The Childhood of King Erik Menved Part 44

"Can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the traitors all beyond its walls? Are there none amongst us? And was it not a Dane who murdered Denmark's king?"

Overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king.

"The castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon another," replied Thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "The traitors are near us, but you have true men around you. Affront not every Dane by such dishonouring suspicions, ill.u.s.trious queen. In this b.l.o.o.d.y treason the true Danish people had no part. Your royal husband was not beloved; nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or perjurers. Marsk Stig Andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest Dane. We will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with security the crown of Denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and loyal people."

"We will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!"

"Where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more composure: "can we see them?" She went hastily to the balcony, and perceived the dark troop of hors.e.m.e.n approaching, with the disguised, hooded men at their head. "They are numerous," she continued; "but not sufficient to intimidate my protectors. They approach the castle apparently with peaceful intentions."

"Let them come close up to the walls, n.o.ble queen. They must not imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. They have neither archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. The moment they commence an attack, I send them a salute of a shower of arrows from the tower."

"'Tis well, Sir Thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with proud indignation. "They shall behold the Queen of Denmark--they shall behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not slumber, and that the sceptre of Denmark, even in the hand of a minor, has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!"

The princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. The young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just heard; but his brother, Junker Christopherson, was burning with wrath and indignation. The queen turned from the balcony and approached them.

"My sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! Bear this sorrow as beseems his sons and avengers! Those who caused his death, thirst after your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm you."

Junker Christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. But that which so frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little King Erik.

"My sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "I am now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the kingdom. It shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall of my father's G.o.dless murderer. Is the castle in a state of defence, Sir Thorstenson?"

The bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. He bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to lose sight of the movements of the hostile hors.e.m.e.n.

"Good, good!" said Erik, nodding.

A trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. Erik hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with his mother, stepped on to the balcony.

The troop of hors.e.m.e.n had halted at some distance from the palace, and the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council.

At length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood, accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise, rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. The sun had just arisen, and shone upon the n.o.ble form and fair, pale face of the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right.

This spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. At length he reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the prince through the grating of his visor.

"Queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy braggart who denounced King Erik at the Thing of Viborg. You imagined that the man was not in Denmark who dared put so bold a speech in practice. Behold, then, in me, the Dane who has kept his promise to the king. The fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable."

With these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty features of the warrior. But speedily recovering herself, she again stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by her side grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Come you yourself, Marsk Stig Andersen, self-made king!" said the queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? Know, then, it was p.r.o.nounced in that b.l.o.o.d.y midnight hour, and that here stands now your king and master, who will, if G.o.d spare him life, by a wave of his youthful hand, accomplish Heaven's judgment upon you."

"A self made king I am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice: "such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be Denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall determine. The time for that has not yet arrived; and I have not sped hither to contend with women and children. I came here to see what I now behold. You yourself best know who was a self-made king in Denmark.

My deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought you sorrow and heart-pangs, Queen Agnes. I bear you, instead, a welcome message."

As the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse in her dreams. She blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"For these words, Stig Andersen, I shall answer you, when we meet before G.o.d's judgment-seat! Here, you stand deeply under the Queen of Denmark's wrath."

"Let me speak, mother!" interrupted little Erik: "I am his judge and master. Thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my mother, and shalt surely die! From this hour thou art an outlaw, as certainly as I shall wear the crown of Denmark!"

Junker Christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "The rack and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and angrily, clenching his hand with excess of pa.s.sion.

The impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little king was effaced by his pa.s.sionate brother.

"The threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight.

"But know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant crown!--If I must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in the land more widows than thy mother--if Marsk Stig must lie, an outlaw, in wood and den, Denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and his followers! Away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear our hands! The kingdom and country can yet be saved!"

Sir Thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "Down with the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony.

At the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide from the loopholes of the castle-tower. The marsk turned his horse and laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. As if in derision of this fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone, discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails of the n.o.ble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him.

At the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers rushed towards him with bows drawn. The marsk hastily leaped on another horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower of hissing arrows and glowing b.a.l.l.s from the castle of the infant king.

Twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in relating the manner of his death.

At Kiel Castle, Count Gerhard received as guests the ill.u.s.trious Duke Waldemar and his drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. They had arrived, late in the evening, from a journey through Brandenburg, and were accompanied by both the brothers of Queen Agnes--the Margraves Otto and Conrad of Brandenburg.

In these brave n.o.blemen Duke Waldemar had, in the course of his journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and had invited them to accompany him to Sleswick. The margraves were the intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent Count Gerhard, and they had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable Kiel Castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence, without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he journeyed homewards.

The duke had not met Count Gerhard since the evening he had seen him in company with Sir John, at the Dane-court of Nyborg, shortly before his own imprisonment. The interest with which the count had afterwards laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king, had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to shine in presence of the ladies. That the brave, honest count, notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious duke had never been able to forgive him.

Count Gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in Denmark had not yet reached Kiel. His guests and himself were seated at the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs.

The Margrave Otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. He was a great admirer of the German minne-singers, and sang several of their lays in a fine deep ba.s.s voice. To satisfy the Danish gentlemen that his royal brother-in-law, King Erik Christopherson, was more esteemed in Germany than by his own people, he sang Reinmar von Zweter's well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the Schwabian dialect, thus commences:--

"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"

and which may be thus translated:--

"A king so well becrown'd, and true, And eke a crown beking'd well, too, Maintains that crown aright: Should thus the king his crown adorn, That crown adorns him in return, And each does each requite."

It was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been welcomed at Harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that his heart and courage were great and bold.

"Pokker i Vold! To the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged crown, my good friend!" said Count Gerhard, laughing, when Margrave Otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "Your good Master Reinmar is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, I could wish the song were Danish, and that the people might sing it from the bottom of their hearts. Yet I have no great relish for songs for the people that have to be brought to them from other lands."

"Now, now, my dear Count Gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a people's song, but a complimentary ode. How otherwise would you like to be sung?"

"Plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at all. Songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily, "must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. Nay, I prize more highly the art of my old Daddy Longlegs: he does more with his countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la.

You must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen."

At his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen.

This mightily amused Count Gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and manners he mimicked by turns. In this representation the guests immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic Master Martinus de Dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, pa.s.sionate Master Grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned theologian. The dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester could more especially imitate to the life.

The duke and Sir Abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition.

"Excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold Master Grand to perfection. But if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire holy Church."