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54. The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bothwell; or,
The Days of Mary Queen of Scots, Volume 1 (of
3)
55. This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.
Title: Bothwell; or, The Days of Mary Queen of Scots, Volume 1
(of 3)
Creator: James Grant
Release date: September 11, 2017 [eBook #55527]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOTHWELL; OR,
THE DAYS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***
56. BOTHWELL:
OR,
THE DAYS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
BY JAMES GRANT, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "MEMORIALS OF EDINBURGH CASTLE,"
"THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER," &c., &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PARRY & CO., LEADENHALL STREET.
MDCCCLI.
M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON.
WORKS, NEWTON.
PREFACE.
57. The leading event upon which the following story hinges, will be
found in the illustrative notes at the end of the third volume, which
will show that the Magister Absalom (so frequently referred to) was a
real personage, who, in the days of Earl Bothwell, was a Protestant
clergyman at Bergen, and author of a Diary named The Chapter Book.
There is no style of reading more conducive to a good or evil
result, than the historical romance, according to the manner it is
treated, by a judicious or injudicious writer. I have been studious in
avoiding any distortion of history, the tenor of which is so often
misconstructed wilfully by writers of romance; for there are bounds
beyond which not even they are entitled to go. The Scottish reader
will find how closely I have woven up the stirring events of 1567 with
my own story, which, in reality, contains much more that is veracious
than fictitious.
Thus, Bothwell's journey to Denmark—his conflict with John of
Park—the Queen's visit to Hermitage—the assault on the house of
Alison Craig—the brawl and assistance given the Earl (in mistake for
Arran) by the Abbot of Kilwinning—and many other incidents, all
occurred actually as related.
With one or two exceptions, every character in the following
pages was a bona fide personage "of flesh and blood," who existed at
the time, and was an actor in the scenes narrated.
In the general grouping, costume, and other dramatic
accessaries, I have endeavoured (as closely as I could) to draw a
picture of the Scottish court and metropolis in the year 1567, at a
time when the splendour of both was dimmed by the poverty which
followed the wars and tumults of the Reformation; and with what
58. success, I may say with the old knights of Cumbernauld—"Let the
deed shaw!"
EDINBURGH, September, 1851.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER
I. The Castle of Bergen
II. Erick Rosenkrantz
III. The Strangers
IV. A Norse Supper
V. The Earl and Hob Discourse
VI. Anna
VII. Konrad
VIII. The Cock-of-the-Woods
IX. Lord Huntly's Letter
X. The Hermit of Bergen
XI. The Fleur-de-Lys
XII. The Isle of Westeray
XIII. Noltland
XIV. The Separation
XV. Doubt and Despair
XVI. Blantyre Priory
XVII. The Countess of Bothwell
59. VIII. The Rescue
XIX. The Rejected and the Rival
XX. Konrad and the Countess
XXI. Disappointment
XXII. The Countess Jane
XXIII. The Pursuit
XXIV. Mary, Queen of Scots
BOTHWELL;
OR,
THE DAYS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE CASTLE Of BERGEN.
The stern old shepherd of the air,
The spirit of the whistling hair,
The wind has risen drearily
In the northern evening sea,
And is piping long and loud
From many a heavy up-coming cloud.
Leigh Hunt.
60. It was the autumn of a bleak day in the September of 1566.
Enveloped in murky clouds, through which, at times, its red rays
shot along the crested waves, the Norwegian sun was verging to the
westward. From the frozen Baltic a cold wind swept down the Skager
Rack, and, urged by the whole force of the Atlantic ocean, the sullen
waves poured their foam upon the rocky bluffs and fissured crags that
overhang the fiord of Christiana.
In those days, a vessel in the fiord proved an object of the
greatest interest to the inhabitants of the hamlet; and it was with
growing fears that the anxious housewives and weatherwise
fishermen of Bergen, a little wooden town situated on the bay of
Christiana, watched the exertions made by the crew of a small crayer
or brigantine, of some eighty tons or so, that under bare poles, or
having at least only her great square spritsail and jib set,
endeavoured to weather the rocky headland to the east, and gain
their little harbour, within which the water lay smooth as a millpond,
forming by its placidity a strong contrast to the boiling and heaving
ocean without.
The last rays of the September sun had died away on the pine-
clad hills of Christiana and the cathedral spire of Bergen. Night came
on sooner than usual, and the sky was rendered opaque by sable
clouds, through which the red streaks of lightning shot red and
forklike; while the hollow thunder reverberated afar off among the
splintered summits of the Silverbergen.
Then through the flying vapour, where, parted by the levin brand,
the misty rain poured down in torrents on the pathless sea, and the
goodwives of Bergen told their beads, and muttered a Hail Mary! or a
prayer to Saint Erick the Martyr for the souls of the poor mariners,
who, they were assured, would find their graves at the bottom of the
61. deep Skager Rack ere morning brightened on the waters of the
Sound.
The royal castle of Bergen, a great square tower of vast strength
and unknown antiquity, reared on a point of rock, still overlooks the
town that in the year of our story was little more than a fisher hamlet.
Swung in an iron grating on its battlement, a huge beacon fire had
been lighted by order of the governor to direct the struggling ship;
and now the flames from the blazing mass of tarred fagots and well-
oiled flax streamed like a torn banner on the stormy wind, and lit up
the weatherbeaten visages of a few Danish soldiers who were
grouped on the keep, glinting on their steel caps and mail shirts, and
on the little brass minions and iron drakes that peeped between the
timeworn embrasures.
Another group, which since sunset had been watching the
strange ship, was crowded under the sheltering arch of the castle
gate, watching for the dispersion of the clouds or the rising of the
moon to reveal her whereabouts.
"Hans Knuber," said a young man who appeared at the wicket,
and whose half military attire showed that he was captain of the
king's crossbowmen at Bergen, "dost thou think she will weather the
Devil's Nose on the next tack?"
"I doubt it much, Captain Konrad," replied the fisherman,
removing his right hand from the pocket of his voluminous red
breeches to the front of his fur cap, "unless they steer with the keep
of Bergen and the spire of the bishop's church in a line; which I saw
they did not do. Ugh! yonder she looms! and what a sea she shipped!
How heavily her fore and after castles and all her top-hamper make
her heel to leeward!"
62. "They who man her seem to have but small skill in pilot-craft,"
said one.
"By Saint Olaus!" cried another, "unless some one boards and
pilots her, another quarter of an hour will see her run full plump on
the reef; and then God assoilzie both master and mariner!"
"Luff—luff—timoneer!" exclaimed the first seaman. "Now keep
her full! Would I had my hands on thy tiller!"
"Every moment the night groweth darker," said the young man
whom they called Konrad, and whom they treated with marked
respect: "as the clouds darken the lightning brightens. A foul shame it
were to old Norway, to have it said that so many of us—stout fellows
all—stood idly and saw yonder struggling ship lost for lack of a little
pilot-craft: for as thou sayest, Hans, if she runs so far again eastward
on the next tack she must strike on the sunken reefs."
"No boat could live in such a sea," muttered the fishermen as
they drew back, none appearing solicitous of the selection which they
expected the young man would make.
"The mists are coming down from the Arctic ocean—the west
wind always brings them," said Jans Thorson; "and we all know 'tis in
these mists that the spirits of the mountain and storm travel."
"Come hither, Hans Knuber," said the captain, whose plumed cap
and rich dress of scarlet velvet, trimmed with white fur, and braided
with silver like a hussar pelisse, were rapidly changing their hues
under the drenching rain that lashed the castle wall, and hissed
through the deep-mouthed archway. "Come hither, thou great
seahorse! Dost mean to tell me thou art afraid?"
"Sir captain, I fear neither the storm nor the spirit of the mist;
but Zernebok the lord of evil may be abroad to-night, and he and the
63. Hermit of the Rock may chance to remember how once in my cups,
like an ass as I was, I reviled and mocked them both."
"Bah!" retorted Konrad, whose superstition did not go so far as
that of the seaman; "Jans Thorson, I will give thee this silver chain to
launch and put forth to yonder ship. Come, man—away, for the
honour of old Norway!"
"Not for all the silver in yonder hills, sir captain, nor the copper in
the mines of Fahlun to boot, would I trust myself beyond the Devil's
Nose to-night," said the old fisherman bluntly. "I have just refused
Master Sueno, the chamberlain."
"Why, 'twas just in such a storm old Christian Alborg, and his
stout ship the Biornen, were blown away into the wide ocean," said
another; "and I marvel much, noble Konrad, that you would urge poor
fellows like us"——
"On a venture which I would not attempt myself!" exclaimed the
young man, whose dark blue eyes flashed at his own suggestion.
"Now, Saint Olaus forefend thou shouldst say so!"
"Nay, noble Konrad"——
"But thou dost think so?"
The fisherman was silent.
A flush crossed the handsome face of Konrad of Saltzberg. He
looked seaward a moment. The wind was roaring fearfully among the
bare summits of the cliffs that towered abruptly from the shore to the
very clouds—absolute mountains of rock rising peak above peak; and
when the blue lightning flashed among them, their granite tops were
seen stretching away in the distance, while the giant pines that
flourished in their clefts and gorges, were tossing like black ostrich
feathers in the storm.
64. At the harbour mouth the waves of snow-white foam were visible
through the gloom, as they lashed, and hissed, and burst in
successive mountains on the rocks of worn granite that fringed the
entrance of the haven.
Konrad cast a rapid glance around him, and the appalling fury of
the northern storm made even his gallant heart waver for a moment
in its generous purpose; but a fair female face, that with all its waving
ringlets appeared at a little casement overlooking the portal, and a
kiss wafted to him from "a quick small hand," decided him. His eyes
sparkled, and turning briskly round to the fishermen, he said,—
"By my honour, Sirs, though knowing less of pilot-craft than of
handling the boll of an arblast, I will prove to you that I require
nothing of any man that I dare not myself attempt—so thus will I put
forth alone—and even if I perish shame you all."
And, throwing aside his sword and short mantle, the young man
rushed down the steep pathway that led to the little pier, and leaped
on board one of the long light whaleboats that lay there; but ere his
ready hand had quite cast off the rope that bound it to a ringbolt on
the mole, both Hans Knuber and Jans Thorson, fired by his example,
sprang on board, and with more of the action of elephants, in their
wide fur boots and mighty breeches, than the agility of seamen, they
seized each an oar, and pushed off.
In Denmark and Norway, there were and are few titles of honour;
but there has always existed in the latter an untitled nobility, like our
Scottish lairds and English squires, consisting of very old families, who
are more highly revered than those ennobled by Norway's Danish
rulers; and many of these can trace their blood back to those terrible
vikingr or ocean kings, who were so long the conquerors of the
English Saxons, and the scourge of the Scottish shores.
65. Konrad of the Saltzberg (for he had no other name than that
which he took from a solitary and half-ruined tower overlooking the
fiord) was the representative of one of those time-honoured races.
The fame his brave ancestors had won under the enchanted
banner of Regner Lodbrog, Erick with the bloody axe, and Sigwardis
Ring, yet lived in the songs and stories of the northern harpers; and
Konrad was revered for these old memories of Norway's ancient days,
while his own bravery, affability, and handsome exterior, gained him
the love of the Norse burghers of Bergen, the Danish bowmen he
commanded, the fishermen of the fiord, and the huntsmen of the
woods of Aggerhuis.
By the glare of the beacon on the castle wall, his boat was briefly
seen amid the deepening gloom as it rose on the heaving swell, and
the broad-bladed oars of his lusty companions flashed as they were
dipped in the sparkling water. A moment, and a moment only, they
were visible; Konrad was seen to move his plumed cap, and his
cheerful hallo was heard; the next, they had vanished into obscurity.
The fishers gazed on the gloom with intensity, but could discover
nothing; and there was no other sound came on the bellowing wind,
save the roar of the resounding breakers as they broke on the
impending bluffs.
CHAPTER II.
ERICK ROSENKRANTZ.
Turn round, turn round, thou Scottish youth,
66. Or loud thy sire shall mourn;
For if thou touchest Norway's strand,
Thou never shalt return.
Vedder.
The hall of the castle of Bergen was a spacious but rude apartment,
spanned by a stone arch, ribbed with massive groins, that sprung
from the ponderous walls.
Its floor was composed of oak planks, and two clumsy stone
columns, surmounted by grotesque capitals, supported the round
archway of the fireplace, above which was a rudely carved, and still
more rudely painted, shield, bearing the golden lion of ancient
Norway in a field gules. Piled within the arch lay a heap of roots and
billets, blazing and rumbling in the recesses of the great stone
chimney. Eight tall candles, each like a small flambeau, flared in an
iron candelabrum, and sputtered in the currents of air that swept
through the hall.
Various weapons hung on the rough walls of red sandstone;
there were heavy Danish ghisannas or battle-axes of steel, iron mauls,
ponderous maces, and deadly morglays, two-handed swords of
enormous length, iron bucklers, chain hauberks, and leathern
surcoats, all of uncouth fashion, and fully two hundred years behind
the arms then used by the more southern nations of Europe.
The long table occupying the centre of the hall was of wood that
had grown in the forests of Memel; it was black as ebony with age,
and the clumsy chairs and stools that were ranged against the walls
were all of the same homely material. Several deerskins were spread
before the hearth, and thereon reposed a couple of shaggy wolf-
67. hounds, that ever and anon cocked their ears when a louder gust
than usual shook the hall windows, or when the rain swept the
feathery soot down the wide chimney to hiss in the sparkling fire.
Near the hearth stood a chair covered with gilded leather, and
studded with brass nails; and so different was its aspect from the rest
of the unornamented furniture, that there was no difficulty in
recognising it as the seat of state. A long sword, the silver hilt of
which was covered with a curious network of steel, hung by an
embroidered baldrick on one knob thereof, balanced by a little velvet
cap adorned with a long scarlet feather, on the other.
The proprietor of these articles, a stout old man, somewhere
about sixty-five, whose rotundity had been considerably increased by
good living, was standing in the arched recess of a well-grated
window, peering earnestly out upon the blackness of the night, in
hope to discern some trace of that strange vessel, concerning which
all Bergen was agog. His complexion was fair and florid, and though
his head was bald and polished, the long hair that hung from his
temples and mingled with his bushy beard and heavy mustaches,
was, like them, of a decided yellow; but his round visage was of the
ruddiest and most weatherbeaten brown. There was a bold and frank
expression in his keen blue eye, that with his air and aspect forcibly
realized the idea of those Scandinavian vikingr who were once the
tyrants of Saxons, and the terror of the Scots.
His flowing robe of scarlet cloth, trimmed with black fur and laced
with gold, his Norwayn anlace or dagger, sheathed in crimson leather
sown with pearls, and the large rowelled spurs that glittered on the
heels of his Muscovite leather boots, announced him one of Norway's
untitled noblesse. He was Erick Rosenkrantz of Welsöö, governor of
68. the province of Aggerhuis, castellan of Bergen, and knight of the
Danish orders of the Elephant and Dannebrog.
"Sueno Throndson," said he to a little old man who entered the
hall, muffled in a mantle of red deerskin, which was drenched with
rain, "dost thou think there is any chance of yonder strange bark
weathering the storm, and getting under the lee of our ramparts?"
"I know not, noble sir," replied Sueno, casting his drenched cloak
on the floor, and displaying his under attire, which (saith the Magister
Absalom Beyer, whose minute narrative we follow) consisted of a
green cloth gaberdine, trimmed with the fur of the black fox, and girt
at the waist by a broad belt, sustaining a black bugle-horn and short
hunting sword. "I have serious doubts; for the waves of the fiord are
combating with the currents from the Skager Rack, and whirling like a
maelstrom. I have been through the whole town of Bergen; but
neither offer nor bribe—no, not even the bishop's blessing, a hundred
pieces of silver, and thrice as many deer hides—will induce one of the
knavish fishermen or white-livered pilots to put forth a boat to pick up
any of these strangers, who must all drown the moment their ship
strikes; and strike she must, if the wind holds."
"The curse of Saint Olaus be on them!" grumbled the governor,
glancing at a rude image of Norway's tutelary saint.
"Amen!" added Sueno, as he wrung the wet tails of his
gaberdine.
"Didst thou try threats, then?"
"By my soul, I did so; and with equal success."
"Dost thou gibe me, Throndson? This to me, the governor of
Aggerhuis, and captain of the king's castle of Bergen!" muttered the
portly official, walking to and fro, and swelling with importance as he
spoke.
69. "The oldest of our fishermen are ready to swear on the blessed
gospels that there has not been seen such a storm since Christian
Alborg, in the Biornen, was blown from his moorings."
"Under the ramparts of this, the king's castle, by foul sorcery;
and on the vigil of Saint Erick the king, and martyr too! I remember it
well, Sueno. But what! is the old Norse spirit fallen so far, that these
villains have become so economical of their persons that they shrink
from a little salt water? and that none will launch a shallop in such to
save these poor strangers, who, unless they know the coast, will
assuredly run full tilt on the Devil's Nose at the haven mouth? By
Saint Olaus! I can see the white surf curling over its terrible ridge,
through the gloom, even at this moment."
"I said all this, noble sir," replied Sueno, brushing the rain from
his fur bonnet; "but none attended to me save young Konrad of the
Saltzberg, the captain of our Danish crossbowmen, who cursed them
for white-livered coistrils, and launching a boat, with Hans Knuber and
Jans Thorson the pilot, pushed off from the mole, like brave hearts as
they are, in the direction of the labouring ship, which Konrad vowed
to pilot round the Devil's Nose or perish."
"Fool! and thou only tellest me of this now! Konrad—the boldest
youth and the best in all old Norway!" exclaimed the burly governor.
"Hah! and hath the last of an ancient and gallant race to peril his life
on such a night as this, when these baseborn drawers of nets and
fishers of seals hang back?"
"His boat vanished into the gloom in a moment, and we heard
but one gallant blast from his bugle ring above the roar of the waves
that boil round that terrible promontory."
"The mother of God pray for him—brave lad! What the devil!
Sueno, I would not for all the ships on the northern seas, a hair of
70. Konrad's head were injured; for though he is no kin to me, I love the
lad as if he were mine own and only son. See that my niece Anna
knoweth not of this wild adventure till he returns safe. She has
seemed somewhat cold to him of late; some lover's pique"——
"I pray he may return, Sir Erick."
"He must—he shall return!" rejoined the impetuous old knight,
stamping his foot. "Yea, and in safety too, or I will sack Bergen, and
scourge every fisher in it. From whence thought these knaves the
stranger came?"
"From Denmark."
"Malediction on Denmark!" said Rosenkrantz, feeling his old
Norse prejudices rising in his breast. "Assure me that she is Danish,
and I will extinguish the beacon and let them all drown and be——!"
"Nay, nay, Sir Governor, they know her to be a good ship of
Scotland, commanded by a certain great lord of that country, who is
on an embassy to Frederick of Denmark, and hath been cruising in
these seas."
"Then my double malediction on the Scots, too!" said the
governor, as he turned away from the hall window.
"And so say I, noble Sir," chimed in the obsequious chamberlain,
as he raised the skirts of his gaberdine, and warmed his voluminous
trunk hosen before the great fire.
"Right, Throndson! though eight of our monarchs are buried in
Iona, under the Ridge of the Kings, the death of Coelus of Norway,
who is graved in the Scottish Kyles, still lives in our songs; and the
fatal field of Largs, when aided by such a storm as this, the Scots laid
Haco's enchanted banner in the waves."
"And the wars of Erick with the bloody axe."
"And of Harold Graafeldt, his son."
71. "And Magnus with the Barefeet," continued the old man, whose
eyes gleamed at the names of these savage kings of early
Scandinavia.
"Enough, Sueno," said the governor, who was again peering from
the window into the darkness; "enough, or thou wilt fire my old Norse
heart in such wise by these fierce memories, that no remnant of
Christian feeling will remain in it. After all, it matters not, Scots or
Danes, we ought to pray for the souls that are now perhaps, from
yonder dark abyss, ascending to the throne of God unblessed and
unconfessed," added the old knight, with a sudden burst of religious
feeling.
"God assoil them!" added Sueno crossing himself, and becoming
pious too.
From the windows of the hall little else was seen but the dark
masses of cloud that flew hither and thither on the stormy wind; at
times a red star shot a tremulous ray through the openings, and was
again hidden. Far down, beneath the castle windows, boiled the fierce
ocean, and its white foam was visible when the lofty waves reared up
their crested heads to lash the impending cliffs; but we have said that
the bosom of the harbour was smooth as a summer lake when
compared with the tumult of the fiord of Christiana. Overhead,
showers of red sparks were swept away through the gloom, from the
beacon that blazed on the keep to direct the waveworn ship.
"What led Hans Knuber and his brother knave of the net, to
deem the stranger was a Scot? By her lumbering leeboard I would
have sworn she was a Lubecker."
"Nay, Sir, her high fore and after castles marked her Scottish
build; and both Hans Knuber and Jans Thorson, who have eyes for
these matters, and have traded to Kirkwall—yea, and even to that
72. Scottish sea the fiord of Forth—averred she bore Saint Andrew's
saltire flying at her mizen-peak——I see nothing of her now,"
continued Sueno.
"See! why, 'tis so dark, one cannot see the length of one's own
nose. They must have perished!"
At that moment the flash of a culverin glared amid the obscurity
far down below; but its report was borne away on the wind that
roared down the narrow fiord to bury its fury in the Skager Rack.
"God and St. Olaus be praised!" muttered the old knight, rubbing
his hands: "they are almost within the haven mouth; another
moment, and they will be safe."
"Thou forgettest, noble sir," said the chamberlain, "that the
stranger's pilot may be unacquainted with the nooks and crooks of
our harbour, the rocks and reefs that fringe it, and that the water in
some parts is two hundred fathoms deep."
"Saidst thou not that Konrad and Hans Knuber had put off in a
boat?"
"True, true! A ray of light is shining on the water now."
"Whence comes it?"
"'Tis the hermit in the cavern under the rocks, who hath lit a
beacon on the beach to direct the benighted ship."
"Saint Olaf bless him! Hoh! there goeth the culverin again. We
heard the report this time. They are saved! 'Tis Konrad of Saltzberg
hath done this gallant deed, and heaven reward him! for many a poor
fellow had perished else. Now that they are in safe anchorage, away
Sueno Throndson, take thy chamberlain's staff and chain, man a boat,
board this seaworn ship, and invite this Scottish lord to Bergen; for a
foul shame it were in a knight of the Elephant, to permit the
ambassador of a queen, to remain on shipboard after such a storm,
73. and within a bowshot of his Danish majesty's castle: we would be
worse than Finns or Muscovites. Away, Sueno! for now the storm is
lulling, and under the lee of its high hills the harbour is smooth as a
mirror."
Thus commanded, Sueno unwillingly enveloped himself once
more in the before-mentioned fur mantle, and retired.
A blast of his horn was heard to ring in the yard as he summoned
certain followers, who grumbled and swore in guttural Norse as they
scrambled after him down the steep and winding pathway, that led
from the castle gate to the mole of Bergen.
CHAPTER III.
THE STRANGERS.
To tell the terrors of deep untried,
What toils we suffer'd, and what storms defied;
What mountain surges, mountain surges lash'd,
What sudden hurricanes the canvass dash'd;
To tell each horror in the deep reveal'd,
Would ask an iron throat with tenfold vigour steel'd.
Lusiad of Camoens.
"How now, Anna! thou lookest as pale as if all the gnomes of the
Silverbergen, or Nippen and Zernebok to boot, had been about thee.
Art thou affrighted by the storm, child?" asked Erick, pinching the soft
74. cheek of his niece, who at that moment had entered the hall, and
glided to his side in one of the great windows.
Her only reply was to clasp her hands upon his arm, and look up
in his face with a fond smile.
Anna Rosenkrantz was the only daughter of Svend of Aggerhuis,
the governor's younger brother, who had fallen in battle with the
Holsteiners. In stature she was rather under the middle height; and
so full and round was her outline, that many might have considered it
too much so, but for the exquisite fairness of her skin, the beauty of
her features, and the grace pervading every motion. Norway is famed
for its fair beauties, but the lustre of Anna's complexion was dazzling;
her neck and forehead were white as the unmelting snows of the
Dovrefeldt. From under the lappets of a little velvet cap, which was
edged by a row of Onslo pearls, her dark-brown ringlets flowed in
heavy profusion, and seemed almost black when contrasted with the
neck on which they waved. Her eyes were of a decided grey, dark, but
clear and sparkling. The curve of her mouth and chin were very
piquant and arch in expression; her smile was ever one of surpassing
sweetness, and at times of coquetry.
A jacket of black velvet, fashioned like a Bohemian vest, trimmed
with narrow edgings of white fur, and studded with seed pearls,
displayed the full contour of her beautiful bust; but unhappily her skirt
was one of those enormous fardingales which were then becoming
the rage over all Europe.
"Have the roaring of the wind and the screaming of the water-
sprite scared thee, Anna?" continued the old man, who, like a true
Nordlander, believed every element to be peopled by unseen spirits
and imps. "By the bones of Lodbrog!" he added, patting her soft
cheek with his huge bony hand, "my mind misgave me much that this
75. last year's sojourn at the palace of Kiobenhafen would fairly undo
thee."
"How, good uncle?" said Anna, blushing slightly.
"By tainting thine inbred hardiment of soul, my little damsel, and
making thee, instead of a fearless Norse maiden, and a dweller in the
land of hills and cataracts, like one of those sickly moppets whom I
have seen clustered round the tabouret of Frederick's queen, when,
for my sins, I spent a summer at his court during the war with
Christian II., that tyrant and tool of the Dutch harlot, Sigiberta."
"Indeed, uncle mine, you mistake me," replied Anna, "though I
will own myself somewhat terrified by this unwonted storm."
"There now! said I not so? Three years ago, would the screaming
of the eagles, the yelling of the wood-demon, the howl of the wind, or
the tumult of the ocean, when all the spirits of the Skager Rack are
rolling its billows on the rocks, have affrighted thee? Bah! what is
there so terrible in all that? Do not forget, my girl, that thou comest of
a race of sea-kings who trace their blood from O'Ivarre—he who with
Andd and Olaff ravaged all the Scottish shores from Thurso to the
Clyde, and once even placed the red lion of Norway on the double
dun of Alcluyd.[*] But I warrant thou art only terrified for young
Konrad, who, like a gallant Norseman, hath run his life into such
deadly peril."
[*] A.D. 870 (Note by Mag. Absalom Beyer.)
"Konrad—tush!" said Anna pettishly.
"Ay, Konrad!" reiterated Erick testily; "which way doth the wind
blow now? By my soul, damosel, thou takest very quietly the danger
76. in which the finest young fellow in all Norway has thrust himself—
when even the boldest of our fishers drew back. He departed in a
poor shallop to guide yonder devilish ship round the dangerous
promontory, and if the blessed saints have not prevailed over the
spirits of evil, who make their bourne in the caverns of that dark
ocean—then I say, God help thee, Konrad of Saltzberg! But fear not,
Anna," continued the old man kindly, perceiving that she turned away
as if to conceal tears; "for thy lover is stout of heart and strong of
hand—and—there now!—the devil's in my old gossiping tongue—pest
upon it!—I have made thee weep."
Anna's breast heaved very perceptibly, and she covered her face,
not to conceal her tears, but the smile that spread over her features.
"Come, damosel—away to thy toilet; for know there is in yonder
ship which we have watched the livelong day, and which has escaped
destruction so narrowly, a certain great lord, who this night shall sup
with us; for I have sent Sueno with a courteous message, inviting him
to abide, so long as it pleases him, in the king's castle of Bergen. Be
gay, Anna; for I doubt not thou wilt be dying to hear tidings of what is
astir in the great world around Aggerhuis; for, during the last month
since thy return here, thou hast moped like some melancholy oyster
on the frozen cape yonder."
"A great lord, saidst thou, uncle?" asked Anna with sudden
animation.
"Of Scotland—so said Sueno."
Anna blushed scarlet; but the momentary expression of confusion
was replaced by one of pride and triumph.
"Did thou hear of any such at Frederick's court, little one?"
"Yes—oh yes! there were two on an embassy concerning the isles
of Shetland."
77. "Ah! which that fool, Christian of Oldenburg, gave to the Scottish
king with his daughter Margaret? Their names?"
"I marked them not," replied Anna with hesitation; "for thou
knowest, uncle mine, I bear no good-will unto these rough-footed
Scots."
"Keep all thy good-will for the lad who loves thee so well," said
the old man smiling, as he pressed his wiry mustaches against her
white forehead. "I see thou hast still the old Norse spirit, Anna.
Though three centuries have come and gone since the field of Largs
was lost by Haco and his host, we have not forgotten it; and
vengeance for that day's slaughter and defeat still forms no small item
in our oaths of fealty and of knighthood. But hark! the horn of Sueno!
There are torches flashing on the windows, and strange voices
echoing, in the court. Away, girl! and bring me my sword and collars
of knighthood from yonder cabinet; for I must receive these guests as
becomes the king's representative at Aggerhuis, and captain of his
castle of Bergen."
Anna glided from his side, and in a minute returned with a casket
from the cabinet, and the long heavy sword that lay on the chair at
the fireplace. She clasped the rich waistbelt round the old man's burly
figure, and drawing from the casket the gold chain with the diamond
Elephant, having under its feet the enamelled motto,
"Trew is Wildbrat,"—
and the woven collar bearing the red cross of the Dannebrog, she
placed them round Sir Brick's neck, and the jewels sparkled brightly
among the red hair of his bushy beard.
She then glanced hurriedly at her own figure in an opposite
mirror; adjusted the jaunty little cap before mentioned; ran her
78. slender fingers through her long dark ringlets; smiled with satisfaction
at her own beauty; and took her seat on a low tabouret near the
great stuffed chair, between the gilded arms of which the pompous
old governor wedged his rotund figure, with an energy that made his
visage flush scarlet to the temples; and he had barely time to assume
his most imposing aspect of official dignity, when the light of several
flambeaux flashed through the dark doorway at the lower end of the
hall, and the handsome commander of his crossbowmen, Konrad of
Saltzberg, with his features pale from fatigue, and his long locks, like
his furred pelisse, damp with salt water, and Sueno wearing his gold
chain and key, having his white wand uplifted, and attended by
several torch-bearers in the king's livery, preceded the strangers.
The first who approached was a tall and handsome man, in
whose strong figure there was a certain jaunty air, that suited well the
peculiar daredevil expression of his deep dark eye, which bespoke the
confirmed man of pleasure. He seemed to be about thirty years of
age, and was clad in a shining doublet of cloth of gold, over which he
wore a cuirass of the finest steel, attached to the backplate by braces
of burnished silver. His mantle was of purple velvet lined with white
satin; his trunk breeches were of the latter material slashed with
scarlet silk, and were of that enormous fashion then so much in
vogue, being so preposterously stuffed with tow, hair, or bombast, as
to render even greaves useless in battle. He wore a long sword and
Scottish dagger. His blue velvet bonnet was adorned by a diamond
aigrette, from which sprung three tall white ostrich feathers. His eyes
were keen, dark, and proud, and their brows nearly met over his
nose, which was straight; he wore little beard, but his mustaches
were thick and pointed upward. His page, a saucy-looking lad of
sixteen, whom he jocularly called Nick (for his name was Nicholas