The Childhood of King Erik Menved Part 39

"Enough of this!" interrupted the king, coldly. "I have come here to amuse myself, and not to sit in judgment every day. I am master of my own thoughts, and you shall know my determination at the proper time.

Let the huntsmen strike up."

Rane hastily gave a signal to the royal horn-blowers, who stood on a rising ground, at a little distance, and who immediately commenced a bold hunting-air, called King Waldemar Seier's Hunt, and to which the king was extremely partial.

A painful silence followed the king's ungracious remarks to Drost Peter. Rane smiled maliciously as he filled his master's goblet, and endeavoured, by some buffooneries, to restore mirthfulness; but the king left the wine untouched, and fell into deep thought. The rapid exercise and the consciousness of his skill in the chase, as well as his anger against Drost Peter, appeared to have banished from his countenance the undecided and contradictory shades of pa.s.sion which so often disfigured it; and for an instant there beamed from it an expression of true kingly dignity and greatness, while, with his hand on his ponderous sword, he regarded his three chief counsellors with the air of one who could free himself from them at any moment he chose.

The only one in which he reposed any kind of confidence was Rane; but him, in his better moments, he despised, as the wretched instrument of his vilest pleasures. The power which old Sir John exercised over him, with so much prudence and consideration, seemed to him just now a crafty invasion of the royal prerogative; and Drost Peter's bold superiority he regarded as an intolerable a.s.sumption. It appeared as if the quick, heart-stirring tones of Waldemar Seier's Hunt, which he had known from his childhood, recalled the daring dreams of his youth, with the memory of the time when, by his n.o.ble mother's side, he was saluted with the name of king, and felt the blood of the Waldemars in a bold and unsullied heart. But this proud expression quickly vanished as his whole misspent life of royalty pa.s.sed before him, and the painful conviction seized him that he now sat, alone and hated, in the midst of his kingdom, without a single friend. His melancholy and despondency seemed on the point of overwhelming him; but he struggled against the humiliating feeling, and a wild defiance and sternness flashed from his eyes.

Drost Peter sat silent and thoughtful: in his dejected but candid countenance it could be plainly seen how much the king's displeasure went to his heart. His entire future efficiency seemed destroyed by a single hasty and incautious word. He could not acquit himself of arrogance whilst vindicating his sense of justice, on that occasion, when, by a too daring expression, he had drawn his master's wrath upon his head; and it was to him a bitter feeling to have offended his king at the moment when, as a guest, he had entered his house. At this instant it was almost more bitter than the thought of having lost the king's favour. But the monarch's stern look now fell upon him, and its excessive harshness seemed to recall him to himself. The undauntedness with which he encountered it was, however, little calculated to appease the offended king; who, instead of penitence and humility, was met by strong self-confidence and calm courage, which no displeasure of his could humble.

Rane and old Sir John were attentive observers of this significant play of looks, which filled up the pause in the conversation caused by the music. The sagacious old statesman appeared calm and indifferent; though a tear, which he speedily dashed away, glistened in his eye, as he observed the remains of loftiness and dignity which had lit up the pa.s.sion-worn countenance of the king. He saw with concern that the fall of the trusty Drost Peter was determined on, and that his own influence was also endangered; but what most annoyed him was the ill-concealed triumph of the cunning chamberlain, and the busy zeal with which he prepared for the continuance of the chase. The old knight observed that Rane now made an unusual gesture; on which the king nodded to him, as if in accordance with some private understanding. His majesty seemed about to rise, but again relapsed into deep thought. The music still continued.

"Herregud!" exclaimed old Sir John, breaking the long silence, "they are playing Waldemar Seier's Hunt. It is a strange thought, sir king.

If your great ancestor, of blessed memory, had had Count Albert and the trusty Charles of Rise by his side, when this air was played at the unfortunate hunting on Ly Island, the black Count Henry had perhaps never got him into his clutches."[31]

"A stag! a stag!" shouted Chamberlain Rane, springing up.

The king hastily arose, as a herd of deer, with a stag at their head, rushed past. In an instant the huntsmen were on horseback, the horns sounded l.u.s.tily, and the dogs broke away.

"Away!" ordered the king, swinging himself into his saddle; and Drost Peter and Sir John started off by his side. The chamberlain rode in advance; and the chase now recommenced with redoubled ardour. They frequently lost and again found the track of the herd; and thus continued for several hours, without any pause.

"Sir king," said Drost Peter, at length, riding close up to him as he stopped an instant to observe the hounds and the track, "permit us a slight pause. Sir John's years make this violent exercise painful to him; and my wounds are bleeding through the bandages."

"Those who cannot follow, may stay behind," replied the king: "I have huntsmen enough with me, and require you not. Away, Rane!"

The hunt was pursued with enthusiasm, but neither Sir John nor Drost Peter remained behind. The day at length began to close, and Drost Peter again rode in between Rane and the king.

"If you would get back to Harrestrup before night, sir king," he said, with visible uneasiness, "we must now turn, and give the deer a respite for to-day."

"I shall do as it pleases me!" cried the king, irritated. He had just wounded the stag they were in pursuit of. "That stag shall be mine," he shouted, "should I pursue him till to-morrow."

They continued at a flying gallop over stump and stone, through brake and briar, with hounds yelling and horns winding. Drost Peter and Sir John still followed, and did not lose sight of the king for an instant; until, in taking a dangerous leap, Sir John's horse fell with him, and he received a violent blow on the side, which for an instant deprived him of consciousness.

Drost Peter sprang from his horse to his aid, and found, with consternation, that the old knight had broken a rib. "Hold! for G.o.d's sake, hold!" he shouted, with all his might.

The huntsmen stopped when they heard the drost's powerful voice, which they were accustomed to obey. They quickly came to a.s.sist, and a litter of boughs was soon made, on which to carry the old man, every one showing for him the greatest sympathy. But, in the meanwhile, the king and Chamberlain Rane, with two of the fleetest falconers, had gone out of sight.

As soon as Sir John regained his senses, and found himself on the litter, surrounded by Drost Peter and the anxious huntsmen, he inquired with concern and alarm respecting the king.

"He would not stop," answered Drost Peter; "but he must be back immediately. It is impossible to continue the hunt longer, for it is almost night."

"After him, Drost Peter!" cried the old man; "for Heaven's sake, after him! What think you of?" he whispered: "he is alone with Rane! Your people can care for me. Away!"

"Care well for him, Tyge--he is the king's most important counsellor,"

said Drost Peter to his castle-warden, as he sprang on his horse. "Bear him, with your huntsmen, carefully to Harrestrup. You others follow me.

G.o.d be with you, n.o.ble sir!"

In another instant Drost Peter, with the royal huntsmen, had disappeared in the forest; whilst warden Tyge and his men leisurely and gently bore Sir John back to Harrestrup.

In a little lonely forest-house, in the neighbourhood of Finnerup, stood, at about the same hour of the evening, Claus Skirmen, with his squire's cap in his hand. Before him were old Henner Friser and Aase.

The powerful, gigantic old man seemed to have prepared himself for the worst. He stood, leaning on a long javelin, in his Frisian war-suit of leathern mail, with his seal-skin cap drawn over his straggling gray hairs. The pretty little Aase appeared occupied with far more peaceful thoughts. She wore the same dark blue jacket, plaited kirtle, and light blue ap.r.o.n, in which Skirmen had first seen her, when he a.s.sisted in liberating her from Hegness. She held him familiarly by the hand, and bent on him tenderly her dark playful eyes, whilst he, half ashamed, seemed to expect some important reply from old Henner.

"Thanks for thy warning, brave youth," said the latter, shaking Skirmen heartily by the hand. "It is well thou camest so early, to a.s.sist us with our slender preparations for defence. Our persecutors may now come when they will: none shall see us longer than we ourselves list. If thy account be true--and I do not take thee for a braggart--thou art a smart youth--the affair of the robbers was no jesting matter. If thou goest on thus, and thy master, with a good conscience, can hereafter give thee the stroke of knighthood, I have no objection that my little Aase should love thee, and thou her. But when we meet again, we shall talk more of it."

Skirmen and Aase embraced each other with transport, and hugged the old man with the utmost joy.

"Good, good, my children. G.o.d and St. Christian bless ye!" continued old Henner, with emotion. "But this is not the time to prattle and think of love. Thou must off, Skirmen, and inform thy master of what we know."

"I have done so already," replied Skirmen: "what the Rypen burghers said in the tavern, he knows; but he does not think it has any great meaning."

"Tell him, then, from me," said the old man, "that it certainly means no less than folks say the three suns portend which we saw in the heavens on St. Remy's day. It was the day before the feast of All Saints, and the learned clerks speak much of a heathen G.o.ddess of revenge that used to be wors.h.i.+pped on that day. Our Lord knows the witch, and I am not skilled in the signs of the sun and moon; but this I know, that when disaffected knights creep about in monks' cowls, it is for no good or holy purpose. So beg thy master, first and foremost, to take care of himself and the king, as he pa.s.ses the barn of Finnerup. And now away! Give him a kiss, Aase, and let him run. Thy norback, Skirmen, is more zealous than thyself in the king's service.

Hearest thou not how impatiently he neighs?"

"Farewell, father Henner--farewell, dear Aase!" exclaimed Skirmen, hastily. "But be cautious, Aase! If thou pa.s.sest for an elf, be as cunning as one; and, for G.o.d's sake, disappear as soon as you observe any mischief."

"Take care, my young knight, that I am not an elf in reality!" cried Aase, playfully, as she embraced him. "Seest thou not my blue kirtle, and brown two-peaked hood? Ay, right! look in my eyes and not to my back, for I am as hollow there as a dough-trough.[32] Away, now--out with thee! save thy king and master, or thou deservest never to be a knight, and I will have nothing more to say to thee."

Skirmen embraced her hastily, and hurried out, accompanied by his sweetheart and the old man. Shortly afterwards he was riding through the wood at a gallop, and Henner Friser re-entered the cottage with his granddaughter. Neither of them spoke. He barred the door, cast his spear into a corner, and sat down musingly on his rush-cus.h.i.+oned seat.

Aase took her distaff, and sat down to work by the window, for the interior of the room was now quite dark.

"Light the lamp, Aase," said the old man, at length, breaking the silence, and rising with uneasiness. "It is still too early to go to rest in the hole inside, and thou knowest I cannot bear to sit in the dark."

"But were it not better to-night, dear grandfather?" replied Aase.

"If even I were to hang my ap.r.o.n before the window, the light would still s.h.i.+ne through; and, if we would keep concealed, were it not advisable--"

"I am not a carlin," exclaimed Henner. "I am not so much afraid of man, that I must sit in the dark, and be tormented by the devil. The living I fear not: would only that the restless dead would grant me peace!"

"Dost thou again think of the dead, dear grandfather?" said Aase, with a sigh, as she lighted the lamp and hung it on an iron hook attached to the low rafters; having first, however, taken care to hang her thin light blue ap.r.o.n before the horn-window that looked out on the wood.

"It is not the dead, but the living, that persecute us, dear grandfather," she continued, sitting down to her work opposite his chair. "It is only the storm tearing the dry boughs from the trees, and the wild birds hooting dismally in the woods, that sometimes make thee uncomfortable at night."

"It seems always to come from Gottorp," muttered the old man, who had resumed his seat: "'tis there he lies, with the stake through his heart--the accursed king, who caused his brother to be cast into the river Sley!--and he it is who hunts through the forest at midnight. I long regarded it as a delusion and a superst.i.tion, but now I must believe it, since I have myself seen it."

"The rood save us!" exclaimed Aase; "when didst thou see it?"

"On the night after St. Remy's day, when we saw the wonderful sight in the air--yesterday three weeks: it was Sunday, and we had been in church. You remember how it howled in the storm. You fell asleep in the corner there; but I could not close an eye because of the horrid din. I stood up at last, and looked through the window into the forest, and then I knew it was no delusion. I saw, in the moons.h.i.+ne, a coal-black figure riding at full speed through the woods, on a steed of raven blackness. The animal snorted and neighed as if possessed by the Evil One, and sparks flew from his hoofs. Behind him came one of an iron mould, who must have been the foul fiend himself. Three big hounds followed, glistening in the moonlight; but whether or not they were fiery, as people say, I cannot, however, be certain. I had enough of what I had seen; and no one shall now convince me that King Abel's wild hunt is mere nonsense and superst.i.tion."

"I certainly saw the same two riders last Monday evening," replied Aase; "but thou mayst believe me, grandfather, they were living men.

The forester's Mary also saw them, and she thought they must have been the dreadful Stig Andersen from Mollerup, and the st.u.r.dy Mat Jute, who always attends him. It was shortly before we heard of the grayfriar monks of Rypen, and the apparitions in Finnerup barn, which thou thyself believest to be conspirators lying in wait for the king."

"Thou mayst be right, child!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Henner, more composed, yet shaking his gray head dubiously: "I am an old fool to take such fancies in my head. But were it even the accursed King Abel himself," he continued, rising, "let him come when he will! I have not been afraid to look him in the face before now. I have yet my old steel-bow; and my good Frisian spear shall still keep every nidding at bay, be he dead or alive." He remained standing in the middle of the floor, his arms crossed, and in deep thought. "If it should really have been Stig Andersen?" he exclaimed, suddenly--"if he should be here, and be himself one of the apparitions at the barn, there is far more danger than I had supposed; and this is not the time to be creeping under cover from one's own shadow. It were better I rode over to the drost.

Skirmen is a nimble youth; but, now that thou hast put love-whimsies into his head, he cannot be so much depended on. He has been as awkward about everything to-day as if he had never before taken spade or axe in his hand."

"He is the son of a knight, grandfather, and has not been accustomed to such kind of work. But you shall see that he is smart enough when the safety of his king's life is concerned."

"Thou mayst talk of thy squire as thou wilt. If he be not a better squire than woodman, he will never in his life be a knight. Tell me, Aase, art thou afraid to be left alone to-night?"

"Afraid, grandfather?" she replied, quickly, colouring: "nay, not exactly that--if thou hadst not spoken of the vile dead king. But it does not matter," she continued, gaily, as she observed a shade of displeasure and uneasiness in the countenance of the old man: "I am not easily frightened, grandfather. I am an elf, thou knowest; and, when I do not wish to be seen, I have only to make myself invisible."