.

"Then up spake Erik Erikson,

Little though he mot be:

From Denmark thou'rt outlawed, as sure

As the crown belongs to me."

The marsk became irritated, and reined in his steed; whilst the prisoner on the wall laughed aloud.

"Pray be not angry, stern sir marsk," he muttered: "only hear the ballad out. There is not a word of falsehood in it."

The peasant-girl seemed to concern herself only with her bandages and her song, which went on to relate how the marsk went home to Lady Ingeborg, at Möllerup, and how she advised him to fortify Hielm. With deep grief, Stig Andersen heard some of the last words of his unhappy wife, as the girl continued her song:--

"For nine long winters have I pined--

In secret borne the blight;

My heart is now laid in the grave--

Good night, my lord, good night!"

The anger of the marsk changed to a deep melancholy. He sat on his horse motionless as a statue, listening to the two last verses of the ballad, which the girl sang with such an expression of sadness, that it pierced his heart, and he felt as if, in these tones of sorrow, the whole grief of the country had united to penetrate his bosom with reproaches, as with a sharp two-edged sword. The words were simple and touching:--

"The sturdy oaks in the greenwood stand,

When the storm comes down amain,

But the hazel and the birchen tree

Are rooted from the plain.

"What kings and courtiers do amiss

Upon the poor doth fall;

Then pity us wretched peasants, God!

Have mercy on us all!"

"My Aasé, my Aasé!" suddenly exclaimed the old prisoner on the wall, springing up and extending his arms towards the dark-eyed country-girl, who, with the delighted cry of "Grandfather, dear grandfather, have I at last found you?" dropped her bandages, and with outstretched hands ran towards him as eagerly as if she would have crossed the deep ditch and sealed the wall that separated them.

"What now, child?" exclaimed the marsk, riding up to her. "Wilt thou be the first to carry Marsk Stig's fortress by storm? Is this thy daughter, old graybeard?"

"My grandchild--my blessed little Aasé she is, stern sir marsk!" cried old Henner Friser, so deeply affected that, for a moment, he forgot his feeling of defiance. "She has sought for me the whole country round. Ah, if you have a human heart, sir marsk, deny me not the pleasure of clasping her again to my old bosom, and blessing her once more, before I drag myself to death on your accursed wall."

"Thou art an intractable and audacious carl," replied the marsk: "even when thou beggest a favour, thou defiest me, and cursest my work."

"I dare not curse your work, sir," replied Henner: "my hand is not purer than your's; but my help will bring you no blessing. Every stone I have rolled hither will most assuredly be scattered: therefore have I toiled like a beast of burthen, and have not every day laid my hands in my lap. And well may I call this wall accursed; it bears the ban in its own foundations. It will fall, as surely as it now stands, proud and bold, a devilish barrier between Danish hearts. It parts even fathers and children; for here I stand, a miserable, thrall-bound man, forbidden to embrace my own child."

"Strange old man!" exclaimed the marsk, with a vague feeling of dread--"thou art free. Descend! Bid the landsknechts unbind thee, and depart in peace with thy child!"

"Thanks, stern sir," cried little Aasé, seizing the marsk's mailed hand, and pressing it to her lips: "for this deed will the merciful God forgive you all the sorrow you have caused me. Come, come, grandfather! Thou art free--hearest thou not, thou art free!"

"Free I have always been," replied the old man, proudly, and without moving. "I have not raised a single stone more than I chose, and from this day forth I should never have raised another. It might have cost me my head; but that I have worn long enough, and I would never wish it to fall by an abler hand than Marsk Stig's."

"Thou singular old man!" exclaimed the marsk, thoughtfully, "thou shouldst never have fallen by my hand, however much thy insolence might have deserved it. Neither of us, I perceive, should condemn the other. Thou art a man who, hadst thou so willed it, might have stood by the side of Marsk Stig."

"I do stand by your side, Stig Andersen!" interrupted Henner, raising himself proudly erect on the lofty wall above him: "at this instant I stand as high, not merely on this wall, which separates you from your country, but on the mighty boundary between the land of the living and the dead. Many days of penance I have not remaining, unless, like the shoemaker of Jerusalem, I have to roam the earth like a spectre till the day of doom. What I have to say to you at parting, I shall say aloud, before the whole world. Would that my voice could reach every ear in Denmark!" And he cried, loudly: "Cursed--cursed is the hand that is lifted against kings and crowns, were it strong as St. Christopher's, and pure as that of the Holy Virgin. The murderer of a king shall never know peace: his race shall perish from the earth--his best deeds shall be as the flax, that is consumed in smoke and flame--"

"Silence!--thou art mad, old man!" cried the marsk, in anger, and with a threatening gesture.

But the old warrior remained immoveable, and gazed full in his flashing eyes. "We two are able to look angry men in the face," he continued, calmly: "but you are right--neither of us should condemn the other. I have not much to tell you, Stig Andersen. You slew the false ravisher, King Glipping. I, Henner Hjulmand Friser, slew the accursed fratricide, King Abel. We are thus equals. I can hold out my hand to you as a comrade--the one bloody hand cannot smear the other."

"Ha, old Henner! wert thou that bold Frisian?" cried the marsk, in astonishment. "Come hither! I shall dub thee a knight, even in thine old days."

"That shall you not, Stig Andersen," replied the old man. "In deeds I am your equal; and you shall now see that, without the stroke of knighthood, I stand as high as you. I have not repented my act, nor have you repented your's. But I did not persecute the dead in his innocent race--I did not undertake, with blood-besmeared hands, to distribute crowns, nor desire to become an idol among men. I would free, not lay waste, my country. I built no wall between hearts and hearts. Yet I perceive that there can be no blessing with us, and such as we. For this was I unable to seize you and your accomplices; but was led into this stronghold by the crafty demon that I myself had bound. And here have I atoned my temerity, by slaving for a greater regicide than myself. It is the reward I merited. I perceive this now, proud marsk, and am therefore a higher man than you. The time will come, Stig Andersen, when you shall see it in the same way. We then may meet again, and toil like trusty comrades on a greater rebel-defence than this."

He paused for a moment, and the wildness of his countenance gave place to melancholy. "Yet, nay," he continued, in a subdued tone, "there is still pardon for us both; but not thus--not thus--mighty marsk. I am on my way thereto: if you will with me, tear down your accursed defences, and follow me yonder, to where the sun rises!"

So saying, he descended from the wall on the inner side. His words had made a singular impression on the marsk.

"Humph! he is still half crazy, however," muttered the gloomy warrior, as he rode in silence to the gate by which the liberated prisoner was to issue.

Alarmed by her grandfather's words, Aasé, pale and trembling, followed the knight. As they reached the gate, Henner Friser, with a long staff in his hand, advanced towards it. He still wore a link of his heavy iron chain, which did not, however, obstruct his movements. The marsk's trusty attendant, Mat Jute, who superintended the fortifications, followed the haughty old man, to hear his liberation confirmed by the marsk himself, before he removed the link.

"Loose him--he is free!" ordered the marsk, and Mat Jute obeyed.

"One word farther only, Henner," said the warrior. "Whither wouldst thou I should follow thee?"

"Thither, where yonder tree once grew, and bore the eternal fruit of mercy," answered Henner, pointing to a large cross, which stood by the roadside.

The marsk laughed wildly. "Yes, truly, when I have reached my second childhood," he replied. "Depart in peace, old man. Thy deed was greater than thyself; and so it overcomes thee. Go get thyself a letter of pardon: turn saint if thou canst; and let us see who shall first reach the goal. When thou returnest, thou shalt be welcome to me, wherever I am. We can then discuss, to better purpose, which of us stood the highest, or performed the most."

The marsk spurred his horse and disappeared within the fortification. Henner Friser silently extended his hand to little Aasé, and they departed leisurely, without once looking behind.

They thus continued their way for some time, in painful silence. Aasé at length broke it.

"Dear, good grandfather," she said, tenderly, "why dost thou not speak to me? I have not seen thee for many a day--not since that dreadful St. Cecilia's night."

"What sayest thou, my child?" inquired the old man, as if awaking from a dream--"ay, let us hear: what became of thee on that fearful night?"

"Yes, fearful it was, truly! When thou and Skirmen had both left me, I fell asleep on the bench, and my dreams were frightful. When I awoke, I was in the cellar, beneath the floor, and I thought that I had seen the king, and warned him of the grayfriars. It was daybreak, and I ran to the forester's. There I heard of the king's murder, and that thou hadst followed the murderers. I waited for thee three days, in the greatest anxiety, which I could endure no longer. I then exchanged clothes with the forester's maid, took our little hoard, and resolved to travel the country over until I had found thee."

"My true, my dearest Aasé!" exclaimed the old man, patting her cheek: "thou hast had better fortune than I. And no wonder: the pure angels of God attend thee; but I--I had an imp of the Evil One for my guide. I, too, at length found those I sought; but my guide was craftier than I and my companions. That artful fox, Rané, befooled us long enough, and took us all round Jutland with him. But at last I became impatient, and threatened that my good sword should despatch him. He then swore with an oath that if the regicides were in the country, I should discover them at Helgeness. There, sure enough, I found their ringleader, was overpowered, and, as you witnessed, made a beast of burden. Ha! I merited the reward! How can Henner Hjulmand enter into judgment with regicides!"

"Dear, dear grandfather, now do I know what has so troubled thee when it stormed of a night. But, trow me, it was not the dead King Abel who rode through Finnerup Forest in the dark: it was the marsk and his man; for I knew them both again. And now be comforted, dear grandfather. Our Lord will no longer be angry with thee for that deed. The ungodly King Abel, like another Cain, had surely slain his brother, and did not deserve to live. But if thou hast not rest therefore, dear, good grandfather, let us make a pilgrimage to Rome, or to the holy sepulchre, as you intended, and there obtain pardon of all our sins."

"Yea, that will we, my child. Had I no greater burden to bear than thou hast, this path would be easy to me. Now, however, that thou knowest what oppresses me, I am already lighter of heart. I have never wished this deed undone, but still it has robbed me of my peace. If, however, it please God and St. Christian, my soul shall yet regain tranquillity ere I die. Whatever penance the holy father lays on me I shall perform, unless he require that I should repent. We shall succeed; and, if thou hast brought the gold-box with thee, we shall not suffer want on our journey. 'Tis time enough yet to fast."

"See, grandfather, here it is: I have not touched it. I bound up wounds by the way, and thus earned more dalers than I have spent." So saying, she handed the old man a little wooden box, and another containing copper money. "But, alas, dear grandfather," she continued, "is it true that the dreadful marsk is stirring up the whole land to rebellion against the young king?"

"Aye, child, and more's the pity: he is the ablest carl I have known; but Denmark has given birth to him to her own ruin. He has powerful friends, both at home and abroad. The country is full of traitors. There is something to be done here worth having a hand in, were I still young, and dared defer this penance. Flynderborg has been betrayed by Sir Lavé, and at Rypen House the marsk's banner of rebellion waves over the castle-gate."

"Ah, grandfather, there will be terrible times. The duke, with a large army, is before Rypen, but nobody believes that he intends honestly by our young king and country. Drost Peter is also expected there--and Skirmen will certainly be with him--when, it is said, the castle will be taken by storm."

Whilst they were thus conversing, they heard behind them the gallop of horses. They turned, and beheld two tall peasants, mounted on noble steeds, attended by a peasant-lad on a norback, and leading two saddled horses behind him.

"Drost Peter!--Skirmen!" cried old Henner and Aasé, in the same breath.

In an instant the peasant-lad had dismounted, and was in Aasé's arms. Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson, for the disguised peasants were no other, then stopped. They soon learned from old Henner what he knew of the marsk's strength at Helgeness and Hielm, which, in their disguise, they had already closely approached, and were therefore almost as well acquainted with the state of the defences as Henner himself.

"Follow us to Rypen, brave old man," said Drost Peter. "Until that royal burgh is ours, I shall not appear in the presence of the queen and our young king. Good counsel is precious here; and if you know more than your paternoster, now is the time to show it. You and Aasé may mount our spare horses."

Little Aasé was soon on horseback, and they proceeded at a brisk trot on the road to Rypen.

On the way Drost Peter learned from Henner that the crafty Rané was greatly embittered at seeing his ancestral castle on Hielm in the hands of the marsk; but that, dissembling his feelings, he had been despatched from Helgeness, no doubt with a message to Norway, or probably to bring reinforcements. How he had accomplished his errand, however, Henner knew not.

An important change had, in the meanwhile, taken place with Rané. Neither the marsk nor the Norse freebooter had received him as he had expected when he led Henner Friser and the royal huntsmen into their stronghold at Helgeness. The marsk had offered him no compensation for the island of Hielm and his ancestral fortress; and the jarl, instead of redeeming his promise to receive him as his son-in-law, had merely given him the stroke of knighthood, and told him to be contented with that honour for the present. Rané was too prudent to betray his indignation: he therefore appeared only zealous to serve the marsk, and to show the jarl that he was not deficient in daring courage. He had sailed from Helgeness in one of the freebooter's pirate-ships, giving them the assurance that he should soon prove he had not received the golden spurs unworthily. But instead of bearing to Kongshelle, as he had promised, where the Norwegian king, Erik the Priest-hater, and Duke Hakon, were residing, he steered direct for Tönsberg.

Rané, since he had received the stroke of knighthood, seemed to have acquired a spirit of daring which was strikingly manifested in his whole deportment and appearance. His squeaking voice had, in the course of the last half year, become transformed into a somewhat rough bass, not deficient in strength; his reddish downy beard had become darker and stronger; and the feminine expression of his countenance gave place to one of strong and wild passionateness. The feeling of the important influence he had acquired in these great state affairs, and the dangerous position he had placed himself in, from which he could extricate himself only by his own sagacity and abilities, gave a stamp of confidence to his air and manner which considerably mitigated the unpleasantness of his crafty smile.

At Tönsberg Castle dwelt the daughter of Jarl Mindre-Alf, Kirstine Alfsdatter,^[34] or Jomfru Buckleshoe, as she was called, from the large gold buckles she wore. She was about sixteen years of age, strong, plump, with dark brown hair, very lively blue eyes, and a pert, little, turned-up nose. She had been brought up in Tönsberg, like a future princess. Her mother died during her infancy, and her father she had seldom seen. She had been indulged in every humour; and, whilst the algrev was absent on his viking expeditions, his daughter lived free and happy in the castle, where she soon ruled not only the old warden, but the whole garrison.

Yet with all her wildness and self-will, she did not lack a certain polish of education. Snorro's nephew, the famous Icelandic skald and saga-writer, Sturlé Thordarson, had visited Tönsberg three years previously, and shortly before his death; and this old man of three score and ten, with his lively and characteristic narratives of King Hagen Hagensen's exploits, and his spirit-stirring poems respecting old Norwegian heroes, awakened in the heart of the young girl so strong a desire for a life of activity, that, ever since, she had formed no higher wish than to set out on a cruise like her father, or live to see some grand event take place. A few months before the period our narrative has reached, she had made the acquaintance of Jomfru Ingé, who had followed her fugitive father to Tönsberg, and at his wish had remained there, whilst he continued his journey to Kongshelle, where most of the conspirators had found protection with King Erik the Priest-hater and Duke Hakon.

Sir Lavé suffered much from witnessing the grief of his daughter, occasioned by his treachery to the royal house of Denmark. Her presence awoke a constant warfare and inquietude in his wavering soul. He could, indeed, read nothing but filial solicitude in his daughter's looks, since she had witnessed his repentance and his agony during their flight from Viborg, after the king's funeral; yet, notwithstanding this, he had embraced the first opportunity of separating from her.

At Tönsberg Castle Jomfru Ingé again breathed freely, and conquered the feelings of dejection which her father's presence had inspired. Still it was to her a painful thought, that she was living in the castle of a hostile pirate; for, while it belonged to a vassal like Jarl Mindre-Alf, it did not seem to her like the ancient royal castle erected by King Hagen Hagensen. The assurance that the rude pirate-chief was not expected home for a considerable time, could alone reconcile her; and her horror of the algrev did not extend to his daughter.

The bold Norwegian girl and the high-souled daughter of the Danish knight soon became intimate friends. Norwegian skald-songs and Danish kæmpeviser seemed, from their lips, lays of the same stock. Jomfru Buckleshoe rode out with her Danish friend to the fells, and proudly exhibited to her the glories of her native land; whilst the noble-hearted Ingé admired the land of rocks and Norwegian heroism with as much sincerity, as she sang with pathos and animation the quiet beauties of her own fatherland, and extolled her own faithful and constant countrymen, who, in these unhappy times, were defending against rebels the crown of Denmark and its youthful king.

Ingé's attachment to the royal house to which her father was opposed, strongly influenced the courageous daughter of the jarl. This spirit of independence recommended itself powerfully to the mind of the Norwegian damsel. She was provoked that her own father and the King of Norway should render assistance to the enemies of the youthful king, who, from Lady Ingé's account of his dangerous situation, stood before her as the personification of that peculiar form of adventure in which her imagination was most prone to feel an interest.

One day, as the two maidens were riding by the strand, they perceived a ship, under full sail, run into Tönsberg Fiord.

"See, see!" cried Kirstine, joyfully, "one of my father's galleys. And seest thou that haughty knight by the prow? Who can it be? Take heed, proud Ingé! 'tis one of thy countrymen, who can no longer bear thy absence!"

"'Tis one of thy father's ships, Kirstine," replied Ingé, "and therefore can bear no friend of mine or Denmark's. One only grieves my absence, and he it cannot be: he would not forsake his king and country in their need to visit me."

"Perhaps a wooer to me, then," cried Kirstine, laughing. "If he be a Danish knight, and please me, I may yet perhaps be in Denmark, defending your youthful king. Is it not tiresome," she continued, pettishly, tossing her head, "that we girls must always sit with our hands in our laps, and allow the men to act as they think proper, without ever being asked our opinion, as if it were a matter of course that we must have none at variance with their own? I should think, however, that we are quite as numerous as they, and have souls as whole and true in every respect. In what concerns myself, I have a will as resolute and free as any damsel in Denmark; and, as my father supports your rebels, I shall support thee and thy true countrymen. In the olden times, our Norwegian damsels were not so submissive as they now are: then, there were whole armies of skioldmöer,^[35] which the valiant Stærkodder himself had reason to acknowledge. Knowest thou the lay of the brave Hervor, who compelled her father to hand her the sword of Tirfing from his barrow?"

"She was a Danish skioldmö," replied Ingé, "but a wild and godless pagan. Heaven preserve every Christian soul from such mad temerity!"

"She was a damsel, nevertheless, who not only knew what she could do, but also dared to do it, in spite of any man," rejoined Kirstine. "Old Sturlé taught me the lay concerning her. Listen: this is the verse I like best." And, with a voice so clear that it re-echoed across the fiord, she sang:--

"I dare to touch And take in my hand The sharp-edged sword-- Would only I had it! Never, I trow, Shall the fire consume me, That playeth around The dead hero's eyes."

"Sing not that pagan song, dear Kirstine," cried Ingé, interrupting the enthusiastic songstress. "Hervor herself was terrified at her ungodly deed, and as she left her father's grave saw the air in flames around her. Such unnatural self-will never comes to good."

"Sturlé told me, however, that at last she got the hero she relied on," replied Kirstine. "Certainly, no luck attended the sword; but still she must have led a right pleasant skioldmö's life. It is her I intented to represent in the lady with the sword on the burning height, which you may see, wrought, in my father's riddersal. I should like to be a skioldmö: then should I away to Denmark, to defend your young king."

"Dear Kirstine," exclaimed Ingé, with much solicitude, seizing her hand, "thanks for thy concern for me and my unhappy fatherland; but let it not withdraw thee from fidelity and obedience to thy father. I praise God and the Holy Virgin that I can still obey my father, even when I appear most wayward. Let me entrust thee with an important secret, Kirstine. Thou knowest I am in fact a prisoner here; but I mean to escape, and thou must aid me."

"With all my heart," replied Kirstine, joyously; "but then I must accompany thee, for I am tired of this uniform life. Cannot two such damsels as we do something in the world? Wilt thou to Denmark, Ingé?"

"To Denmark or Sweden--I have kinsfolk in both."

"If I am to help thee, I must know everything. That letter brought thee by the foreign clerk the other day, was certainly from Drost Hessel?"

Lady Ingé blushed. "Nay," she answered, with a suppressed sigh; "but, since thou wilt know all, read it."

They halted. Kirstine seized the letter, and eagerly opened it. "Martinus de Dacia," she began to read. "Thou art befooling me, Ingé! This is certainly Latin."

"It is only a man's name," replied Ingé: "so our learned chancellor, Master Martin Maagenson, calls himself. He is a trusty friend of the royal house, and has written the letter for my dear old kinsman John. They wish me to proceed to Stockholm, to the young Princess Ingeborg, who is destined for our king's bride. She must have the daughter of a Danish knight for a companion, that she may learn from a native to know her future people. I am chosen for this, which they say is the only way in which I may be able to benefit my father, and serve my unhappy country. I have considered it closely, and no longer hesitate. My father has left me here, and I must not follow him. He is now safe at Kongshelle. I have his permission privately; but he dares not openly avow it: his dangerous position compels him to be silent. It must appear, therefore, that I escaped without his consent or knowledge. Your old warden has to-day been requested to detain me. Now, dear Kirstine, assist me to escape from hence: if I can only get safely from Tönsberg, my way is open. As well in Denmark as in Sweden, every castle-warden and governor is bound to accelerate my journey when I produce this letter." So saying, she took from the pocket of her mantle a roll of parchment, with three seals attached.

Kirstine opened her eyes in astonishment. "So, indeed--I understand thee now," she said: "thou hast powerful friends, I see. But we must be prudent. The warden will henceforth look after thee strictly, and will scarcely give thee liberty to ride out with me. But let us see who this strange knight is, who has arrived in my father's ship. If he returns to Denmark, he may be persuaded to take thee with him; and if it can be done, I shall accompany thee. It will be surprising if two fair damsels, like us, cannot get a knight to carry us off, and make him fancy it was against our wishes."

"Giddy girl! thy thoughts are engaged with adventures and daring freaks; but, for God and the Holy Virgin's sake, be prudent, and reveal not what I have confided to thee; for in its success lies my freedom and all my hopes of the future. Yet one thing more thou must hear," she added, with a deep sigh: "the powerful commandant at Kongshelle, Sir Thord--dost thou know him?"

"The wealthy Thord, with the long red nose--what of him?"

"He has demanded me in marriage, and my father dare not say him nay. A hasty flight alone can save me, for within eight days he will be here."

"And then his nose will be twice as long!" cried Kirstine. "Come along, dear Ingé!--thou shalt quickly away from hence, and I myself will carry thee off."

They now rode back towards the little town of Tönsberg, in the midst of which lay the castle, called Tönsberg House. The fiord, and the painted wooden houses of the town on both sides the hill, with the sun shining on its nine convents and the fourteen Kings' Chapels, as they are called, presented a scene at once beautiful and picturesque. It failed just then, however, to attract the notice of the two maidens, who had become thoughtful, as they dared no longer speak aloud among the crowds of seamen and busy merchants whom they encountered.

When they reached the castle, they found that the vessel they had seen entering the fiord had, in the meanwhile, arrived. The stately young knight whom it conveyed had landed, and presented himself with much pomp to the warden of Tönsberg House, with whom he had held a private conversation. Arrangements were made to entertain the stranger as a distinguished guest. The two young damsels entered the large day-room of the castle, where they sat down in silence to their embroidery, occasionally casting expectant glances towards a side-door, by which they knew the warden would introduce the Danish knight, who, they had already determined, should aid them in their important enterprise.

The door was at length opened, and the old warden entered, accompanied by Chamberlain Rané, whom he presented to the daughter of the jarl as a man whom her father had honoured with knighthood, and who had arrived at Tönsberg on an affair of importance.

Rané saluted the fair ones with much politeness. When Lady Ingé saw him, and heard his name, she became somewhat alarmed. His crafty smile and well-bred, insinuating manners, were highly repulsive to her, and she remembered to have heard him mentioned as the confidant of the murdered king, in many an affair that was neither to his own honour nor that of his former master. She had also heard of his suspicious conduct in reference to the king's murder; and, when she now beheld him as a messenger from Mindre-Alf, she might justly regard him as an open traitor. She could not conceal the contempt and loathing he inspired, which did not escape his observation while conversing with the lively Kirstine.

The warden having left them, Rané appeared desirous to draw Lady Ingé into the conversation, and endeavoured to conciliate her by some expressions of concern for Denmark, and the dangerous position of the young king. Who Lady Ingé was, and her attachment to the royal house, he well knew; and he had already observed, with some surprise, that the daughter of the Norwegian jarl shared her sympathies with much spirit. He immediately availed himself of this discovery to place himself in an advantageous light before both young ladies; while, to flatter them with his confidence, he entrusted to them, as a dangerous secret, that he was a faithful friend to the royal family of Denmark, and had ventured hither on far other grounds than those which were alleged as the object of his visit.

The young damsels were astonished. In order to strengthen his statement, and allay every suspicion, Rané then painted in glowing colours, yet with apparent modesty, his valorous defence of the unfortunate king in Finnerup barn. He related to them how, notwithstanding this, he had been suspected in the most shameful manner; and assured them that, to justify himself in the eyes of every loyal Dane, he would risk his life in the most dangerous undertaking on behalf of the young king.

"My fidelity to my former king and master," he added, "has already cost me my fair ancestral castle on Hielm. Marsk Stig has seized it by storm, and slain my faithful garrison. I have been constrained to use stratagem against force; but, with the aid I pretend to obtain here for the marsk, I mean to convince him and your brave father, noble Jomfru Kirstine, that I am not unworthy of the stroke of knighthood with which the jarl has honoured me, while even I venture to expose myself to his anger."

"You are as bold as you are frank, Sir Rané!" exclaimed Kirstine, with astonishment. "What assures you that Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, after this confession, will permit you to slip free from Tönsberg Castle? Suppose now, that I instantly order you to be cast into the tower--"

"Then I shall have greatly mistaken your lofty, noble mind, illustrious damsel," replied Rané; "although I should not consider it a very serious misfortune even were I compelled to be your prisoner. But this I know, that the friend of Jomfru Ingé Little can never hate or persecute any adherent of Denmark's royal house."

"That you should not altogether depend upon, sir knight," replied the jarl's daughter. "The Danish kings have not left behind them the fairest memorials at Tönsberg. Tales are still told here of Harald Bluetooth's cruelty; and there are ruins lying around us from the times of your valorous King Waldemar. If you imagine that the damsels of Norway are less patriotis than those of Denmark, you mistake us much."

For an instant Rané seemed alarmed; but he soon recovered himself on perceiving a roguish smile in the countenance of the bold jomfru, and the glance she directed to her Danish friend. He bent his knee before the jocular damsel. "My freedom, perhaps my life, is in your hands," he said; "yet I repent not my avowal. In the presence of Jarl Mindre-Alf's fair daughter, it were, indeed, impossible to make a more daring admission; but I could not look on you, and for a moment forget what I bear on my shield. With the fair ones of Norway the knights of Denmark never made war, and the misdeeds of our kings and princes should not be visited on their innocent subjects--"

"Enough, Sir Rané--rise! the warden is approaching," said Jomfru Kirstine, hastily.

He kissed her hand respectfully while she raised him; and the warden now entering, a conversation on indifferent topics was gaily resumed.

But Jomfru Ingé placed no confidence in the crafty Rané. In the evening, when alone with Kirstine, she warned her of him; for she had well observed that his respectful homage to her beauty, and his flattery of her free spirit and independence, had not been without effect. Lady Ingé at the same time was forced to acknowledge that Sir Rané was not deficient in courage, and possessed much sagacity and eloquence. She even admitted that her distrust of him might possibly be unfounded; but, in the eyes of Kirstine, he was a true and doughty knight.

Next day Rané eagerly sought an opportunity of conversing with Kirstine alone. He found it, and soon confided to her that the fame of her beauty had long made him her passionate admirer. He informed her that her father had formerly accorded him permission to solicit her hand in person, but that the jarl now sought to evade his promise; and, finally, that his present journey, and the hazard to which he thereby exposed his life, having been undertaken solely for the purpose of seeing her, there was now no enterprise so dangerous that he would not venture on it for her sake.

She listened to all his protestations without any apparent displeasure, but gave him no decided answer.

Four days elapsed, during which Rané continued his efforts to win Kirstine, and to inspire Jomfru Ingé with a more favourable opinion of him. Many secret councils had been held between the two damsels, and it was finally concluded that, before they confided in him, they should, at all events, put his fidelity to a stern proof.

Rané had spoken highly of the swiftness of his vessel, and of his powerful connections in Denmark. A hint, or an apparently accidental occurrence, was therefore all that was required for flight or an abduction. Kirstine planned the hazardous design, to which, from necessity and her dangerous situation, Jomfru Ingé was forced to accede.

On the fifth day after the arrival of Rané, Ingé was alarmed by the intelligence that her father, with Sir Thord, was expected from Kongshelle on the following day, and that festive preparations, as for a wedding, were going forward in the castle.

Rané's vessel lay ready to sail in Tönsberg Fiord, a few bow-shots from the strand. It was manned by a numerous crew, whom Rané had gained over with gold and promises. The crafty young knight had proposed a walk by the beach, where, a little before sunset, he proceeded, accompanied by Kirstine and Lady Ingé. The old warden attended them, although he was heartily tired of hearing of fells, and waterfalls, and all the other beauties of nature which strangers extol so highly. Rané conversed with the young ladies with much politeness: he greatly admired the beauty of the landscape. "But," he observed, "the view from the sea must be far more magnificent. When I arrived, the sky was not so clear as it now is."

"It appears to me, however," observed the warden, with a yawn, "that it was just as clear."

"It is possible," replied Rané; "but towards evening the coast assumes a more beautiful appearance. Here is a boat close by, with part of my crew: the ladies, perhaps, would like to row a little way on the fiord."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Kirstine, pulling Ingé along with her into the boat: "the weather is fine, and I can show thee that the sun does not set over a nobler land than Norway. Will you go with us, warden?"

Rané had placed himself beside the ladies. The warden was displeased; but, unwilling to oppose himself to the will of the proud young damsel, he entered the boat grumbling, and it rapidly glided from the beach. Whilst Rané dilated with animation on the beauties of the scenery, the boatmen, who had been previously instructed, rowed straight to the vessel, which lay with her sails half unfurled, and her crew ready to heave the anchor as soon as their master was on board.

The invitation of Rané to inspect the ship was accepted. The objections of the warden were silenced by the eloquent knight, who, the moment they stood on deck, gave a signal, and the vessel stood out under full sail. The terrified warden was conducted, as a prisoner, to the cabin; while Rané, throwing himself upon his knee before Kirstine, poured out a torrent of flattering apologies for carrying off her friend and her to Denmark; where, he said, he as certainly hoped to obtain her forgiveness, as he was now prepared by every deed of chivalry to deserve the hand of the fairest maiden in Norway.

Lady Ingé, as well as Kirstine, was half terrified at this sudden abduction, although it was their own plan which the crafty knight, without knowing it, was carrying into effect. They both remained silent and thoughtful; but Lady Ingé was too proud to carry dissimulation farther.

"Well, Sir Rané," she said, gravely, "I follow you willingly to Denmark, for I desire to leave Tönsberg." And with this avowal she retired to the other side of the vessel, leaving it to her companion to simulate anger at his daring conduct.

By this step Sir Rané had gained a great object. As long as the fate of the conspirators was uncertain, it was important that he should be able, in some satisfactory manner, to justify his connection with them. By this daring action he also hoped to increase his reputation as a bold knight in the estimation of Marsk Stig and the jarl; while in the daughter of the powerful algrev he possessed a hostage that would secure him from their enmity. Neither did it escape his observation, that, in the eyes of the brave daughter of the viking, he had established his character as an adventurous knight; and he now clearly perceived that she secretly favoured him as her suitor, notwithstanding the rage and scorn which she pretended to heap upon him. As long, too, as Lady Ingé remained in his power, he supposed that her kinsman, old Sir John, and Drost Hessel, would reflect before they took any steps against him.

On a beautiful evening in the middle of May, there was a torch-dance and great rejoicing in the streets of Rypen. Such festivities, where the burghers mingled in the gay crowd of knights, were not uncommon; but at a time so serious, and so soon after the murder of the king, these public rejoicings gave great scandal to the friends of the royal house among the burghers of the place; while the adherents of Marsk Stig heartily entered into them, as a proof of the security with which the rebel governor of the castle, Sir Tagé Muus, defied the royal party. In this way, the revolted chief showed, too, how well he understood, and how much he disregarded, the feigned threats with which Duke Waldemar had summoned him to surrender.

The duke, with his army, was encamped about half a mile south of Rypen. His forces consisted chiefly of South Jutlanders; although among them there were also a few Brandenburg and Saxon horsemen. On the evening to which we have alluded, the duke entertained, in his magnificent crimson tent, the two Margraves of Brandenburg, old Duke Johan of Saxony, and Count Gerhard of Holstein; the latter having reached the army the previous day, at the head of a chosen troop of Holstein horse. The brave count had scarcely awaited his recovery from the unfortunate blow which had cost him an eye, before he had armed himself for the defence of Queen Agnes and the young king. He had united his forces to those of the duke without suspicion; but was received at the camp with a coldness that surprised him. The queen's brothers had newly arrived from Viborg, to hasten some decisive attempt against Marsk Stig and his adherents. The aged Duke of Saxony, who had been the youthful friend of Duke Waldemar's father, the unfortunate Duke Erik, had often manifested a fatherly interest in the ambitious young Waldemar. He had arrived, uninvited, at the head of his brave troops, not solely to strengthen the duke, but for the purpose of preventing, by his presence, any thoughtless step which might be prompted by his ambitious aspirations, of which the old nobleman was not ignorant. He had been partly moved to this by his daughter, the pious Princess Sophia, of whom Duke Waldemar had, two years before, been an ardent suitor, without having received any decisive answer. At that time she was not quite fifteen, and had declared that in three years she would determine, should her wooer then renew his suit. She was well aware that she had made a strong impression on the young duke, whom she loved tenderly, but without passion, and she also entertained well-grounded doubts of his constancy. She therefore dreaded his ambitious plans, and felt more solicitous about his honour and the welfare of his soul than the loss of his heart, which she already looked upon as having escaped her, for she had not seen him for two years. She awaited, however, the expiration of the third year, when she intended to bid farewell to the world, and assume the veil.

The upright old Duke Johan had approved his daughter's views and determination. Without alluding to her, he had, like a true and fatherly friend, spoken seriously to the young duke relative to his present position and his duties to the Danish crown. His words were not without effect; but the idea that wholly engrossed the young nobleman was the proud consciousness that he possessed the power to decide the fate of the royal house of Denmark by casting his sword into either scale of the nicely balanced parties.

The presence of the margraves and the honest Count Gerhard, however, and their unanimous demand that something decisive should be attempted, caused him some embarrassment. A council of war was held in the duke's tent, at which, after those noblemen had each expressed his opinion boldly and frankly, the duke arose.

"Here, my lords, I am commander," he said, firmly; "and with every respect for your advice and sincere intentions, I must still follow my own convictions. Before the Dane-court has decided how Marsk Stig and his friends are to be treated, and until I myself have been formally recognised as protector, nothing decisive can be undertaken. Within twelve days the Dane-court will be held, and, consequently, my presence in Nyborg will be necessary. Until then no campaign can be commenced, far less completed. From what I have heard of Marsk Stig's preparations, a greater force than we possess will be necessary to subdue him. Besides, by the law of the land, he and his friends have still the right to defend themselves before the Dane-court, if they choose to risk it; and, as I have already said, no decisive step can be taken until it is legally determined in what quality I stand here, and with whom we have to contend."

"With your leave, illustrious duke," began Count Gerhard, "I think we know right well who we are, and what we have to do. That we two, at least, stand here as vassals of the Danish crown, requires no confirmation. That the commander of Rypen House, by placing the banner of Marsk Stig where that of the king should wave, has openly declared himself an enemy of the crown, is certain enough. Before we advance against Helgeness and Hielm, Rypen House must be ours. With what forces we have here the place can be stormed within twelve hours; and it seems to me shameful and indefensible that we should lie here idly, and tamely permit a royal castle to remain in the hands of rebels."

"If, with your own troopers, you choose to storm Rypen House, brave Count Gerhard," replied the duke, carelessly, "you are welcome; but it must be on your own responsibility; and you will further have to answer before the Dane-court for kindling a civil war before the conduct of these men has been legally condemned, and without knowing by what law and authority you yourself are acting."

"So, then, illustrious duke," exclaimed Count Gerhard, with suppressed indignation, "in God and St. George's name I shall act alone, and I doubt not that I shall be able to defend my conduct well." He then bowed, and retired.

Shortly afterwards he left the camp, at the head of fifty horsemen, and took the road to Rypen. By his side, attired as a squire, rode Daddy Longlegs, who, since the unfortunate foolery which had cost his master an eye, had laid aside the dignity and dress of a jester, but still followed his master, to whom he was indispensable.

As Count Gerhard approached the Nipsaa, which defended the town from the south, his anger gradually abated; prudence returned, and he perceived the absurdity of attempting, with his handful of men, to storm a well-fortified castle like Rypen House. Shame, however, deterred him from returning to the camp, and he rode leisurely forward. His troopers followed silently; but he perceived, by their thoughtful and serious looks, how certainly fatal they considered the enterprise on which their master and prince was conducting them.

"Let us make good speed, gracious sir," observed Longlegs, in a tone of grave raillery, "before they at Rypen House behold our terrible army and surrender themselves. It would be a sad misfortune should we miss this chance of immortality, and have no opportunity of using our storming-ladders and lithers--"

"I rely upon thee being a wizard, Longlegs, who can as easily knock out the eye of the enemy as thou didst mine, and so prevent him from seeing our strength," replied the count, entering at once, as usual, into the humour of his jester. "But who has informed thee that I mean to storm Rypen House? There are banquetings and rejoicings in Rypen, thou knowest; and what if I should intend to treat myself and all of you to a romp with the fair maids of Rypen?"

"Ah! that is another matter, sir. A right merry dance it will be; and, besides, we come not unbidden to the junkettings, for the letter brought you in the gloaming by the old pilgrim was doubtless an invitation to sport and joviality."

Count Gerhard nodded. "Didst thou know him, Longlegs?" he inquired.

"If I am not mistaken, it was our old host in Middelfert, Henner Friser. He is a daring carl, and, it is said, knows something more than his paternoster. He fled from Middelfert for a murder: so take care, sir, that he does not lead you into a snare."

"If thou hadst heard what he said, Longlegs, thou wouldst not fear that. Onwards."

Not far from the Southgate Bridge and Hostorg Port, on what is called the Marshland, Count Gerhard ordered his troopers to halt and dismount. Having set them the example, he remained for a moment in profound thought.

"Now, my men," he at length said, good-humouredly, "I shall conduct you to the feast to-night. You see the torches are flaring on the bridge. Well, there is mirth in Rypen, and only merry guests are expected. The grooms will remain with the horses, and you others, one by one, will follow me on foot, with your swords beneath your cloaks, for the sake of security. If you can get a torch in one hand, and a girl in the other, dance away. But the jig must pass through Southgate-street to Grayfriars-street, and then along Crutched-friars, to the large bleaching-green by the castle. There you must gather around me when you hear my hunting-horn. What further fun is to be had, must depend on luck and opportunity. You understand me, carls?"

A general shout of applause announced the acquiescence of the troopers in the adventurous project of their master. He immediately crossed the bridge, followed, singly and at a distance, by the others, who mingled with the crowds of merrymakers that filled the streets.

The mirth had reached its height. Torches blazed and songs were sung in every street leading to the castle. Gaily-dressed knights, and ladies in mantles of silk and scarlet, mingled in the dance. Count Gerhard strode along in his heavy riding-boots, without taking any active part in the festivities. When he had reached and was about to pass the gateway into the court-yard of the Crutched-friars, he received a nod of recognition from a brave, well-known face, concealed under a peasant's hood, while, with a hearty shake of the hand, he was drawn beneath the arch.

"Drost Hessel!--you here, and in this disguise!" he exclaimed, with astonishment.

"Have you come to join our dance, noble count?" inquired Drost Peter, hastily.

"The fiend take the dance! I am here to storm Rypen House, in spite of the duke and his fine prudential considerations.

"'Tis well! You are in the dance, then, whether you will or not. But whence comes it? Who is the leader?"

"He that comes first, I should think. But, by Beelzebub! you must well know that, Drost Hessel. Ask not me, for I know nothing: I have had only a private hint, which I am undecided whether I ought to act upon or not. Do you know old Henner Friser, from Melfert?"

"Him we can rely upon," replied Drost Peter, gladly; "and if the hint came from him, we may safely follow it. What force is with you?"

"Not a great one; but still, I can muster half a hundred with a blast of my horn."

"Good!" exclaimed the drost: "there is, then, some meaning in it, and I now begin to be in earnest; for, hitherto, the whole affair has appeared to me somewhat like a joke. I know not with whom the daring idea originated, and I came here with only two companions, merely to discover the temper of the people. On my way I met Henner Friser, and the mysterious old man predicted me success, and then disappeared. It seems he has good friends here. The disposition of the burghers is favourable; but the duke delays, and I have no faith in him. To storm the place without an army would never have occurred to me; but there must be amongst us a spirit more inventive and daring than we were aware of. An hour since a stranger invited me to be the second knight in the row of dancers, when the Danish maidens should begin the song;--'For Erik the king so young.' But what avails it without a storm?"

"I understand," exclaimed the count rubbing his hands with delight: "for the young king, then. True, I would rather sing, 'For Queen Agnes the fair;' but it is the same. Dance only, in God's name, across the castle-bridge. I dance behind, and follow you with my men. 'For our young king,' is the watchword; and he who hesitates to give it tongue, shall be cut down."

This conversation was interrupted by a party of boisterous young knights, with black plumes in their helmets, and torches in their hands, who danced into the court-yard of the convent, summoning the terrified monks to open the refectory for them, and bawling for wine and Saxon ale.

"Saw you the black-plumes? That is a band of Marsk Stig's adherents," observed Drost Peter, as he retired with Count Gerhard to an obscure corner of the gateway, unable to conceal his indignation at such audacious proceedings, which were not unusual during this unsettled period.

The clamour in the convent-yard subsided for an instant, while a reverend friar came forth, and reminded the disturbers that they were not in an enemy's country, and that it was the duty of the brave gentlemen at Rypen House to protect the town, and not to plunder it.

The priest was answered with mockery and threats; and one of the overbearing young knights, brandishing his torch, swore he would set fire to the convent, if their demands were longer resisted. The door of the refectory was then instantly opened, and the unwelcome guests were admitted.

Drost Peter boiled with indignation. "Behold, Count Gerhard!" he exclaimed, vehemently: "these are the men who would be masters in Denmark. Let us after them!"

"Nay, let them drink till they cannot see a hole through a storming-ladder," cried Count Gerhard, laughing--"the better will go our dance. When does it begin, and where?"

"Two hours after the ave, and on the bleach-green, near the castle."

"'Tis well. The time is near: therefore let us hence. There is some meaning in this dance, and an honest warrior can engage in it without being laughed at. Plague take it! if the queen were only here, she should see me dance better and more gaily than I did the last time."

They proceeded hastily to the bleach-green, where a great crowd was assembled. In the middle of the open space stood a table, covered with refreshments. Merry music filled the air, while many torches shed their light upon the scene, and numerous gaily dressed ladies occupied the benches around. Drost Peter and Count Gerhard observed with attention and surprise the glittering knights and dames about them, most of whom had their faces fantastically painted, and all sharing in the merriment with spirit and joyousness.

As Count Gerhard was making his remarks on this, Skirmen hastily approached, and whispered a few words to his master, who immediately, with joyful surprise, directed his eyes to a bench, on which sat three ladies veiled. In the nearest he thought he recognised the black-haired little Aasé. She who sat in the middle, Skirmen, with a roguish smile, had informed him was the lady who had invited him to the dance. Skirmen had again disappeared, and Drost Peter fixed his eyes on the tall stranger lady with a feeling of delight he could not express, although a painful anxiety mingled with it.

"Can it be possible? Can she be here, and engaged in this dangerous sport?" he exclaimed, half aloud, as he felt the ground spin round with him. He began to think he was in some wonderful dream. He again looked round for Skirmen, but without success, and was at last obliged to support himself on a bench near where he stood.

At that moment the three maidens arose, and began to sing:--

"On Rypen streets the dance goes light, With ladys gay and gentle knight. On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod: There dance the knights so gaily shod--

For Erik the king so young!"

When the burthen was heard, the flutes and horns chimed in, and a number of knights sprang forward with their ladies, and formed a long row of dancers.

Drost Peter distinguished Jomfru Ingé's clear and mellow voice, and in the middle singer he now plainly recognised her tall and noble form. He started up and clasped her in his arms. "Ingé, dearest Ingé!" he whispered, "what daring is this? Are you come hither to dance to the death with me? If so, then joyfully for Denmark and our young king! But unriddle to me this mystery."

"My knight follows me to the royal castle and to victory," whispered Ingé: "if our leader deceive us not, we shall succeed."

"Who, then, is our leader?" inquired the drost, eagerly. "If any one leads here, I should do so."

"The gates of the rebels' castle are not opened to Drost Hessel," she rejoined, hastily. "There stands our leader, but you must not know him. If he were free, I should trust him as little as you do; but here he is in our power, and must now dance himself to a bride--or die."

She pointed to a stately young knight, with long yellow hair, who stood near them, with a torch in his hand, and apparently hesitating whether he should place himself at the head of the dancers or not. He had hitherto stood with his back towards them; but as he now turned to one side, the light of his torch fell on his cheek, and Drost Peter exclaimed, in the highest astonishment--"Rané!"

"Be silent," whispered Ingé: "with a fox we must catch a fox to-night; but not like Hamlet. With May-garlands, and, as I hope, without the red rose, will we bind our enemies."

Meanwhile, the music continued, many singing to it a well-known ballad that suited the tune. Whilst Rané stood, as if yet undecided, the row of dancers was constantly increasing; and Jomfru Ingé, in a few words, acquainted Drost Peter with the whole daring plan. Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter and herself had persuaded Rané, who knew the governor, to bring about the present festival. The bitter feeling of the knight towards Marsk Stig, and his anxiety to show himself a friend to the royal house, had favoured the project of the young damsels. Through Skirmen and Aasé, old Henner Friser had been induced to engage in it. The proximity of Drost Peter had redoubled the courage of his betrothed, although she feared that his co-operation with Rané might defeat the whole scheme.

"And now, my dear sir knight," she added, playfully, "the numerous chivalrous gentlemen you perceive around you are our trusty Rypen burghers and their sons, who, at the request of their wives and sweethearts, will dance tonight to the songs of the maidens."

Having given this explanation, she then, with the other damsels, again renewed the song, whilst the knights proceeded to arrange themselves in conformity with the words of the ballad, wherein themselves and their ladies were indicated by feigned names, taken for the most part from old romances, but the application of which they all knew well. The only one who was named aright was the governor of Rypen House, who was at that moment sitting at a drinking-bout in the castle, but whose name, being sung aloud as if he were engaged in the dance, assured any of his adherents who might be present, and suspicious of the game.

Whilst those nearest the castle arranged themselves as directed by the song, the others at the extremity of the line formed a long chain, and danced around the green, to assure themselves that none were present in the dance but those engaged in the plot. Rané, meanwhile, still stood undecided by the bench on which Jomfru Kirstine was seated, when Jomfru Ingé and the others began to sing:--

"Riber Ulf first dances here-- A king is he without compeer."

"'Tis you, Sir Rané!" exclaimed the daughter of the Norwegian jarl--"'tis you: you are Riber Ulf to-night. Show me now that you are a king without compeer."

Rané, however, did not seem to hear her. The song continued:--

"Then dances Tagé Muns so free-- Captain of Rypen House is he."

Drost Peter had cast aside his hood, and donned a high feathered hat, which Skirmen had brought him, together with a scarlet mantle, which he threw over his peasant's dress.

"Now are you captain of Rypen House," whispered Jomfru Ingé. His dress, which was the same as the court-suit of the castellan, and which they had procured on purpose, caused the knight to be mistaken by many for Sir Tagé Muus himself; his portly bulk, derived from his peasant's clothes beneath, greatly favouring the deception. In this guise he danced forward in the ranks with Jomfru Ingé, who, with the maidens, continued to sing:--

"Then dancing comes Sir Saltensee, And so come on his kinsmen three.

"Then dance the noble Limbeks trim, And they were kings of sturdy limb.

"Then after dances Byrge Green, And many a gentle knight I ween.

"And now comes dancing Hanke Kann, And eke his wife, hight Lady Ann.

"Then dancing comes a noble pair-- Sir Rank, and Lady Berngerd fair.

"Then rich Sir Wolfram, with his dame, A lady fair, without a name."

At this verse Sir Bent Rimaardson, who had received the same invitation as Drost Peter, joined the dancers, with an unknown lady by his side.

At the last couplet--

"Then dancing came Sir Iver Helt: He followed the king across the Belt:"^[36]

to his great surprise, Drost Peter perceived the brave Sir Thorstenson advance, conducting a smart peasant-girl by the hand.

"What! Sir Thorstenson here, too!" he exclaimed, as he turned to Lady Ingé, who hastily informed him that the bold knight was there to accompany him to Nyborg, whither he had conducted the king and the whole court, and that he had immediately approved of and entered into her project.

Rané, however, had yet shown no disposition to take his part in the dance. They had twice danced round the open space, and each time that Lady Ingé had approached him, she had sung in a louder tone:--

"Riber Ulf first dances here, A king is he without compeer."

She was now drawing near a third time; but he still remained as if in deep thought.

"Are you afraid that your fair hair will get entangled, Sir Rané, that you so long delay leading me to the dance?" exclaimed the courageous Jomfru Kirstine, mockingly, and with a gesture of impatience.

"You are right, noble jomfru," answered Rané: "both head and hair may easily be entangled here. My hair is a little red, as you must have observed; but in this dance it might quickly become redder--"

"And your rosy cheeks might become all too white," interrupted she, derisively.

"You are right in that also, fair jomfru," replied Rané, smiling slyly. "You would have little service of the boldest bridegroom, when his cheeks were as pale as those of a corpse. It is natural that a man should hesitate before he springs into a death-dance, even with a damsel ever so rich and fair."

"If you hesitate a moment longer, Sir Rané," angrily exclaimed the bold jomfru, "I shall consider that I have been shamefully wronged and insulted by you; and then, instead of being the bridegroom of Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, you shall become the laughing-stock of every girl in Norway. Yet, nay," she added, in a milder tone--"you will never heap such shame and scorn on both yourself and me. Shall Ingé's words prove true, and shall her knight behold your weakness and hesitation? See how proudly he dances with her, the brave Drost Hessel!"

"Drost Hessel!" exclaimed Rané with surprise, as the blood forsook his cheeks.

"Drost Hessel, of course. Surely you are not afraid of the name. If you are as brave as you pretend to be, and my father has really given you the stroke of knighthood, convince us now that you are worthy of it, and show the proud drost that you are not allied to rebels and traitors. He is severe, it is said, and old Friser has sworn your death if you deceive us."

"Mistake me not, noble jomfru," said Rané, hastily. "I dread neither the drost nor the ferocious innkeeper--for fear of them I stir not a single step. But for your sake alone, fairest Kirstine, and my own knightly honour, shall I stake my head upon the game, and dance with you even to the castle-gate. When it is opened at my signal, I shall have kept my word; but will you then as truly and honestly do what you have promised, and accompany me from Rypen as my bride?"

"What I have promised I shall perform, like an honest Norwegian maiden," replied Jomfru Kirstine, gladly, as she quickly rose, and gave him her hand. "Dance but through the castle-gate with me, and you are the bold and noble hero I believed you, and worthy of the daughter of any jarl."

Rané seemed transformed as by some sudden inspiration; he sprang nimbly forward with his lady, and placed himself at the head of the dancers, who had now for the third time nearly made the circuit of the area.

Before Lady Ingé had again sung the first verse of the ballad, calling on Riber Ulf, Rané was dancing gaily along, with Jomfru Kirstine on his arm. Lightly tripping it, he sang aloud, while all the damsels and knights accompanied him:

"And on Rypen streets the dance goes light, With ladye gay and gentle knight--

For Erik the king so young."

"Right!" exclaimed the lively Norwegian lady, whom he whirled along, her silken ribbons fluttering in her plaited hair, as she danced the lightest and nimblest of them all. "Dance thus over the bridge, and I shall praise your courage; and dance thus through the gate, and I give you my plighted troth."

Rané waved his scarf when they reached the drawbridge, and it was instantly lowered.

"Ingé, dearest Ingé, it succeeds!" exclaimed Drost Peter, as he warmly pressed the arm of his partner.

The heavy boots of the knights thundered on the drawbridge, amidst the light tread of shoes, and all sang merrily:--

"On Rypen Bridge a measure is trod; There dance the knights so gaily shod--

For Erik the king so young!"

Rané now clapped his hands, and the castle-gates were opened. With song and shout and merriment, the whole of the dancers were soon within.

Count Gerhard, who still stood on the bleach-green, laughing heartily, then blew a merry strain on his horn; and in an instant he was surrounded by his fifty men, who followed him with great glee to the open gate. Here he posted one half of his force, and with the other followed quickly after the dancers.

A considerable portion of the castle garrison were dispersed throughout the town. The governor, Sir Tagé Muus, was sitting half intoxicated, with thirty other knights, in the large royal riddersal. He heard, without surprise, the singing and dancing in the castle-court and in the passage of the riddersal; for he had given permission to his good friend Rané and his young knights to conduct the fair daughters of the citizens to him, with dance and song. In a few seconds the doors flew open, and the whole company danced in, the knights holding their ladies by the left hand and carrying blazing torches in their right. The whole of them were linked together by a chain of green May-leaves, interspersed with rare roses. By a sudden movement the ladies formed a cluster, waving the torches, while the knights, in a compact circle, surrounded the table with drawn swords in their hands.

The governor and his thirty knights now first became aware of their betrayal, and started up in alarm to defend themselves. But in an instant, and without bloodshed, the castellan and his entire force were disarmed.

Beyond the circle of knights and their captives, the maidens now began to dance, and with loud jubilation sang:

"And thus we danced the castle in, With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--

The castle it is won!"

"For Erik the king so young!" exclaimed Drost Peter, stepping forward. He then, in the king's name, took possession of the castle, and sent the rebel governor and his adherents, bound, to the dungeon of the fort.