On the evening of the second day Drost AagÉ had not as yet returned from his expedition, as the protector of Marsk Stig's captive daughters. He had conducted them without impediment to the king's castle at Vordingborg; but as he was about to ride into the arched gateway he was attacked from behind, and dangerously wounded, by an unknown hand. AagÉ was carried, in a state of insensibility, into the castle, while his huntsmen vainly pursued his stealthy foe, in whom they thought they recognised the same tall horseman in peasant attire, and mounted upon the little Zealand horse without a saddle, whom they had several times seen on the road, but who always vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and who they conjectured must have followed their track by secret paths from Esrom.

The commandant at Vordingborg had received the wounded knight, with great alarm; he instantly recognised in him the young Drost, and the favourite of the king. As soon as Drost AagÉ had recovered his consciousness, he informed the commandant of the rank and position of the two ladies, and also that they were to be considered as state prisoners, for whose security he would be responsible, although their stay here was to be rendered as agreeable as under such circumstances it was possible to make it. The commandant instantly ordered the gates to be barred, and sentinels to be stationed; but he threw open the interior of the castle without reserve to his guests, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the king of what had happened.

Meanwhile the assembled party at SjÖborg were in some degree tranquillised, when on the noon of the third day the king again made his appearance at table, where he sat, with a calm and almost cheerful countenance, between his brother Christopher and the papal legate. Their secret negociation seemed to have taken a friendly turn, and great reliance was placed in King Eric's manly sense and political wisdom. Report said that the Italian prelate seemed to bear our northern climate excellently well, and perhaps might not be disinclined to take up his abode here, if the king should come to an agreement with the papal see, and the archbishoprick of Lund became vacant by the deposition of Grand. It was conjectured that the formal annulment of the archbishop's authority, and of his own self-empowered sentence of excommunication, had been the subject of the king's conferences with the unfathomable Isarnus, and it was reasonably hoped that the cardinal would grant this important condition of the archbishop's release, ere the king fulfilled the demands of the pope. But some days elapsed without any apparent decision being taken. Meanwhile, no change took place in the condition of the captive archbishop, who remained in close confinement.

Although neither the king nor his loyal and devoted subjects recognised the validity of the sentence of excommunication pronounced on them by the archbishop, so long as it was not formally ratified by a papal decree, this awful procedure had nevertheless taken place, and with such publicity that it could not but be generally known. The rumour quickly spread throughout the land, and terrified the people. The threats against those who should not within ten days withdraw all help and companionship from the king had struck terror into many, and several of the domestics, and of the guard of halberdiers absconded from SjÖborg. The tales recounted of the ecclesiastical captive's skill in the Black Art now contributed still more to alarm his guard. At every unusual sound from the dungeon in the night the turnkeys stole from their posts, and the bravest men-at-arms dared scarcely remain without the prison door, where with trembling voices they often sang valiant battle songs to keep up their courage. The prisoner was guarded with still increasing anxiety. A very suspicious rumour rendered watchfulness still more necessary. Some fishermen from GilleleiÉ, who supplied the castle with fish, had related in the kitchen that a foreign bark was constantly sailing to and from the coast. The persons on board appeared to be fishermen, and were busied during the day with nets and fishing-tackle, but during the night they landed, and a tall knight in disguise, accompanied by some seamen of suspicious appearance, were seen to lurk in the neighbourhood of the castle. This report had not indeed reached the ears either of the king or the Marsk, but orders were issued that the guard should be doubled in the captive's tower, and that the steward should answer with his life for the archbishop's security. The lower classes now believed that the king would pass sentence of death upon him, and command him to be executed.

With the expression of fear and anger in his countenance, as well as of fatigue from a night's watch, the steward one morning descended the stairs of the tower prison with the keys in his hand. "All folk seem possessed here," he muttered. "I shall now have to watch myself to death over that confounded Satan."

"Did I not always say so, master? He will drive us all crazed at last," sounded a merry well-known voice in his ear, and Morten the cook stood before him in the twilight at the bottom of the tower stairs.

"Morten! thou crack-brained vagabond! is it thou?" called the steward; "where in all the world hast thou been? Folk said thou wert surely bewitched, and gone to the devil, and I began almost to think so myself. The whole pack of them here are losing their wits, and one after another runs off from me. Speak, man! where the devil hast thou been?"

"Ah! dear master," sighed Morten. "Thank St. Hubert that you are so pious and virtuous, and condemn not a weak worldly-minded fellow who hath been forced to do hard penance for his sins' sake. Ye have doubtless observed how I delight in dancing and singing. In former days I was not afraid of a little drink, either; but on St. Vitus's day it behoves us to be cautious. As a punishment for my ungodliness in a drunken bout, I was afflicted with St. Vitus's dance, and I thought I should have danced for a whole year, as hath chanced to many a poor sinner before. Perhaps you or other virtuous folk have prayed for me, for I got off for a few weeks' sickness; but in all that time I was not able to give any account of myself, and I have so danced the country round that I can hardly hang together."

"Indeed!" answered the jailor, looking at him suspiciously; "hast thou had that sickness? It is a rare one, though, and many will have it that it is nought but an idle superstition."

"Dear master! remember ye not then how it seized Claus Spillemans last year? He ceased not dancing till he dropped dead in SjÖborg streets."

"Well, that is true enough; he went mad, no doubt, on St. Vitus's day; but it was not upon that day thou did'st kick up such a riot, and did'st run off from the turnkeys. Be honest, Morten! hast thou not suffered thyself to be seduced by the bishop to run errands for him? Thou hast tramped the country sturdily round, that I see right well, and if thou now hast a fancy to be hanged for thy zeal in the service, thou comest in the very nick of time; both the king and the Marsk are here, and when the one passes a sentence, the other is at hand to execute it."

"Dear pious master! what do you take me for?" answered Morten, putting on a look of astonishment. "Had I run errands for such a traitor I must have been stark mad indeed to come back again now, and let myself be hung for it. No, trust me, master, I am not so brutishly stupid. To tell you the whole clean out, I was drunk beyond all bounds that evening; whether it was St. Vitus's day or not I do not quite exactly remember, but I have had neither sense nor recollection since. I must have doubtless scoured the country round like a madman. I have now come to my senses for the first time, and found the way to SjÖborg again. Here's been fine excommunicating work between the bishop and the king. If I can be of any use to you, say the word! I could break the archbishop's neck with the greatest pleasure in life if I could thereby save king and country. If you have any doubt of my honesty, I will only just fetch my traps, and take myself off with all reverence."

"No, stay; I will believe thee, because of thy honest face, Morten," said the steward, hastily, and casting a sharp look at him, while a new and daring thought seemed to flash across his hangman's soul. "I have never needed thee more than at this very time. My new cook hath also run off. I have only one turnkey left. I must myself be every thing and every where."

"That is more than can be required of any Christian soul, master. The Devil himself can hardly take that upon him."

"Drunk and mad thou must surely have been," muttered the keeper, still looking narrowly at him. "Hum! so long a drunken fit, though, have I never heard the like of. St. Vitus's dance? Truly that is an ailment akin to madness; no man can answer for what he does in that state. Hum! since thou art come to thy senses again, Morten, I will even take thee again into service. In the day thou may'st be needed in the kitchen, and in the night--well, we can talk of that afterwards. Old Mads the turnkey is good for nothing; he hath now got his nephews to help him, and I count not on them either; and those foolish men-at-arms are afraid of being excommunicated or bewitched."

"If I can help you with the night watch that shan't stand in my way," said Morten; "whatsoever I can do to plague and anger the bishop I do with hearty good will. I would only counsel you not to set me to watch in his chamber, for if St. Vitus's dance come over me I were in a case to dance to the devil with him. It is a kind of cramp, you must know, and I might easily squeeze the life out of whomsoever I get hold of."

"Well, well, Morten; there is no need for that. Thou art now perfectly well and reasonable," muttered the keeper, with a grisly smile. "I must have some one to help me, or I shall go mad myself. One misfortune follows another. The king is a violent man, and the junker has no great weight with him. It is an easy thing to get into trouble when one has a devil to watch, and stern masters to account to. Now comes that confounded report of the vessel at GilleleiÉ, which plys to and fro to help the bishop to flight."

Morten turned quite pale. "Our Lady preserve us!--say they so?" he exclaimed, hastily; "then, by my troth, master, there is need of watchfulness; yet it is just as dangerous to loose as to tie a mad dog."

"It will cost me my life if he escapes, Morten. I have the king's own most gracious word for it. I never let the prison keys out of my hand. The king's people are on guard, but I dare not trust them. I carry my life in my hands. I will now depend upon thee. Come!" So saying, the agitated steward took Morten by the arm, and led him across the yard towards the kitchen. It was a fine clear winter's morning. It had frozen so hard during the last few nights that a part of SjÖborg lake was covered with tolerably hard ice. As the steward and the cook crossed the castle yard they saw all the king's huntsmen, with horses and hunting equipments, waiting before the castle stairs, and the royal car drove up. "What is agog now?" asked the steward.

"We are off with the king to the chase at Tikjob," answered one of the hunters. "The great lord from Italy wants to go to Esrom. He will surely either ride, or be borne on our shoulders."

"When come ye back?" asked the steward.

"Faith, I know not," answered the huntsman. "To-morrow we shall have to go with the king to Esrom. There is a great council to be held there, they say."

"Then it surely concerns the life or death of him yonder," muttered the steward, pointing to the prison tower. Morten the cook became attentive, and stopped; but he soon hasted towards the kitchen door, where he stood, half concealed, as the door of the castle stairs opened, and the king and Prince Christopher came forth, and mounted their horses, together with the Marsk, the two Swedish lords, and a numerous company of knights. The king and his train halted, and when Cardinal Isarnus, with his famulus and his clerical train, also descended the stairs, the huntsmen and attendants bowed low whilst they took their seats in the royal car. The train, headed by the king and Count Henrik, then issued forth out of the castle gate, amid the joyous sound of the hunting horns. Morten continued standing by the kitchen door. He had gazed on the young chivalrous monarch with a mingled feeling of fear and admiring interest, and a secret struggle seemed passing in his mind, as his glance turned from the noble and kingly form which had just passed him, to the gloomy prison window from whence he thought he heard a distant and smothered sigh. The steward had already twice called to him without his hearing; he now called again, with a round oath. The cook hastily passed his hand over his face, and struck up, in a shrill voice, one of his merriest ballads, as, with jest and laughter, he joined the domestics in the kitchen. During the rest of the day a monastic stillness reigned in SjÖborg castle. When the evening closed in the steward appeared unusually friendly and confidential, and treated his cook to a flagon of good wine from the king's travelling store. Before he sat down at the drinking table he had convinced himself with his own eyes that his dangerous state prisoner was under close keeping, and that the old turnkey and his comrade, as well as the guard without the prison-door, were at their posts. When he had fortified himself with some cups of wine, he began to unburden his heart to the cook. "I am an unfortunate man," he sighed forth. "I have not closed my eyes to sleep these three nights. Each time I shut an eye it seems to me the bishop hath fled, and I am dangling from the gallows. It hath not fared much better with the king himself," he continued; "if he now condemns him to death, despite pope and clergy, he and the whole kingdom fall into trouble. If he lets him slip hence alive, matters are just as bad. I once dreamed the bishop had hung himself in his chains. Oh! would it had pleased the Lord it had been so indeed!"

"A pious wish," answered Morten. "I would willingly lend a helping hand towards the fulfilment of that dream; of course, master, I mean in all pious secrecy; and I blame you not for this. In your case it would be almost a necessary act of self-defence, and, at the same time, a good deed for king and country. Is it not so?"

"Art thou mad, Morten! it might cost me my neck," muttered the steward; "for ought I care he may hang himself, in the Lord's name, whenever he pleases, if I only know nothing of it. If any good friend would lend him a helping hand, it might indeed, as thou say'st, save king and country, and deserve a rich and royal recompence; but I may thank my Lord and Maker if I can save my own life. Had I but a faithful fellow who durst watch in the chamber with him to-night I should sleep in quiet. Hast thou not courage enough for that, Morten?"

"Oh yes; why should I not, if I get well paid for it? If he gives me any trouble, it were an easy matter to make away with him, without any one seeing or knowing aught about it."

"Art thou serious, Morten? Hast thou really courage to----"

"To make an end of him, master?"

"Hush! No; I say not that. St. Gertrude preserve me from tempting any one to do that deed, even though it might be a benefit to state and country, and might make a poor fellow happy for life. No; that was not my meaning. Darest thou let me shut thee up with him to-night?"

"Yes, on one condition, master."

"What is it?"

"That you will not be wroth and complain of me if perchance you were not to find us to-morrow morning in the same trim as to-night."

"Pshaw, Morten; it matters not to me in what trim I find you. I will pay ten silver pieces for every night you watch beside him, and a hundred for the LAST."

"But even were that pious lord, through his witchcraft, to get loose after a fashion, I should surely get the blame of having let him slip."

"Ha, ha! thou art a merry wag, Morten," muttered the steward, with a horrible laugh. "The liberty thou canst give him, when I have locked the door after thee, shall not disturb my night's rest. Of course," he continued, with an uneasy and inquiring look, "thou must first let me search thy garments, to see that thou has not a file or any other tool with thee; that is a precaution I have ever used when I let any one watch with him in the chamber."

"That is but reasonable. You are a conscientious man." So saying, Morten pulled off his jerkin, and turned his pockets inside out. "But now I think of it, master, it won't do after all. If St. Vitus's dance should come over me."

"Pshaw! thou art quite well and hearty."

"But I am too hot-headed, master; and the bishop is wrath with me from former times. I have now and then plagued him a little, as you know, and should he take it into his head to insult me, or get hold of me, and I were forced to defend myself, it might cause a little stir, and set the guard and the whole castle agog."

"That needs not be. Thou art a bold fellow, Morten. Come! The guard shall not stand too near the door, and disturb thine and the bishop's rest, and shouldst thou get into a dispute with him about the state of souls after death, or such like learned matters, lay folks shall not be the wiser for that. Drink a cup of wine to a good night, and then let's away. I want rest, and so doth the bishop. It is late." Morten nodded, and drank.

With a horrible smile on his coarse hypocritical countenance, Jesper Mogensen snatched up a lantern, and descended the staircase leading to the prison door, accompanied by the cook. He paused once or twice with uneasiness and suspicion, and held up the light towards Morten, who followed him with a cheerful countenance.

"Thou look'st as well pleased as if I were leading thee to a jolly night revel," he muttered; "go on before. I cannot endure that rustling behind me."

Morten obeyed, and assumed a thoughtful look.

"Let not the guard smell a rat," he whispered, and pointed to a cord which was twisted round his waist. The keeper nodded, and seemed reassured. He ordered the guard to move further from the door, which he then half opened, and peeped in, holding the lantern before him. As soon as he had seen the captive lying quietly with his hands fettered, he pushed Morten into the chamber.

"A good and quiet night," he said, with a grim smile, clapping to and locking the door behind him; he also carefully barred it without, and then descended the stairs. The nearest sentinel observed that he often looked timorously behind him, as if his own footsteps sounded suspiciously in his ear. "The stupid devil!" he muttered. "What he doth he shall himself answer for; it is no concern of mine."

When Morten entered the murky prison, he stood in silence, until the sound of the locking and bolting of the door had ceased, and until the hollow tread of the steward's iron-shod boots died away on the stairs; he then approached the captive's couch, and was about to speak, but he now heard singing and loud voices in the upper chamber. It was old Mads the turnkey making merry with his nephews and the young fellows from the village who were to keep watch with him. Morten listened in silence. He perceived from their inarticulate voices and drowsy songs, that the mead and Saxon ale he had secretly brought them had been greatly to their taste. Through a little hole in the ceiling above there fell a ray of light from their lamp upon the archbishop's couch, and lit up his long pale visage. He lay with closed eyes without stirring, apparently in a sound sleep. Morten seated himself upon the damp stone floor, and interrupted not his repose until the noise of the carouse had entirely ceased, and he heard in the stillness of the night how they were snoring overhead. "Sleep you, venerable sir?" he whispered, as he rose up from the floor.

"No, thou faithful servant of the Lord!" answered the archbishop, in a weak voice, and raised his head. "I and the Lord's vengeance do but seem to sleep, until it is time to wake and act."

"Now is the time to show clean heels," continued Morten. "Is all ready here?"

"Long since. Thou hast tarried long; yet even that was an ordering of the Lord. I was destined even in my chains to become a chastising rod in the Lord's hand; but I was well nigh believing thou had'st failed me, or wert betrayed."

"You thought, then, I was either a fox or a sheep, reverend sir. Have you the rope ladder?"

"Here--but be cautious, Morten. Tie it to the thickest bar in the grate; that is secure. Take the others out; they are filed through--but make no noise! I can rid myself of the fetters. Thy file was blunt, but the Lord sharpened it in my hand. His angel hath struck mine enemies both deaf and blind."

"But now comes the knotty point, pious sir," whispered Morten, as he lingered, with an ambiguous smile. "Now all depends upon whether the Lord's angel will help you still farther. Up to the window he hath indeed taught you to creep, but we have to descend thirty-six feet from thence to the tower wall, and then we still have that confounded castle wall besides. Over the moat and lake the Lord hath indeed laid a bridge. See you this cord? Were I now to strangle you with it I might perhaps make my fortune; but I am too pious a fellow for that. I will but fasten it to the slip knot, that we may be able to draw the ladder after us. I will go down first to aid you. Look now. I will answer for the ladder, if you can but keep your hold, till I can reach you from below. But----"

"With the Lord Almighty's help"--whispered Grand, in an anxious tone, and looking at the jolly cook, with a half suspicious glance--"assist me first up to the window, I am weary and weak. Now, what art thou thinking of, Morten? Haste, or we are betrayed."

"A little scruple has just entered my head, venerable sir," whispered Morten. "I am a good Christian, and I know well enough both you and the pope have my soul and the souls of all Christians in your pockets. You have saved my life, do you see, and therefore have I promised to free you, whatever it may cost; but I am also a Danish man, and you cannot ask that, for your sake, I should betray state and kingdom, or plunge our young brave king into misfortune. Had I seen him sooner, and known he was so noble a lord, I might perhaps have thought better on what I promised you. I know you have excommunicated him, and given him over to the Devil, but by my soul he is too good for that, and if I am now to set you free you must promise me, by our Lady and St. Martin, that you will recall the ban, and do no harm to him or any other man in the country."

"Dost thou rave, Morten?" exclaimed the archbishop, greatly surprised and enraged; "would'st thou ape the tyrant, and prescribe conditions to me? If thou doest not that thou promised me, I will excommunicate thee also, and thou shalt be eternally damned."

"In that case, reverend sir," whispered Morten, hastily creeping out of the window to the rope ladder, with the loose end of the cord in his hand, with which he could slip the looped knot that fastened the ladder,--"In that case I will bid you good night, and take the ladder with me to hell."

"Morten! good Morten! betray me not," whispered the archbishop, in a beseeching tone, climbing with haste up to the window. "I will not deal harder by the king or any one here than I am compelled for the Lord's and the church's and my conscience sake."

"Then will you loose him from the ban as soon as you are free and in safety yourself?" asked Morten, still keeping his stand on the ladder.

"Yes, surely; yes, surely; only be silent, and help me."

"Then I will believe you for the present," whispered Morten, and crept down the ladder. Its last step was still ten feet from the ground, but the dexterous cook clung fast to it with his hands, and jumped down without any great difficulty. The archbishop had now also got out of the window, and with much effort held fast by one step, while he groped with his foot for the other. But on lifting his foot from the last step, to his great dismay he discovered that the ladder was much too short, and that in all probability his life would be endangered should he come to the ground without assistance.

"Help me, help me, Morten!" he entreated in a low tone. "In the name of the all-merciful Creator, help me!"

"Yes, if you swear to keep your word, on pain of excommunicating yourself to burning hell, venerable sir," answered Morten, extending his arms to catch him in case he fell.

"Yes, assuredly, by all the saints and devils!" stammered the alarmed captive; "only catch me; I must let go my hold!"

"Let go then! in the Holy Virgin's name!" whispered Morten; "if you are a pious man of your word you shall assuredly not dash your foot against a stone."

The archbishop now relinquished his hold of the last step of the ladder, and let himself drop, but though instantly caught in the cook's powerful arms, he was unable to repress a smothered burst of pain and sorrow, as his swelled feet struck hard against the stone pavement, and when Morten withdrew his support, he fell speechless and breathless to the ground.

"You have surely not sworn falsely in your heart, venerable sir," whispered Morten, anxiously. "This is no time, either, for swooning. If we delay a moment longer the guard may come, and lead you back from whence you came." As he said this, he drew down the ladder, and rolled it up with care. The archbishop yet lay as if lifeless on the ground. Without any longer demur, Morten put both arms round his waist, and carried him in this manner across the back yard of the prison to the high castle wall which encircled the tower and was surrounded by a moat. It was possible to mount the inside wall in case of need, and by dint of great exertion Morten carried the almost senseless prelate up to the top of the wall. There he secured the rope ladder, while the bishop recovered his consciousness, and gained strength to pursue his flight. Without delaying and alarming the fugitive by further stipulations, he assisted him to descend this wall also, and then drew the ladder after him. They passed the frozen moat of the castle; but that part of the lake which they had to cross was as smooth as glass, and the archbishop often fell and bruised himself. With Morten's help he at last got over the ice, but now threw himself despairingly on the frozen ground. "I cannot go a step farther," he exclaimed. "If I am to reach the shore thou must get me a horse."

"Will you give me absolution then, venerable sir, if I can steal you a horse out of the stable here?"

"It is a holy loan, which will bring thee a blessing," replied Grand.

"Good! But if you understand aught of the Black Art, pious sir, forget not your Latin now, but say a charm over the dogs, so that they bark not, and over the grooms in the stable, so that they wake not."

"I will pray to the Almighty to be with us. Haste thee!"

Morten crept towards the neighbouring stable. He went across a dunghill to the stable door, upon which a large cross was marked in chalk by way of safeguard. The usually watchful mastiffs did not bark. It seemed to Morten as if the cross on the stable door gleamed in the moonlight. The door of the groom's chamber he had to pass stood ajar. He peeped in, and saw three men in a deep sleep. In the stalls close by stood two small horses. He untied their halters, and led them out. The stone pavement of the stable and without the back door was covered with horse-litter, and he succeeded in leading the horses out without the slightest noise. He led them slowly towards the sea shore, and often looked behind him, but no one pursued--no dog barked, and the whole seemed to him to be almost miraculous. He found the archbishop where he had left him, in an attitude of prayer. With unwonted solemnity, and with a respect which, however, seemed mingled with a kind of dread, Morten, without saying a word, assisted the prelate to mount one of the horses; he himself vaulted upon the other, and they rode in silence at a rapid trot down to the shore. There a tall grave knight and the two Lolland deserters awaited them with a boat which they had stolen from the fishing village. The knight and both the wild Lollanders bent the knee reverently before the archbishop as he extended his fingers to give them his blessing. With Morten's aid he dismounted, and stepped into the boat. Morten turned the strange horses loose, and seated himself on a rowing bench. With a few powerful strokes of the oar they reached a vessel with a black flag and pennant, which was waiting for them at some distance from the shore. They entered the ship, and let the boat float away. The day had not dawned when the vessel with the black flag sailed with a fair breeze through the Sound, bearing off without impediment the dangerous man, who, even in his chains, had dared to excommunicate Denmark's sovereign.