A cold breeze now met him. He stumbled, and fancied he had fallen into some frightful murder-den. His senses became bewildered, and he saw before him all the hideous forms he most dreaded. The pale Fru Ingeborg, with raised dagger, nodded at him with her lean, skeleton head; her blind, crazy father danced around him with wild laughter, groping at random for his prey; and the terrible Stig Andersen stood threatening him, whichever way he turned, with the same fearful look of revenge as when he denounced him at the Thing of Viborg. A cold perspiration stood on his forehead. The ground seemed to shake under him; and he reeled forward, without knowing where, till he stumbled over a stone, and tore his face among thorns. This recalled his senses, and he now found himself in the midst of a wild thicket in the forest.
The faint starlight shone dubiously, and he looked despairingly around him. There was no house to be seen, and the apparition of the girl occurred to him like a frightful dream.
He now recovered his voice. "Am I mad or bewitched?" he exclaimed.
"Rane, Rane! where art thou?"
He heard a rustling among the bushes, and Rane stood, terrified, before him.
"The rood protect us, sire!" stammered the astonished chamberlain: "how have you come hither? and whither has the house vanished? I fancied I heard you calling from the thicket, and sprang towards the sound: I then rushed wildly into the cursed elfin-moss, but could find no traces of the house."
"It is devilry and sorcery," said the king: "if thou, too, hadst not seen both the girl and the house, I could have sworn I had been dreaming, or was mad. Where are the horses?"
"Close by, sire. I hear them snorting and pawing."
"Away!" cried the king: "lead me from this infernal spot. I am mad or bewitched, and while I remain here I am less than a man."
"Shall I bring the horses, sire?"
"Nay, do not leave me! Lead me to them. Give me thy hand, Rane!" And he grasped the chamberlain"s hand convulsively. "Thou art still true to me? thou art not in league with my murderers, and wilt not basely betray thy king and master"s life?"
"How can you doubt me, sir king? I have been in the most deadly fear for you. You may be right, however, in your suspicions of sorcery: for this cannot be so in the usual nature of things--a house cannot thus, by human means, sink suddenly into the earth. But how did you fall among the thorns?"
"I know not, Rane. Where are the horses?"
"We shall reach them instantly, sire. Follow me, and fear not. We shall find a way out of this bewitched forest. Ho, pages! Hither with the horses."
Little Aage Jonsen and his comrade now approached with the animals.
"Has there happened any misfortune?" inquired Aage. "I fancied I heard the king shouting?"
"He had only got bewildered in the thicket," replied Rane. "Here is your horse, sir king. Allow me to a.s.sist you, and to lead you through the thorns, until we reach a road or pathway."
The king mounted his horse in silence, and allowed Rane to lead him through the bushes. They proceeded thus for some time, but could find neither road nor path. The pages were leading their horses in the rear, and one of them began to cry. "We shall never get out of the forest,"
he whimpered.
"Be quiet, Bent," replied Aage, "and do not let the king perceive that you are so silly."
"Is there no end to this?" exclaimed the king, impatiently. "Whither dost thou lead me, Rane? The farther we go the worse it seems. Where are we?"
"We must soon find an outlet, sire!" replied Rane: "I can already see an open s.p.a.ce; but where we are I am unable to say, were it to save my life. Yet, stay; now I can see a light. Here lies a whole village: it must be Finnerup. We cannot reach Harrestrup tonight, and you must be wearied, sir king: let us therefore rest at Finnerup, at least until the moon rises. There you may be tranquil, sire. They are brave people in Finnerup; and no evil shall befall you."
"In the name of G.o.d and all the saints!" exclaimed the king, anxiously, "let us only get under cover, and out of this infernal forest."
In a short time they reached an open field, and a pathway that led to the little country village. They all mounted. The king felt himself relieved when he again saw lights, and the sign of human beings. They were not far from the village, but it was getting late, and, one after another, the lights were extinguished.
"It must be bedtime with them," observed Rane, "and we may find some difficulty in obtaining shelter, unless we make ourselves known. But if you can bear with the scanty accommodation, we can at least find admission to the large barn of Finnerup. They are bound to give travellers shelter there; and that they are honest people, I need not tell you."
"This would be safest," said the king. "But should there be any dangerous travellers there, who might recognise us?"
"I will first enter, and look after the accommodation, sire. See, yonder stands the barn: it is open, and the lights are still burning.
Let us hasten, sire, before they also are extinguished."
They now set spurs to their horses, and rode at a brisk trot towards the straw-thatched building, which lay in a remote corner of the village, near a little mean hut, occupied by an alehouse keeper, and frequented only by peasants and the poorer sort of people. This ale-house was closed and dark; and at the open door of the barn they saw only a couple of stablemen, about to lead out some horses.
"Remain here, sire--I shall return again instantly," said Rane.
He rode up to the barn, looked carefully around him, spoke a few words with the stablemen, and returned immediately.
"There is not a soul in the barn," he said, hastily; "there is excellent clean straw to rest upon, and the people do not know us.
Follow me, your grace."
He rode forward, and the king followed him to the long, gloomy barn, which was dimly lighted up by a solitary horn-lantern, suspended by a rope from a centre beam. As the king pa.s.sed the stablemen, he threw on them a sharp scrutinising look; but they doffed their goat-skin caps carelessly, and did not appear to know him.
"Shut the barn-door, Rane, and fasten it well," he said, dismounting from his horse, which the pages took, together with Rane"s and their own, and led to the long mangers.
The king, who was much fatigued, then threw himself on a bundle of straw, but kept his look upon Rane, who, with much noise, was apparently fastening one of the lower bars of the door. There still remained a bolt to be shot in at the top; but this seemed too high for the chamberlain to reach. He therefore, laid down, close to the door, a bundle of straw, on which he stood, and secured the upper bolt firmly.
"There, now," he said, returning towards the king, and panting for breath, "I have fastened both bolt and bar. It was as much as I could do to manage the large bar. It is as thick as a beam, and the man who can break it is not born of woman."
""Tis well, my trusty Rane" said the king, kindly: "repose thyself now beside me. Thou hast suffered enough to-night on my account. When we remember what Marsk Stig said at Viborg, we should avoid such adventures," he continued, familiarly, though with inquietude. "We shall never again ride out in Jutland during the night. Humph! had I outlawed him at that time, perhaps I had done well; but old John considered it more prudent to deal mildly with him. This Marsk Stig is a violent man, and singularly true to his word. More than once, lately, have I imagined I saw him."
"He is now certainly at his table, drinking wine with his good friends, at Mollerup," replied Rane, who remained standing, respectfully; "and little dreams that the King of Denmark reposes to-night on straw, in a wretched barn. Marsk Braggart would be glad to be on terms with you,"
continued Rane, "although he fancies that it is he who defends the whole nation, since he got you to acknowledge the laws and edicts of the kingdom. But if you would have him alive, Mollerup is not impregnable. The foolhardy marsk should bear in mind what the ballad says."
"What says the ballad?" inquired the king, abstractedly and pensively.
"I have not, in sooth, much dependence on ballad wisdom, sir king,"
replied Rane; "but it is a true saying, nevertheless, if rightly understood:--
"The lapwing would fain guard everywhere, And about the field doth fly; But she guardeth not the little hill Whereon she might rely."
"Alas, yes, my trusty Rane," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the saying is as applicable to me. But did you fasten the door carefully? I thought I heard it shake in the wind."
"It does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the greatest force. I fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily: "there must be a thief in the candle. Shall I lower it and see?"
"You may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. Come, I shall trim it myself."
Whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses was heard outside the barn.
"There are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed Rane, taking the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?"
"Nay, for G.o.d"s sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "If they want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room."
They were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now quiet again.
"They have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.