On the north-eastern coast of Zealand, about two miles from GilleleiÉ, is situate the village of SjÖberg, where the spade and the ploughshare occasionally strike against the foundations of ancient buildings, and traces yet remain of the paved streets of towns, the names of which are no longer known, and over which the corn now grows or the cattle graze. Towards the close of the thirteenth century there was still standing a small town, built on the ruins of the ancient SjÖberg. On a hill, surrounded by the water-reeds of the now nearly dried-up lake, fragments of walls of hewn free-stone lie buried in the earth, and mark the site of the strong and well fortified castle, which in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries served as a place of confinement for state prisoners of importance. The spot on which the castle stood was then entirely surrounded by the lake, which thus formed a natural fastness, rendering artificial moats superfluous. The castle was surrounded by ramparts. It was built of massive free-stone, and had a strong square tower, in which the most dangerous state prisoners were confined. The air was close and bad in the subterranean dungeon of the tower, where no ray of light could enter; but the upper dungeon, at the height of thirty-six feet from the ground, admitted light and air through a small round grated window. In this upper prison, towards the close of the year 1295, was still confined one of the chief accomplices in Marsk^[1] Stig's conspiracy^[2], the turbulent and imperious Archbishop Iens Grand. He had been imprisoned here during the minority of Eric Menved, as an accomplice in the murder of Eric Glipping, and as the protector of the outlawed regicides.

This dangerous prelate had many adherents in the country, and possessed powerful friends among the potentates of Europe, as well as at the papal see. According to the famous constitution of Veile (cum ecclesiÆ DacianÆ), which had been the cause of such dangerous disputes between the kings and clergy of Denmark, the nation was immediately laid under an interdict prohibiting the performance of divine worship throughout the kingdom, on the seizure and imprisonment of a bishop by the king or any temporal authority. This, however, was not carried into effect on the seizure and imprisonment of Archbishop Grand. Not only love of their country and dread of the ungodliness, profligacy, and confusion, the certain consequences of a national punishment of this nature, had prompted the greater part of the Danish clergy to appeal to the pope against the enforcement of this penalty, but also their fears of temporal power and the people's wrath. The closing of the churches might have been followed by perilous consequences to the clergy themselves, at a time when the agitation caused by a regicide had not yet subsided, and the excited passions of the populace often broke out in scenes of blood and violence. This important question remained undecided at the court of Rome. Divine worship meanwhile was continued as usual, but fears were reasonably entertained, that, should the archbishop not speedily be set at liberty, the interdict would be confirmed by the pope, and the nation consequently plunged into a state of the greatest misery.

King Eric Menved had attained his majority, having completed his twenty-first year. The circumstances under which he had passed his childhood had conduced to the early formation of manly character, and to the development of his intellectual qualities. The outrage committed on the royal person, to which he had been witness in his childhood, had early awakened the consciousness of authority within his breast, and imparted something of passionate earnestness to his zeal in the administration of justice. He was deeply imbued with the chivalrous spirit of the age. The care with which he upheld the dignity of the crown was deemed by many a necessary policy in so perilous a time, but this anxiety for the maintenance of royal splendour, joined to his natural gaiety of disposition, had inspired the young monarch with a love of pomp and outward show, which was often censured as ostentatious vanity. The earnest solemnity with which he assumed the regal sceptre indicated a manly and resolute temper, early disciplined to firmness in the school of adversity; and the boldness with which he issued his first royal mandates bespoke a master spirit, conscious of kindred affinity with Waldemar the Victorious, the model as well as the ancestor of the young king,^[3] Eric's first exercise of royal power was a bold attempt to assert the authority of his crown against the mightiest of earthly potentates, who from St. Peter's chair swayed kings as well as people in all Christian lands. This the young monarch dared to do, even at a time when his personal happiness was in a great measure dependent on the favour of the papal see. He had despatched his oldest and most experienced councillor of state, Ion Little, as well as Drost Hessel^[4], to Rome, to justify as an act of lawful self-defence the proceedings against the archbishop, contrary to ecclesiastical law, and to demand his condemnation as a traitor to the crown. But besides this important mission, the aged councillor was entrusted with another, which at any other time would not have been attended with difficulty, although at the present juncture its favourable issue seemed doubtful, in proportion to its being of moment to the king. Little had been commissioned to obtain from the pope, and forward to Denmark with all possible dispatch, the long promised dispensation, empowering Eric to wed the beautiful princess Ingeborg of Sweden, to whom he had been betrothed in infancy, and had long loved as the companion of his childhood, and whom he now adored with all the devotedness and fervour of first and youthful love.

While the Danish embassy was detained at the papal court by all the artifices of tedious investigation and diplomatic ambiguity, the papal nuncio, Cardinal Isarnus, had been dispatched to Denmark, for the purpose of threatening the young Danish sovereign with excommunication in case he should refuse to release the archbishop unconditionally from imprisonment. The wily cardinal brought with him no letter from the pope touching the dispensation and permission for the royal marriage; but expressed himself on the subject in so dubious and enigmatical a manner, that it was evident the court of Rome designed to work upon the inexperienced monarch's feelings in a matter so nearly concerning his personal happiness, in order the more effectually to secure his submission to papal authority and his clemency towards the ecclesiastical offender at SjÖberg.

This mode of proceeding, however, was so far from producing, its intended effect on the young and impetuous King Eric, that it appeared to rouse him to such a pertinacious defiance of papal authority, as might be followed by dangerous consequences both to himself and the kingdom. The affair still remained undecided--the cardinal had quitted Denmark with fearful menaces, and was now at Lubec.

The haughty Archbishop Grand, who was alone the cause of this suspense and impending danger, was detained meanwhile in close captivity. During the first thirty-six weeks of his imprisonment he was confined in chains in the dark, deep, subterranean dungeon of the tower, and was left to suffer great misery and want, although most persons acquitted the young king (then in his minority) of having been accessary to this severity of treatment. The archbishop's fellow-prisoner, the traitorous and malevolent provost Jacob, had been released from prison on the plea of illness, but had immediately availed himself of this act of clemency to hasten to Rome, where he zealously laboured to stir up hostile feelings towards the king, and neglected no means of forwarding the liberation of the archbishop and their mutual revenge.

The preceding Christmas the king had visited SjÖberg, and had himself offered to give the archbishop his freedom, on the condition of his vacating the archiepiscopal chair, of his quitting the kingdom, and swearing to renounce all revenge, and give up all connection with the enemies of the crown. Notwithstanding the haughty defiance and scorn with which the archbishop had rejected this proposition, the rigour of his captivity was mitigated by the king's command, and he was placed in the upper dungeon he now inhabited, where he wanted neither light nor air, but where, as yet, he remained closely guarded and strongly fettered as before. As soon, however, as the king had left the castle, the condition of the captive became once more extremely miserable. The steward, Jesper Mogensen, was notorious for his avarice, his cruelty, and hypocritical bearing; and the king's brother. Junker^[5] Christopher, was accused of having had a great share in the severity of the archbishop's treatment, although the prince took every opportunity of blaming the king's conduct in this matter, and counselled him to make any sacrifice and submit to any humiliation, to avoid a formal breach with the church and the papal see.

One evening in the month of October the steward of SjÖberg, accompanied by the cook and an old turnkey, ascended the winding stairs which led to the archbishop's prison and to the turnkey's chamber immediately above it. The strong light of a dark lanthorn, which the cook held up before him, fell full upon the countenance and form of the steward:--he was a short, strong-built man, with a true hangman's visage, in which the expression of ferocity and malice was combined with an air of wily hypocrisy; a shaggy cap was slouched over his low and narrow forehead; he wore a dirty coat of sheep's skin, and tramped up the stone stairs in heavy iron-shod boots, apparently in great wrath and alarm. "That limb of Satan! that ungodly priest!" he muttered, "if he hath dealings with the Evil One, chains will be of no use here."

"As I tell thee, master," answered the portly, round-faced cook, with an air of importance, "he talks with invisible spirits, and no turnkey dares any longer watch by him. He is as regularly bound to the Evil One as I am to thee, saving that he cannot shift his service, and leave his master when he pleases; you remember, no doubt, I gave you warning at the right time, and am free to be off either to-day or to-morrow, if I please. The devil take me if I stay longer here, since--since he is here already, I was near saying."

"Pshaw, Morten! thou shalt stay here till I get another cook: that thou didst promise me. But what hath given rise to all this talk about his sorceries?"

"There is something in it," answered the cook. "No one knows the Black Art out and out as he does. You know yourself that Junker Christopher's folk found the book on the Black Art among the letters from the outlaws, when they ferreted the bishop's secrets out of the chest in Lund sacristy. The book burned their fingers, and vanished instantly out of their hands. Such a devil's book always comes back to its master. That he hath not got it as yet, I am certain; but I fear he has it all at his fingers' ends. They said he never wearied of studying it at Lund, and he knows all the heathen and Greek books better by heart than his Paternoster, the ungodly hound!"

"Thou art right, Morten! He is a limb of Satan, and one cannot watch him too narrowly. His confounded learning never hit my fancy." Here the steward paused thoughtfully near the door of the archbishop's prison.

"Yes, take care, master!" resumed the cook; "he will soon fill the house with his devilries, and set all the imps in hell to plague us, if he doth not get his prison cleaned, and better meat and drink. It would please me right well were he to die of hunger and be eaten up of vermin. Such end would still be a thousand times too good for such an accursed traitor and wizard; but when the Evil One is in the house, it is wisest to remember one's own little transgressions, and not use a captive devil worse than we would he should use us."

"Pshaw, Morten! the devil is not our neighbour," interrupted the steward with a suspicious look. "Had I not myself heard thee curse and mock the archbishop, I should almost suspect thou wert in league with him."

"Nay, master! I can soon clear myself of that; I would sooner league with Beelzebub himself. The turnkeys can bear witness there is not one among them all that takes such delight in plaguing and vexing him as I do. When he is forced to drink muddy water, and eat mouldy bread like a swine yonder, I sing drinking songs below in the kitchen, and throw open the window that he may snuff up the scent of the roasting; and I never come nigh his door without singing one thing or another, which I know will make him turn yellow, black, and green with rage. I made a song last spring, all about freedom and fair green woods, that always enrages him. Now you shall hear, master:" and he sang loudly before the prison door,--

"Hast thou lost thy wits, Morten?" interrupted the steward. "Wouldst thou stir him up to flee to his castle at Bornholm?"

"He may let that alone while he is here. Heard you not how deep he sighed? It was from rage and grief to think the least spring bird can fly to its castle and build its nest, while he can stir neither hand nor foot. I made that song on purpose to plague him."

"Thou art right, Morten! it did plague him," said the steward with a look of satisfaction. "Thou art an honest soul; I heard myself how deep he sighed: nevertheless, thou shalt not sing him any more such songs; they only serve to put fancies into his head. Thou art a good, well-meaning fellow, Morten! I know it well; but thou art somewhat simple. If the bishop knew the Black Art, he would not have been here so long. I rather incline to think his brain is cracked."

"Have a care, master; that fellow hath all his wits about him; there is not a bishop in all the country can beat him at Latin."

"It matters not to me whether he be mad or wise," muttered the steward, who mounted the stairs leading to the turnkey's room. He opened the door of this chamber, which was the uppermost in the tower, and directly above the archbishop's prison. Here two turnkeys were always on guard, and watched the prisoner through a chink in the floor. During the night two others were usually stationed in the captive's dungeon, and sat beside his couch, when it was their wont to plague him, and by their talk often to prevent his sleeping; but the report which had recently been spread abroad of the archbishop's sorceries, had so terrified the inmates of SjÖberg, that none dared any longer remain at night in the captive's chamber. The two sentinels were seated before a backgammon board, and were throwing the dice when the steward entered. They hastily concealed them, and rose respectfully.

"This is doing duty finely," muttered the steward: "while ye sit here and game, ye suffer him below there to play with Satan for his soul. Ye had best keep your eyes upon him, I counsel ye. If he gets loose, ye may make as sure of being hanged, as if ye had already the halter round your necks, and the clear air for a footstool. Now let's see what he is after." So saying the steward stooped down to the hole in the floor and peeped below. "He surely sleeps," he whispered; "he lies on his back without stirring."

"That he is well nigh forced to do, because of his chains and the pestilent smell," said the cook.

"Well," answered the steward, "one should not despise any means which might save an erring soul. It is for this reason, seest thou, I suffer the hardened sinner below there to lie in such swinish plight. Ignorant folk would call it cruel; it is in truth pure compassion. How long thinkest thou the most hardened offender can hold out such captivity without repenting of his misdeeds and creeping to the cross?"

"Ay, there doubtless you are in the right, master! You have pious and fatherly manner, and even generously exposed yourself to the risk of drawing down on you the king's wrath a second time, simply for the sake of exercising true Christian compassion, and saving the sinner's soul; but he is insensible to it, the scoundrel. His obstinacy is matchless. Could you believe it, master? Notwithstanding all you do to bring him to repentance and conversion, he curses you, nevertheless, every hour of the day, and wishes you may come to suffer a thousand times more torments in hell than you have here caused him to undergo out of pure Christian charity!"

"I can well believe it, Morten; from such sort of folk one should never look for gratitude; but the roof and ceiling are in too sorry a plight," muttered the steward looking around him: "under the blue sky he needs not to sleep, either; it might be dangerous besides."

"It was done according to your own order, master," resumed the cook in a credulous tone, and staring with an air of simplicity at the holes in the ceiling and the roof, "else it could never have rained down on that confounded Satan. Of a surety he will let alone flying with the owls through the roof; and when the nights are cold, a little rain and hail are right proper means of bringing him to reflection and confession of his sins."

"Well, it is true, Morten; I myself partly commanded it: but one should have moderation in all things; it should not appear as if the roof had been uncovered on purpose. Evil tongues will have plenty to talk of as it is. To-morrow the roof shall be repaired. Some small holes may remain--they will not catch the eye--fresh air is wholesome; even a little rain and snow may have their use. Not a rain-drop falls to the earth, Morten, but it may prove a means for the conversion of a hardened sinner."

"Ah, master," said Morten, with a tremulous voice and clasped hands, "you should, by my troth, have been a bishop: you often speak so touchingly and edifyingly that the tears start into mine eyes."

"Well," answered the steward with a self-satisfied smile, "I was, indeed, once intended to become a churchman, and though I got not the tonsure, I nevertheless learned many pious and useful truths during my noviciate; but it is not sufficient to know the truth, we must, by my troth, know how to use it for one's own and one's fellow-creature's salvation."

"Ah, yes, master," resumed Morten, with a devout look, "who is there can say that with as good a conscience as yourself? 'Tis a hard calling for a pious Christian conscience and a compassionate soul like yours, to be forced to play such bloodhound and hangman's tricks on a poor captive; but what will not one do for duty and precious virtue's sake, and to save an erring soul! Such a pious bloodhound and hangman----"

"Hold thy tongue, Morten," interrupted the steward; "thou must never use such words in speaking of thy master, however well and honestly thou meanst it. But hark! he speaks below there: canst hear what he says? It seems to me it is Latin or Greek."

The cook threw himself on his stomach and laid his ear close to the hole in the floor. "Our Lady preserve us!" he whispered with a look of affright, "he is calling on Aristoteles, the devil's schoolmaster, and is giving him directions about you; he swears that you are right ready to enter his school."

"Ay, indeed, it is just like the ungodly scoundrel! but I thought I heard another voice--there is surely no one with him?"

Morten listened again. "Master! heard you that?" he exclaimed, springing up with a look of terror, and looking towards the door as if he meant to escape.

"How now? What's that? What hath possessed thee, Morten? What heardest thou?"

"Stoop down your ear to the hole, master, and you shall hear. Our Lady graciously preserve us! The Evil One is manifestly with him. He is to fetch you at midnight if you do not presently give his good friend, the archbishop, meat and wine and clean garments. Only listen yourself!"

The steward cast a suspicious look at the cook, yet stooped to listen at the hole, keeping his eye all the while on Morten and the terrified turnkeys. He had not remained long in this position, ere he rose up deadly pale, and the name of Jesper Mogensen, accompanied by the sound of smothered and unnatural laughter, rung hollow as from an abyss, and in a voice wholly unlike the archbishop's. "Heard ye it not yourself, master?" said Morten; "he who now calls on you I desire not to see near me."

"Silence!" whispered the steward, stooping again with a look of alarm towards the crevice in the floor.

"Jesper Mogensen!" said the same terrific voice as if directly under his feet, "cherish my learned master and customer, or I will break thy neck, and turn inside out thy hypocritical soul."

While this voice rang through the chamber the turnkeys lay flat on their faces on the floor, and repeated their Avemaria. The steward trembled and shook; but Morten's cheeks now glowed crimson, and his eyes watered, as if affected by some secret exertion, while his lips were firmly compressed, and he stood apparently speechless with terror.

"Then let him have what he wants," stammered forth the steward. "If there are such tricks in the game, neither Junker Christopher, nor any one else, can require me to peril my life and soul any longer. Set thee to roast for the bishop in Satan's name, Morten! Let him eat and drink himself to death if he pleases! but escape he shall not, let him have ever so many devils for his friends."

"You will find it hard to hinder him, master," said Morten in a timid tone; "he who so can roar would deem it a small matter to fly through the key-hole with a bishop."

"I must see that, ere I believe it," said the steward, who appeared to have regained his self-possession, and recovered from his fright. "Thou art an honest fellow, Morten, but thou art somewhat credulous and simple--there is perhaps some trick in this. But this I would have thee, and all of ye, to know--if I smell a rat, or if any of ye have the least hand or part in this devilry, ye shall rue it dearly: ye shall be burned alive, or broken on the wheel, as surely as there is law and justice in the land."

"Our Lady preserve us, master!" exclaimed the terrified turnkeys in the same breath.

"I tell ye," continued the steward, "'tis nought else but trick and treachery. To try him below there, I will let him have good cheer and cleanliness for a time; but if he kicks up any more riots of this kind, he shall below in the dungeon again: and this I tell ye, knaves! if any of you dare help him to flight, one for all, and all for one, ye shall be hanged! Ye shall all three watch here to-night."

"Alack! we dare not, master!" said the old turnkey. "If there is sorcery in the tower, we dare not stay here, unless Morten the cook stay too, to keep up our courage."

"Stay, then, with these stupid knaves to-night, Morten!" said the steward. "After all thou art the wisest among them. I shall owe thee for it, and to-morrow I shall get fellows enough with some spirit in them."

"It is all one to me, master!" answered Morten. "I will keep up their spirits tonight. He who, like you and I, hath a good conscience, need not fear a few devil's tricks."

"True enough, Morten! thou shalt first follow me down stairs. I am somewhat dizzy from stooping; and then thou canst at the same time fetch meat and drink for the prisoner and all of ye."

"Come, master, take hold of my arm!" said Morten, following the steward out of the door. "All is quiet and orderly," he continued, as they descended the stair. "I thought it would be so--one good turn deserves another. You'll find, we shall get at last so used to these impish tricks that we shall not care a rush for them; and why should not one learn to put up with two or three little devils, when they choose to behave themselves courteously, and live in Christian concord and sweet family union with us?"

When Morten had attended the steward to the bottom of the stairs, he ran into his chamber, and from thence to the kitchen and pantry. He presently mounted the tower stairs again, and returned to his comrades with a bundle of clothes, two baskets of provisions, and a couple of flagons of wine. "Take thou the meat and wine and clothes to the hound below, Mads!" said he to the old turnkey; "but steal not aught thereof on the way! Master says the chamber is to be made clean and neat. A guard will henceforth be placed outside the door night and day, so that thou need'st not load him with all the fetters. Meanwhile let us here get something to keep life in us. Look, comrades! I have both mead and German ale with me. Only get thee gone, Mads; we will surely leave something for thee, if thou comest back sober."

The old man cast a longing look at the wine and good cheer he was to take to the captive, and departed. Morten now busied himself in placing the provisions on the table, and presently began to carouse merrily with the two younger turnkeys. The one had borne arms, and styled himself Niels the horseman; he was a lover of strong drink, and had rather a red nose. The other was a timid and cautious personage, with a cunning and miserly cast of countenance. He sat with the dice in his hands, and counted the number of marks he had won from his comrades.

"Thou art an excellent fellow, Morten," said Niels the horseman, pushing back the cap which shaded his sun-burnt and martial visage, while he drained his cup of mead, and seized on the flagon of ale. "Thou knowest well how to furnish a guard-room when one is required to keep one's eyes open and one's spirits up. By my soul! I would rather keep guard in a camp over a whole army of captives than sit here, especially if the confounded bishop understands the black art, and such-like devilry. What dost think of all this, Morten?"

"Truly, that is not for laymen to judge of," answered Morten. "I know neither the white nor the black art; but this I know, henceforth let there be ever such a stir below there, I budge not from my seat. When we keep our noses out of mischief, and strive to mind our duty, we shall be left in peace, and can sit here as quiet as though we lay in Abraham's bosom. Now drink, Niels! And thou, JÖrgen, what art thou thinking of?" said he to the man with the dice. "I warrant thou wouldst rather kill the time in gaming, than in honest and innocent drink. Now, by our Lady! every man hath his crotchets in this world, but we must ever sing with the birds we live with. First, comrade, sing and drink with us, and we will play afterwards with thee. We have bright silver pieces in plenty." So saying, the merry cook threw a handful of silver money on the table, and began to sing a joyous drinking song. JÖrgen looked covetingly at the silver, and shook the dice. "Come, good Morten, let's play first," said he, in a coaxing tone, and with a crafty smile, "and we can sing and drink afterwards."

"Darest thou throw for a silver piece?"

"For twenty, if thou wilt," answered Morten; "but I snap my fingers at dice and silver pieces, as long as I can get aught to moisten my tongue; it is the most important member in the world, seest thou, and well deserves to be cherished. That little instrument can turn whole kingdoms topsy-turvy. I am already half drunk, I perceive, and thou hast not lifted the cup to thy lips as yet. The man who games with me must be as jovial a soul as myself."

"Well, then, pour me out half a can of ale, if it be not too strong," said the cautious JÖrgen. "Mead instantly gets into my head: when one would play a fair game, one should always be able to count to six; besides, we are not sent here to drink ourselves drunk, I trow."

"Just as much to drink as to game," answered Morten; "but leave that to me! I know the strength of the ale well, and what four fellows can stand, provided they be not carlines."^[6] The turnkeys drank, and Morten replenished their cups.--"Know ye the news, comrades?" he continued, raising his voice, as he seated himself at his ease, with his arms resting on the table; "we may presently expect the king here at the castle; then will there be no lack of drink. Money, and mead, and wine, and Saxon ale, will flow here, as in blessed Paradise."

"The king!" said Niels the horseman; "then of a surety will there be fine doings here; he will, by my troth! give the huntsman something to do."

"You will see, then, the bishop will get loose," said JÖrgen the turnkey, rolling the dice as he spoke, "for he is surely not so mad as to put the king in a rage again, as he did the last time."

"He cares not for the King's wrath," answered the cook; "that fellow minds neither king nor emperor; and if it be true that the pope in Rome sides with him, the king may go to the wall at last."

"What can the pope do to our king?" asked Niels the horsemen; "he dwells in Italy, far over the sea yonder, and hath neither horsemen nor ships to send hither."

"But he hath that which stands him in better stead," said Morten; "he hath got a bunch of keys, so heavy that a hundred men can't carry them, and with those he can both open and shut heaven and hell, to each one of us, just as it likes him. Hell-gate he willingly leaves open, for there is ever a throng in that quarter; but heaven's gate, by my troth! he locks every evening himself, and lays the keys under his pillow."

"But St. Peter keeps the gate," responded Niels; "he must ever stand sentinel there night and day."

"Right, Niels! but St. Peter is the pope's cousin only; besides, the pope keeps him under finger and thumb, and takes the keys from him every evening, as soon as it grows dark, just as the steward takes the keys from thee: the pope, moreover, is the Lord's stadtholder, as thou surely know'st; and when he is wroth, he is able by a single word to shut up all the churches in the country, and give all of us, body and soul, to the devil."

"Our Lady preserve us!" said Niels, crossing himself; "and think'st thou he durst act thus by our king and all Christian folk here in the country?"

"Yes, he threatens hard to do it, they say. The devil take the confounded bishop below, there! he is the cause of all this ill luck; 'twere better for king and country had he long since shown us a pair of clean heels."

"Think'st thou so, Morten! 'tis arrant folly, then, to pen the fellow up here as they do?"

"That's the king's business," answered Morten; "he surely knows what he is about; and hath doubtless his own reasons for what he does. The bishop had a hand in the game when they made away with his father in the barn at Finnerup--'tis true King Glipping was worth little enough, but he was king nevertheless, and the murder was a lawless business: our Lord forbid I should defend it! No one can think ill of our young king because he can't forgive the bishop; but, as I said before, state and country would fare better were the king less strict, and the bishop gone to the devil."

While this dialogue was carrying on, the old turnkey returned half intoxicated, and threw himself on a bench before the drinking table.

"How now, Mads! what red cheeks thou hast got," said the cook, laughing; "thou must surely have accredited the bishop's wine: thou didst right! who could know whether it might not be poisoned?"

"Death and pestilence, Morten! what art prating of?" lisped forth the old man in a fright, and spit upon the floor. "I have not so much as tasted a drop of his wine; nevertheless, thou shouldst not jest about such things."

"Be easy, old fellow!" said Morten, in a soothing tone; "I myself drank of it on the stairs. Well! what said he to the change?"

"Not so much as yon stone flask, comrade! The hound would sooner let himself be spitted than speak a fair word to any man: perhaps, too, he thought it was poison I brought him,--but, death and pestilence!"--here he paused and spit again--"I can never believe"----

"Make thyself easy, Mads! thou knowest thou hast not tasted a drop; at any rate here is something to rince thy throat with, which I warrant thee is good and wholesome. I will sing thee a merry song the while; which will do the bishop good as well." While Morten again replenished his comrades' cups, he cleared his throat and sang:

"What song is that?" asked Niels the horseman; "I never heard it before."

"It was made to mock the bishop below," said Morten; "and I it was who made it. Now ye shall hear; for to plague him properly, and mock his useless learning, I have managed to cram a little Latin into it that I learned of Father Gregory:" and Morten continued,--

While the cook thus sang in a loud voice, the clanking of chains was heard below in the archbishop's dungeon, and the two half-drunken turnkeys started from their seats, while JÖrgen, who was still sober, took the opportunity of conveying a couple of the cook's silver pieces into his own pocket. "Let him writhe in his chains, the hound!" said Morten, remaining quietly seated; "he hears well enough how I mock him in the song, and that enrages him; but it does him good."

"Right, Morten!" said Niels the horseman, as he peeped through the chink in the floor. "He twists in his chains, as though he were possessed--thou may'st be sure it is the Latin that vexes him--but no matter for that. I would have him hear, that we lay folk know a thing or two as well as himself."

"Come, let's drink, comrades!" called the cook, and continued to sing, as he rose from the bench, and staggered, as if half-intoxicated, about the chamber:--

As he sang the last verse, he fell down flat beside the hole, above the archbishop's dungeon, and peeped through it.

"The false knave mocks me," he heard the captive murmur with a deep sigh.

"Then strive and toil, and toil and strive,
Thou'lt never leave that web alive,"