The Childhood of King Erik Menved Part 42

Both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes, but there was a profound silence.

"What day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse I have never lived."

"This is St. Cecilia's night, sir king," replied little Aage, who perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "Ah, gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy Cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night."

"Pray!--pray thou, child! I cannot," replied the king. "Ma.s.s-bell and church-hymn, I never followed: the holy Cecilia aids not me."

The little Aage folded his hands and prayed. Rane still held the lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king, who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt.

"That is well, Rane: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered.

"How many studs are there in my belt?"

Rane held the light closer. "I count twelve," he replied: "but why desire you to know that?"

"That was a singular woman in the forest, Rane. She could see up into heaven and down among the d.a.m.ned. She bade me count the studs upon my belt, if I would know the number of my traitors. Twelve only you reckoned? I fancied I had counted fourteen. Thirteen there are, at least."

"Who would be guided by the number of b.u.t.tons, sire?" replied Rane.

"When a man cannot make up his mind, I have heard that he should count his b.u.t.tons; but that is suited only to children, sire."

"Thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, Rane? Reckon again, and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. Is it not so?--there are thirteen?"

"Well, possibly," replied Rane, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is not a lucky number, sir king."

"Thou art right. Thirteen was the number when the false Judas betrayed his heavenly Lord and King. But, why becomest thou so pale, Rane?"

"I have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied Rane, looking towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if I am a little palefaced. But listen! What is that?"

l.u.s.ty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and poles.

"Arise, King Erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice outside.

"I am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "That was the terrible Stig Anderson's voice." He had drawn his sword; but stood irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre.

The chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "King Erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "Conceal yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "Lay yourself down: I will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." He extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now stood in total darkness.

"Rane, Rane! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the wretched king.

"Hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! I shall defend you to the last drop of my blood."

"So shall I too!" cried little Aage Jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "Alas! had I but a sword!"

The little Bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without continued.

"Be still--be still, youth! Resistance is useless here," whispered the king to Aage. "Do not betray me with your whining, Bent," he added; "but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner."

They hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded them.

The noise outside was still increasing. The a.s.sailants hammered l.u.s.tily against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of straw. Twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. They looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not finding what they were in search of.

"Where is he? He hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful voice from the midst of them. They searched fruitlessly every spot, except where Rane stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw.

"Save my life, my trusty Rane!" whispered the king from beneath the straw, "and I give thee my own sister in marriage."

"My king and master is not here, but I guard his jewels and treasures,"

cried Rane, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and I shall cleave the skull of the first who approaches." And he swung his puny sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a clump of wood lying on the barn-floor.

"You defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered Aage: "give me your sword, if you will not use it better."

"Away, boy!" shouted Rane, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of the page, but without touching him.

Among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by the side of a powerful and gigantic form. These two pressed on at the head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of the other, until they reached the spot to which Rane had pointed. They both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king.

"Here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. At the same instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light of the torch.

"Aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of straw.

A scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter, issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving murderer. In their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch.

Rane continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any one. At last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of him who carried it. "Help, help! They are murdering my king and master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed furiously from the barn.

A fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene.

The gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. The fearful monk-like forms stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the murdered Erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes of death.

"He is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their leader, breaking the fearful silence. "Away! To horse!"

In an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have torn it asunder with his nails.

The two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the mangers.

"Monster!" now cried the little Aage; and rushing towards him, he plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the madman's heart.

"Good, good--now I can die! Blessed be the angel from heaven who has redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the murdered king.

One half of the barn was already in flames. The four horses in the stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door; and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. The flames burst through the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of persons hurrying to the scene.

"Help me to save the king's corpse, Bent," said Aage to his weeping comrade. And with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated.

"G.o.d be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed Aage, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. Make haste!"

They were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse.

A great number of people had now a.s.sembled; but they gave little heed to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. The crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping youths in front of the burning pile. The feelings awakened in the minds of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed.

The consternation and the confusion were great. They screamed and shouted from one to the other.

"Pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"Take care of the king's body!"

cried others.--"Send word to Harrestrup!"--"Bring the drost! bring Sir John!"--"Send word to Scanderborg! there are still the queen and the young king!"

Such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered, but no one stirred to give them effect. Women and children thronged towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. Many commanded, but none obeyed.