On Sommersted heath, in the province of Haddersleben, a bloody battle seemed likely to take place between Eric and his haughty kinsmen, the Dukes of Slesvig and Langeland, in whose army it was asserted many of the regicides were enlisted; notwithstanding it had been stipulated by treaty the preceding year, that these exiled criminals should be no less outlawed by these princes, than by the king, and his brother. When the dukes beheld the forces, at the head of which the incensed king, attended by his fifty chosen knights, was marching against them, they appeared to hesitate, and the swords of the one party seemed to keep those of the other in the sheath. Through the Drost's mediation a truce was negotiated; according to which all hostilities were to cease, the dukes' troops were to lay down their arms, and no outlaws suffered to continue in their service; all claims also on the part of the dukes were to be suspended, until formal terms could be agreed upon. For this purpose an amicable interview between these princes and their royal liege was proposed to take place at Wordingborg castle.

The Drost and privy council rarely succeeded in persuading the king to a reconciliation, or to enter into a formal treaty of peace with any opponent who had protected his father's murderers. The only person who, under such circumstances, had been occasionally successful in acting as mediator, was Eric's sagacious and kindhearted stepfather, Count Gerhard, who ever stood in a friendly and almost fatherly relation to the young monarch.

The present peace also with Norway was only a truce, occasionally renewed for single years or months; for the outlaws had constantly met with protection from the Norwegian King Eric, and Duke Hako; and according to his promise given to these fugitives, the Norwegian king was unable to conclude a permanent peace with Denmark, unless his Danish guests should be again admitted into their native land. Many of these deadly foes to the royal house of Denmark had, indeed, fallen in their unsuccessful expedition against Denmark; some had been seized and maltreated by the populace, or captured by the king's commanders, and executed for robbery and incendiarism. This had been the fate of Arved Bengtson, one of the wildest and fiercest of the regicides, who with ten of his comrades had fallen into the hands of the stern TulÉ Ebbeson, and the whole of the eleven had been mercilessly beheaded. But each time the number of their chiefs was thus diminished, the revenge and defiance of those who were left increased. From their connection with foreign powers, with Archbishop Grand, and with the papal see, these exiled noblemen were the most dangerous enemies of the country. So long as one of them was living the king considered himself under the necessity of being constantly prepared for war, and the mention of an outlaw was almost sufficient to make him gird on his armour.

After the conclusion of the truce with the Dukes of Slesvig, the king visited his royal manors in Jutland and in the Isles; but he disbanded his troops only so far as to admit of their being assembled again in a few days at the Marsk's summons. The young king sought, as much as it was possible, to atone for whatever injustice had been committed during the government of his unhappy father. Even his bitterest enemies were forced to acknowledge his disinterested zeal in the administration of justice; but despite the respect and affection of which Eric received the most gratifying proofs from his people, his personal safety was, nevertheless, often endangered, as the condition of the country was in general in a very unsettled state. The outlaws belonged to most noble families in Denmark, and had not a few kinsmen, friends, and secret adherents, who endeavoured to protect them from the indignation of the people, whenever they secretly or openly dared to venture back to their father-land, for the purpose of exciting disturbance or seeking opportunities for revenge. All the discontented in the country, all restless spirits, and those who were at war with law and authority, all criminals and burgher politicians, who feared or hated kingly rule, joined themselves to these martyrs in the cause of liberty, and foes of despotism as they were denominated. Some powerful prelates, the archbishop's friends, were on their side, although the clergy in general were devoted to the king. Meanwhile the most sincere patriots could not deny that the discontented had often real grievances to complain of, and that the lawful rights of citizenship were frequently infringed. The king's friends and devoted subjects often went too far in their zeal for his security; and state functionaries not unfrequently exercised violence and injustice in his name, where they suspected any one of siding with the outlaws. Among the discontented in the country, and the secret partisans of the outlaws, such proceedings served as a pretext and excuse for similar conduct towards the king's servants and friends; what especially disquieted all lovers of their country, was the dread of a general closing of the churches, in case the king did not yield in the affair of the archbishop. An apprehension also prevailed of civil war and dangerous conspiracies of the outlaws, and other disturbers of the peace; particularly if any open breach should take place between the king and his brother, the junker.

During the first chilly days of spring, the roads to Wordingborg were unusually thronged on occasion of the important treaty of peace just concluded with the Dukes of Slesvig. The splendid festivities and tournaments which were the delight of the chivalrous king, were now in preparation to celebrate the event. Many knights and nobles from Jutland and the Isles journeyed to Wordingborg, to display their splendour before the king and the court, as well as to share in the expected festivities in honour of the peace, which however was regarded by the king's friends rather in the light of a victory.

A party of three knights, with a numerous train of squires and attendants, rode one evening amid storm and hail through the forest near SusÉa, and approached the great forest monastery of St. Peter. The accommodations for travellers were but scarce and simple. The public inns established in the time of King Eric Glipping were few and generally despised; travellers of high degree, therefore, often took shelter in monasteries, which were occasionally put to much cost and inconvenience by these sometimes forcibly-imposed visitations. The monasteries had been, in fact, exempted by a royal decree, from the ancient obligation of giving free entertainment to travellers; they were even forbidden to receive wayfaring guests, where there was any public inn in the neighbourhood; but the prohibition was hardly ever observed even by the clergy themselves, as it was contrary to the rules of the monasteries.

The knights and their train seemed nowise inclined to pass by without visiting the rich "Forest Monastery" (as it was called) which now, with its high, white and notched gable ends, and its shining copper roof, came in sight above the forest in the fitful light of the stormy evening. The party drew near the great oak avenue within the domain of the monastery, and the attendants pointed, gladly, to the smoking chimneys: but the two foremost knights had shrouded themselves in their mantles, and drawn their large travelling hoods over their eyes. They seemed, notwithstanding the increasing storm, so absorbed in their own thoughts that they cared but little about the road, or the inviting hearth of the monastery. They were the same tall, silent knights, who had so mysteriously visited Prince Christopher at Holbek Castle, the night on which it was garrisoned by Drost AagÉ. The little hump-backed man in the red cloak, who was then their companion, was not now seen in their train; but they were accompanied by Prince Christopher's gentleman of the bedchamber, the fat short-necked Sir PallÉ, who frequently lamented over the weather, and seemed as weary of the journey as of his taciturn and unsociable travelling companions.

"This way! up the monastery avenue, sir knights!" he called, impatiently. "You would not surely go farther in this infernal tempest? It is a good way yet to Nestved, and to that dog-hole of an inn, the road every way is long. We stand in need of a good supper, and a good night's rest--I know Pater, head-cook."

"I know the abbot," answered the taller of the two grave knights, with a haughty mien. "At all events, I know myself and my squires, and what a wayfaring man may demand."

"For the Lord's sake! let us not play the braggart, excellent Sir Brock!" said PallÉ, rather in alarm, and drawing his bridle. "If we proceed with violence and bragging, the pious monks may shut the door in our faces, and make the king our enemy to boot; one should, by my troth, seek a shelter by fair means when one slinks past law and ordinance."

"Bah! Here one may make light of secular law and royal ordinance," answered Sir Brock, scornfully. "St. Bent's rules no king can shake."

"Let us only not attack the rules of the monastery, worthy knights!" sighed Sir PallÉ, slapping his empty stomach, "or we may have to put up with fasting fare this evening, and learn of St. Bent to knock out the flesh tooth."

"If that tooth had been knocked out in the monastery there would scarcely be so many butchers in Nestved," remarked the other knight; "keep easy, Sir PallÉ; I promise you a fat roast for this evening--Every Sunday the Nestved butchers are forced to pay their tribute in good roasts and sausages."

"The Abbot understands that," said Sir Brock, with a nod. "That is a fellow who knows how to uphold his rights both with high and low--trust me, Sir PapÆ, the Nestved burghers may well provide him wine for his roast--the whole town hath to thank the monastery and the rich abbot for its rise. Truly, these are burgher and grocer times we live in--we now see villages and towns where before we saw lordly castles, and domains, and mark, now, if the grocers' houses will not at last shoot up over both lordly castles and monasteries. It passes the comprehension, both of king and statesmen, how to keep the people under finger and thumb; but it is well enough understood by him yonder."

"You know the abbot then, Sir Brock?" resumed PallÉ, inquisitively, and with a look of curiosity. "He must be a mighty prelate; they say, he was a good friend of Archbishop Grand's. You have surely no errand to him? You know more of him, perhaps, than I do of Pater, head-cook; for that is but a slight acquaintance. On second thoughts. Sir Knight, would it not be better in these troublous and suspicious times, to pass by the monastery and put up with the dog-hole of an inn?--unless you really have any errand here--you have perhaps known the abbot long. Sir Brock? You are even perhaps of his kindred?"

"Excellent! Go on! if you have more queries, or any more scruples, let me have all out at once, and have done with it," said the tall Sir Brock, with an air of contempt. "To speak plainly, my good Sir PallÉ, you seem somewhat inquisitive. You have asked me of more during this journey, than I would answer my confessor in a whole year.

"And you are as mysterious and cautious as though you took me for a tell-tale, and a man not to be counted on," answered PallÉ, in a tone of annoyance. "If the high-born junker hath trusted me to bring you a private letter, you may well suppose I am among his most confidential friends."

"A confidant is wont, however, to know what tidings he brings," remarked the tall knight.

"You think, perhaps, I know them not," returned PallÉ, assuming an air of consequence. "It will rejoice the noble junker to see you and your friends at Wordingborg, in order to come to a closer and mutual understanding.--Is it not so?"

"Ha, indeed! my sly Sir PallÉ; you understand then, the noble art of opening wax seals?--another time you must do it more dexterously, or, at least, be able to hold your tongue about it. The high-born junker hath known his messenger, and hath not entrusted you with a greater secret than he might suffer to be cried in the streets through every town."

The other knight laughed scornfully. PallÉ was silent, wroth, and crest fallen. The party now halted, drew bridle before the gate of the monastery, and knocked loudly at it. The porter put forth his shaven head from a shutter, and inquired in a peevish tone, who it was, and what was wanted so late.

"Wayfaring and christian men," was the answer. "If you are a pious man of God, Father Porter, sin not by asking forbidden questions, but unlock the gate instantly, in St. Bent's and St. Peter's name!"

"In nomine St. Benedict! Anianensis et St. Petri Apostoli," answered the clerical porter, and instantly withdrew the great iron bolt which secured the gate.

"See ye," said Sir Niels Brock, "St. Bent and St. Peter are more powerful here than kings and worldly despots."

Although the most important household matters were managed by the monks themselves, according to monastic rule, the travellers, on their entering the monastery, were instantly received by a whole crowd of attendant lay-brothers and conversers, who took off their mantles, and eagerly waited on them with handbasons and whatever they required. Father Porter had allowed himself to be replaced at his post by a lay-brother, that he might not miss the evening devotion and the evening meal that accompanied it. After an announcement to the Abbot, he followed the three knights to the refectory, while a lay-brother attended to the wants of the train.