This was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master.

"It is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his treasury at Eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps of gold and jewels there, it is said."

"How long you think about it, Elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou who hast been in a fortress. When thou wert at Flynderborg, thou wert afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy jomfru."

"I did not say that," replied Elsie: "the brave Jomfru Inge showed more courage than I, when the algrev and Niels Breakpeace paid us a visit.

But you shall see, for all that, that I am not afraid to look at a funeral. A dead man can't bite my nose off. If it be an outlaw of mark, there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. Come along with me, girls--I will go first."

Her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did not seem at all to relish the adventure.

"Very well," exclaimed Elsie, "I shall have all the treasure to myself.

See it, I will, at any rate."

So saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches, exactly as described by the brewer's maid. As the procession moved slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk to the churchyard. She trembled as she plainly perceived the tall, m.u.f.fled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound.

Elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the procession had disappeared in the church. She now ventured to look around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then boldly advanced a little farther. With a beating heart she stood by the door of the choir, and peeped in. All was still and deserted, although lights were burning on the altar. Gliding noiselessly inside the church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature was visible. The trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was reflected upon the arches of the roof. She stood a moment, hesitating whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the trap-door, where, through a c.h.i.n.k between the hinges, she was enabled to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she scarcely dared to breathe. Twelve armed men, with torches in their hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. A solemn silence prevailed. The priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the clergyman of the parish. The lid of the coffin was then raised, and she perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a knight.

"Now, priest, lay G.o.d's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before his death, although he loudly prayed for it. But now he shall take it with him, even were he banned by the holy George and all the archangels to boot."

"I do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as I have already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it."

"Perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. The lid of the coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church.

"Amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be deeply affected.

The procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl, springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in the church-door. She had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-pa.s.sage--not until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from her lurking-place.

The church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still burning on the altar. The trap-door of the vault remained open, and she perceived that there was still a light below. She again stole forth, and peeped through the crevice. A lantern stood on the coffin, but all the warriors were gone. She took heart, and ventured a step or two within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with silver and jewels. Under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems.

"This would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she whispered to herself. "What wants the riever with it in the grave?"

The lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays, when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. But the rustling of armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror, and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave, cried--"Accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" She was now entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards insensible, into the vault.

"Rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and all the young men of Stubberup, who meanwhile had a.s.sembled to dance at the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in his hand.

"Go thou first, Christen Fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father; and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with a dozen."

While they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared.

The terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their paternosters; none doubting but that it was the Evil One himself whom they had seen. At length, recovering their courage, they ventured within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with horror the little Elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin, over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. They bore the maiden to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated, caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that night.

What the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but, three days after, Elsie was committed with all silence to the grave; and for many a day the story was told on Hindsholm, that she had been murdered by her old sweetheart, Mat Jute, because she would have plundered his master's grave.

The priest of Stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one after, wards dared to open it. Some time after, it was rumoured that Marsk Stig had been secretly buried in Rorvig Kirk, in Zealand, where, probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. In a short time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain, lest, as a man who died under the ban of the Church, his remains should be persecuted and maltreated. Some even propagated the report that the marsk did not die at Hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; by which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his memory.

But the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their wedding-night.[43]

The vehement Thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom during Drost Peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence that Drost Peter would not have sanctioned. This was in a great measure attributable to Junker Christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their accomplices were concerned.

The death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. Rane Jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon known that Hielm Castle had been stormed and demolished by Thorstenson.

One evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near Helgeness, begging for shelter.

These were the orphan daughters of Marsk Stig, who, in their flight from Denmark, found refuge and protection among the compa.s.sionate peasantry.

About this time the commandant of Sjoborg, the honest old Poul Hvit, was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being opened, gave admission to a troop of royal hors.e.m.e.n and two bound prisoners. Poul Hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners.

One of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together with a rope of coa.r.s.e hair. As the commandant held the lantern to the prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty Jens Grand, who remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded position.

His companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous Provost Jacob of Lund. They had both been seized in Lund, in the king's name, by Junker Christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country in this humiliating manner.

The captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant, undersigned by Drost Thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest durance.

"Herregud! we are all sinful men!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the castellan, as he obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before they were fettered.

Jarl Mindre-Alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in Haraldsborg. He had been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to the commandant of Roskild, new and important information respecting the outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete investigation.

On a dark night in November, a vessel, bearing the Danish flag and pennant, ran into Roskild Fiord. On the forecastle stood one whose long brown hair was partially concealed by a s.h.a.ggy cap, whilst a pitched wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. A huge dog lay growling at his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes.

"The attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the knight: "should I be recognised, it will cost me my life."

"But 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a Norse accent, a youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever be, my crafty Rane. Yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free, and to-day thou refusest. It would cost thee but a word to the castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where thou hast so often landed for plunder. Nay, nay--this time, at least, thou _shalt_ keep thy word."

It was Jarl Mindre-Alf's daughter, the brave Kirstine, who thus spoke, while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but affection. In conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she had compelled Rane personally to undertake in earnest what he had convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which no one except himself could accomplish. Rane had given the viking's daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered, with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she had dreamt of, when she followed him from Norway, and danced with him over the castle-bridge of Rypen. The chivalrous wooer soon became the rude and imperious spouse; and Kirstine's affection changed to contempt and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident partic.i.p.ator in the king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw.

The only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped asunder. A ballad was already composed and sung in Norway on the unloving pair. It subsequently became popular in Denmark; and it has thus been recorded that the faithlessness of Rane to his former king, and the sympathy which Kirstine felt for the royal house, was frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. Their quarrel now took this complexion, while steering into Roskild Fiord.

"Beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered Rane: "he can see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake."

"Pity it was," replied Kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his chamberlain."

Rane was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to throw her overboard. "I betrayed not the king!" he cried. "Were they even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes."

The ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master, growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady.

"Have a care, Rane!" exclaimed Kirstine, holding fast by the cordage.

"Twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again happen. A single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee overboard. Had I known what kind of a knight thou wert, a.s.suredly I should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide."

Rane ground his teeth with rage, and again a.s.sumed a threatening att.i.tude.

"Beware!" whispered Kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage.

"Think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of Finnerup! Dost hear the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? They know my sir husband, and apprehend mischief."

Rane, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the Norse boatmen singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:--

"'The wood has ears, the field has een, And we are outlaws, little Kirstine!'

"'Oh, had you but King Erik spared, We need not from the land have fared.'