It was near daybreak. The alarm and anxiety had ceased, with which the inhabitants of Kallundborg had seen the night draw on. The peace and stillness which had prevailed the whole night seemed to have lulled the burghers, as well as the men-at-arms, into security. The lights were extinguished in most of the houses. The men-at-arms nodded over the expiring watch fires, and reposed on their mantles, in quiet groups, while some paced up and down on guard, beside the piled-up lances. Even the gay and vigilant Count Henrik was weary of the strained attention which he now deemed unnecessary: he had sat down to rest, under an image of the Madonna, without the Franciscan monastery, where a light was always burning. He had lately inspected the sentries, and found every thing in good order. He felt wearied, but kept off sleep, and his eyes open, while his gaze dwelt on the waning and half-hidden stars. His soul dreamed of warlike honours and proud victories, by the side of the Danish monarch, and of the admiration of the ladies of Mecklenborg when he should return with merited laurels and tokens of royal favour to his fatherland. While engaged in these reveries, which led him through half a life in a few minutes, he was suddenly disturbed by the working of the balista, and a fearful alarm of fire from the monastery. He started up, and beheld, with dismay, that burning stones were flying from the loopholes and walls of the castle, in different directions, and a high flame shot up from the storehouse of the monastery. In an instant he was actively exerting himself in the rescue of the town and monastery. Engines for extinguishing the flames were every where at hand. There was a fearful tumult in the town; but the alarm was however greater than the misfortune seemed likely to prove. Some single houses, it is true, were fired; but the greater part were protected by the snow, although the roofs were of straw. Many glowing stones from the balista missed their mark, many cooled ere they fell. The storehouse of the monastery instantly caught fire: it was necessary to sacrifice it, and partly to pull it down; but not a single stone fell on the principal building, nor on the guest-house, where the king had established himself.

Meanwhile the king was instantly astir; none were more zealous and active than he and Count Henrik; they rode constantly through the streets, and were always first on the spot where any house was fired.

The king was highly exasperated--he often cast a glance of menace at the castle. He halted without the burning monastery, by the count's side, just as another discharge from the balista took place, and a large burning stone fell down between their horses, and rolled hissing into the snow.

"My liege!" exclaimed Count Henrik, "the burghers may put out the flames, but we can do more; let us sally forth and storm instantly."

"Not yet," answered the king, shaking his head. "Look," he continued, pointing to the flame-lit copper roof of the principal building of the monastery; "when the sun stands highest, and the tower shadow falls yonder, then will it be time; then will my patience have reached its limits--its uttermost bounds."

As soon as it was daylight the firing from the balista through the loopholes, ceased; but the parapets upon the outer wall were observed to be filled with men-at-arms. The towers of the wall were also perceived to be strongly garrisoned, and a numerous array of lances and battle-axes glittered over the battlements in the grey dawn of morning. The wall before the gate in particular was strongly manned, as well as the tower above the gate, where they seemed most to apprehend an attack. The great iron portcullis between the gate and the outward wall was drawn up by strong iron rings. There was great alarm and tumult at the castle and its garrison: a desperate storm and revenge for the night's disturbance was apparently apprehended. The fire meanwhile had been put out, as well in the monastery as in the town. The pious Franciscans rang to mattins, as usual, and the king did not neglect to share in their devotion.

"But--what is become of AagÉ?--Where is the Drost?" he asked Count Henrik, as he again vaulted on his horse, without the church of the monastery, in order to inspect the hastily prepared storming machines with his general. "I saw him not the whole night, nor even just now at mattins; it is not his wont, however, to sleep when I watch or pray--least of all when danger is impending."

"I have not seen him since midnight," answered Count Henrik, endeavouring to hide his embarrassment and uneasiness; "After our adventure beside the sea-tower, I saw him last by yonder watch-fire," added the count, assuming a gay air. "It was a fine night; all around was so still and peaceful. He must have got love fancies or some kind of visionary notions into his head. He went towards the tower, without desiring my company, and bade me not expect him before noon."

"Strange!" said the king, "AagÉ upon a light love adventure, and at this time! It cannot be. Humph! what became of the spy you captured? Hath he been examined? Hath he confessed?"

"He hath disappeared, my liege! 'tis a strange and almost incomprehensible tale. I was myself at the sea-tower, two hours after midnight, the man-at-arms was dead, but the devil had carried off his murderer: that, they swore roundly, was the fact. He had lain bound in the corpse-chamber of the drowned; no egress was possible; at midnight he was heard to cry and howl, that the devil was carrying him off. No one dared to enter the chamber, and when I came neither robber or Drost was to be seen."

"How! the Drost!" interrupted the king; "what hath all this to do with AagÉ? He lay not in the chamber with the murderer."

"True--excuse me, your grace," answered Count Henrik, clearing his throat. "I speak at random, I perceive: that comes from the night-watch."

"Truly, count! we must be broad awake to-day, especially since AagÉ is not here," answered the king hastily, and rode down towards the tower. "I will find out what is meant by that devil's story."

Count Henrik followed the king. The report of the disappearance of the bound murderer, had already collected a crowd of curious persons, who crossed themselves on hearing the terrific tale, which they repeated one to another, with still more marvellous and more terrible circumstances. Place was respectfully made for the king, who heard with wonder from the guard the same tale as that current in the crowd, with the alarming addition, that the Drost had entered at midnight into the chamber of the raving murderer, and that all traces of him had likewise disappeared. Various opinions were however entertained of the affair, and some thought it was not the Drost, but the devil, who, in the Drost's form, had entered the chamber of the dying murderer, to carry him off in person.

"Tush!" said the king, "lead me to that accursed corpse-chamber! There must be some trick in this." He hastily entered the murky stone chamber, and looked around it on all sides with anxious attention. There was no furniture except the bench appropriated to the bodies of the drowned, which was streaked with blood, and on which hung some rent and half-decayed rope. From the high iron grating in the wall, which was hardly large enough to admit a sparrow, fell a faint light, which glimmered on a plumed hat lying in a corner. "What see I here?" exclaimed the king in astonishment. "The Drost's hat and plume; and there is his green mantle also. Plundered, murdered, great God!--Yet no! a robber would surely have made off with the booty. The captured murderer was certainly sorely wounded?"

"To the death of the body, most gracious liege, according to the surgeon's opinion," answered an aged monk, who, with a curious crowd of the lower class, had thronged together with the men-at-arms, into the tower after the king. "Ah, yes," continued the solemn Franciscan, in a tone of devout exhortation, "it was a fearful end. Here we see manifestly how the ungodly are punished. This blood crieth not unto heaven, like the innocent Abel's, but it crieth unto hardened sinners upon earth, from the road to the bottomless pit, that they may behold the traces of the damned with fear and trembling. My pious hearers, men may now-a-days delay temporal death, by means of surgeons and apothecaries, with St. Cosmo's and St. Damian's help; but eternal death they never can: when the term is out, lo! then cometh he who hath the bond, and fetches that which is his own, without respect of persons. Here hath been given a sign, to the terror and warning of many in our ungodly time: Sancta Maria! ora pronobis!"

"It is thou then, monk, who puttest those vagaries into the people's head?" interrupted the king at last, with impetuous impatience. "Believest thou, in truth, that the Evil One hath carried off yon murderer, both body and soul?"

"St. Franciscus preserve me from doubting it!" answered the monk, crossing himself. "He who can carry off the souls of the ungodly can doubtless annihilate their sinful bodies. Lo! he hath but left these blood-drops behind, as a witness of the power which is given him, and also, though he willed it not, to the honour of the all-righteous Judge. The truth is so manifest in our sight, it were blindness and heretical presumption to doubt."

"And, my Drost, my faithful AagÉ, believest thou the same of him?"

"Be not wroth, my liege?" answered the Franciscan with frankness, and laying his meagre hand on his breast, "my conscience forbids me to witness falsely on the brink of the grave, to please or flatter the great and mighty, or to conceal the wondrous things which have taken place in our sight, for the conversion of hardened sinners, with fear and trembling. The noble Drost hath also disappeared in an incomprehensible manner, and seeing that we know he had fallen under the awful ban of the church, and was given over by our most venerable archbishop to the destruction of the flesh, and the power of the great enemy of souls!"

"Silence, presumptuous monk! thou knowest not what thou sayest!" exclaimed the king, in the greatest wrath, darting a lightning glance at the pale trembling monk; "let the prince of darkness take that which is his! I will not quarrel either with him or thee for that; but this I know, no devil shall injure a hair of my faithful Drost AagÉ's head, whether he be dead or alive. There must have been a murder here, a foul misdeed," he continued, "a shameless treachery. So help me God, and all the holy men, it shall be discovered, and sternly avenged! Hence, monk! hie thee to thy cell, and pray the Lord to enlighten thy understanding. Thy intentions are good--it were sin to be wroth with thee. Go hence, good people; ye stand in our way. Hither, my true men; the floor must be broken up; the tower must be pulled down. If the Drost be not found, one stone shall not remain upon another."

At the king's stern command the monk and all the idle spectators departed. The spearmen came with spears and boat-hooks, and whatever was at hand, and began to break up the stone floor. It was not long ere they discovered the loose stone in the corner by the little iron trap-door, which was hardly discernible in the faint glimmer of daylight from the grating. "Look, look!" was the cry; "a trap-door! a pitfall!"

"Ha! the murderer's pit! Here we have it!" exclaimed the king. "Torches here, quick! I will go below, myself.

"Let that be my business, my liege," said Count Henrik. "Here is assuredly the secret entrance to the castle," he added in a low voice; "perhaps it might be used for our attack."

"No, Count! a king's path lies not through a fox's den"--interrupted the king, proudly: "bring me but my faithful AagÉ!"

Torches were quickly brought, and the passage was searched. The king however suffered himself to be withheld from descending. Count Henrik hasted forward with eagerness and curiosity, holding a torch in his hand, and accompanied by three men-at-arms. The torches were often nearly extinguished by the subterranean air; they found however and recognised the robber's body, which was immediately borne off by two of the men, while Count Henrik and the third pursued the search. At last they reached the great iron gate, which they vainly attempted to burst open. Within, the sounding of horns and the clash of numerous weapons were heard, and Count Henrik considered it advisable to hasten back.

The king had meanwhile obtained information of every circumstance respecting the Drost's nocturnal visit to the tower, and was in some degree tranquillised by the sight of the robber's body, when Count Henrik returned and acquainted him with what he had discovered. "The daring Drost is assuredly alive, if not quite in safety, my liege," said the Count, as he ascended from the secret passage, quite spent and breathless. "As the murderer was found dead and alone, he cannot have mastered the brave Drost; but it is plain they have had a hard struggle together. Here is the Drost's sword; it was found close to the body. There is actually a secret passage to the castle; but it is strongly guarded, and we were near falling into the enemy's hand."

"Well, now we know where AagÉ is," said the king; "he meant well; but 'tis an arch trick he hath played us. Ere the sun goes down he shall be free, by God's assistance," he added. "Woe to the traitors, should they injure a hair of his head!"

The king left the tower, and the preparations for storming were continued with increased zeal.

Towards noon the king, mounted on his white steed, stationed himself without the eastern rampart of the castle: he was stern and silent. He often looked with uneasy expectation and rising indignation towards the gate of the town, where, in a few moments, his brother the junker would appear, did he purpose taking any measures to effect a reconciliation. Some horsemen, who were placed on the look-out on the hill by St. George's hospital, returned at the time appointed, at full gallop, and announced that the expected party was not to be seen on the road.

"Now then, in the name of the righteous God," exclaimed the king in a low voice, but greatly incensed, "I have no longer a brother; the measure is full--Let them sound to storm, Count Henrik; let the trumpets thunder forth my wrath!"

Hardly was the command uttered ere the trumpets sounded to storm. The sun stood highest in the heaven, and the tower shadow fell upon the roof of the monastery. The whole force was instantly in activity. The attack was made according to the plan concerted with the Drost, from three sides at once; but on two sides feignedly, in order to mislead the enemy, while the principal assault, in which the whole force of the troop combined by degrees, was directed against the eastern wall, by the tower gate.

The outermost drawbridge was speedily pulled down by the boat-hooks of the brave boatmen and seamen. With the aid of all the fire ladders belonging to the town, the outer wall was quickly mounted. No leader was here present, and the junker's Zealand peasants, as well as the SamsÖers, fought unwillingly against their countrymen. A brave resistance was indeed made against the German Count Henrik, but wherever the king himself appeared, the weapons dropped from the hands of the Danish defenders of the wall, while they fell at his feet and implored mercy. The outer wall came thus speedily into the power of the king, who was himself one of the first who mounted it; but the most vigorous defence was made from the tower, over the fortified gate. Within was heard a powerful voice of command, and from the loopholes and battlements rained a thick shower of stones and javelins. Count Henrik saw the danger, and hastened to form a roof of shields for the king's protection, while it was vainly attempted to tear down the great portcullis which served as a sort of raised iron drawbridge over the moat, between the outer wall and the gate.

"Fire the gate!" commanded the king, with wrathful impetuosity.

"Fire! fire, here!" was echoed from mouth to mouth, and crowds soon flocked from the town, with torches of pitch, with fire and splintered tar-barrels, which they threw in over the portcullis. The gate and the tower were soon shrouded in smoke and flame, amid the shouts of the besiegers.