Part 13

“Mr. Ordener,” said he, “if I should ever have occasion to discuss the subject with Over-Bilseuth, otherwise called ‘the Babbler,’ nothing shall prevent me from maintaining that you are a wise and honorable young man. What more worthy and more glorious, in fact, _quid cithara, tuba, vel campana dignius_, than nobly to risk your life to free your country from a monster, a brigand, a demon, in whom all demons, brigands, and monsters seem to be combined? Nobody need tell me that you are moved by mercenary motives. Noble Lord Ordener yields the price of his conflict to the companion of his journey, to the old man who only guided him within a mile of Walderhog cave; for I am sure, young master, that you will allow me to await the result of your illustrious enterprise at the village of Surb, situated in the forest within a mile of Walderhog, will you not? And when your glorious victory is made known, sir, all Norway will thrill with joy like that of Vermund the Refugee, when from the summit of this same Oëlmœ cliff, which we just now passed, he saw the great fire kindled by his brother Halfdan on Munkholm tower in token of his deliverance.”

At these words Ordener interrupted him eagerly.

“What! is Munkholm tower visible from the top of this rock?”

“Yes, sir; twelve miles to the south, between the mountains which our fathers called Frigga’s Footstools. At this hour you should be able to see the light in the tower distinctly.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Ordener, fired by the idea of another glimpse of the seat of all his happiness. “Old man, of course there is a path leading to the top of the rock, is there not?”

“Yes, to be sure; a path which begins in the wood that lies just before us, and rises by a gentle slope to the bare crown of the cliff, whence it is continued by steps cut in the rock by Vermund’s companions, as far as the castle, where it ends. Those are the ruins which you see in the moonlight.”

“Well, old man, you shall show me the path; we will spend the night in those ruins,--in those ruins from which Munkholm tower is visible.”

“Can you really mean it, sir?” asked Benignus. “The fatigues of the day--”

“Old man, I will support your steps; my footing was never more secure.”

“Sir, the brambles that block the path, which has long been deserted, the fallen stones, the darkness--”

“I will take the lead.”

“There may be some savage beast, some unclean animal, some hideous monster--”

“I did not undertake this journey to avoid monsters.”

The idea of halting so near Oëlmœ was very unpleasant to Spiagudry; the thought of seeing Munkholm light, and possibly the light in Ethel’s window, enraptured and transported Ordener.

“Young master,” urged Spiagudry, “give up this scheme; take my advice. I have a presentiment that it will bring us bad luck.”

This plea was as nothing in the face of Ordener’s longing.

“Come,” said he, impatiently, “you must remember that you agreed to serve me faithfully. I insist upon your showing me the path; where is it?”

“We shall come across it directly,” said the keeper, forced to obey.

In fact, they soon saw the path. They entered it; but Spiagudry observed, with surprise mixed with fright, that the tall grass was broken and trampled, and that Vermund the Refugee’s old footpath seemed to have been recently trodden.

XX.

_Leonardo._ The king requires your presence. _Henrique._ How so? LOPE DA VEGA: _La Fuerza Lastinosa_.

General Levin de Knud sat at his desk, which was covered with papers and open letters, apparently lost in thought. A secretary stood before him awaiting his orders. The general now struck the rich carpet beneath his feet with his spurs, and now absently toyed with the decoration of the Elephant, hanging about his neck from the collar of the order. Occasionally he opened his lips as if to speak, then stopped, rubbed his head, and cast another glance at the unsealed despatches littering the table.

“How the devil!” he cried at last.

This conclusive exclamation was followed by a brief silence.

“Who would ever have imagined,” he resumed, “that those devilish miners would have gone so far? Of course they were secretly egged on to this revolt; but do you know, Wapherney, the thing looks serious? Do you know that five or six hundred scoundrels from the Färöe Islands, headed by a certain old thief named Jonas, have already quitted the mines; that a young fanatic called Norbith has also taken command of the Guldbrandsdal malcontents; that all the hot-heads in Sund-Moer, Hubfallo, and Kongsberg, who were only waiting the signal, may have risen already? Do you know that the mountaineers have joined the movement, and that they are headed by one of the boldest foxes of Kiölen, old Kennybol? And finally, do you know that according to popular report in northern Throndhjem, if we are to believe the lord mayor, who has written me, that notorious criminal, upon whose head we have set a price, the much-dreaded Hans, has taken chief command of the insurrection? What do you say to all this, my dear Wapherney? Ahem!”

“Your Excellency,” said Wapherney, “knows what measures--”

“There is still another circumstance connected with this lamentable affair which I cannot explain; that is, how our prisoner Schumacker can be the author of the revolt, as they claim. This seems to surprise no one, but it surprises me more than anything else. It is hard to believe that a man whose company my faithful Ordener loves can be a traitor; and yet it is asserted that the miners have risen in his name,--his name is their watchword. They even give him the titles of which the king deprived him. All this seems certain; but how does it happen that Countess d’Ahlefeld knew all these details a week ago, at a time when the first real symptoms of trouble had scarcely begun to appear in the mines? It is strange! No matter, I must provide for every emergency. Give me my seal, Wapherney.”

The general wrote three letters, sealed them, and handed them to his secretary.

“See that this message is sent to Baron Vœthaün, colonel of musketeers, now garrisoned at Munkholm, so that his regiment may march at once to the seat of the revolt; this to the officer in command at Munkholm, an order to guard the ex-chancellor more closely than ever. I must see and question this Schumacker myself. Then despatch this letter to Skongen, to Major Wolhm, who is in command there, directing him to send forward a portion of the garrison to the centre of rebellion. Go, Wapherney, and see that these orders are executed at once.”

The secretary went out, leaving the governor plunged in meditation.

“All this is very alarming,” thought he. “These miners rebelling in one place, this chancellor intriguing in another, that crazy Ordener--nobody knows where! He may be travelling in the very midst of all these rioters, leaving Schumacker here under my protection to conspire against the State, and his daughter, for whose safety I have been kind enough to remove the company of soldiers to which that Frederic d’Ahlefeld belongs, whom Ordener accuses of--Why, it seems to me that this very company might easily stop the advance columns of the insurgents; it is very well situated for that. Wahlstrom, where it is stationed, is near Lake Miösen and Arbar ruin. That is one of the places of which the rebels will be sure to take possession.”

At this point in his revery, the general was interrupted by the sound of the opening door.

“Well, what do you want, Gustavus?”

“General, a messenger asks to speak for a moment with your Excellency.”

“Well, what is it now? What fresh disaster! Let the messenger come in.”

The messenger entered, and handed a packet to the governor, saying, “From his highness the viceroy, your Excellency.”

The general hurriedly tore open the despatch.

“By Saint George!” he cried, with a start of surprise, “I believe that they have all gone mad! If here is not the viceroy requesting me to proceed to Bergen. He says it is on urgent business, by order of the king. A fine time this to transact urgent business! ‘The lord chancellor, now travelling in the province of Throndhjem, will take your place during your absence.’ Here’s a substitute in whom I have no confidence! ‘The bishop will assist him--’ Really, these are excellent governors that Frederic chooses for a country in a state of revolt,--two gentlemen of the cloth, a chancellor, and a bishop! Well, no matter, the invitation is express; it is the order of the king. Needs must obey; but before I go I must see Schumacker and question him. I am sure that there is a plot to involve me in a network of intrigue; but I have one unerring compass,--my conscience.”

XXI.

The voice of thy slain brother’s blood cries out, Even from the ground, unto the Lord! _Cain: A Mystery._

“Yes, Count; it was this very day, in Arbar ruin, that we were told he might be found. Countless circumstances lead me to believe in the truth of this valuable information which I accidentally picked up yesterday, as I told you, at Oëlmœ village.”

“Are we far from this Arbar ruin?”

“It is close by Lake Miösen. The guide assures me that we shall be there before noon.”

These words were spoken by two horsemen muffled in brown cloaks, who early one morning were pursuing one of the many narrow, winding paths which run in every direction through the forest lying between Lakes Miösen and Sparbo. A mountain guide, provided with a huntinghorn and an axe, led the way upon his little gray pony, and behind the travellers rode four men armed to the teeth, toward whom these two persons occasionally turned, as if afraid of being overheard.

“If that Iceland thief is really lurking in Arbar ruin,” said one rider, whose steed kept a respectful distance behind the other, “it is a great point gained; for the difficulty hitherto has been to find this mysterious being.”

“Do you think so, Musdœmon? And suppose he declines our offers?”

“Impossible, your Grace! What brigand could resist gold and a free pardon?”

“But you know that this is no common scoundrel. Do not judge him by yourself. If he should refuse, how can you keep your promise of night before last to the three leaders of the insurrection?”

“Well, noble Count, in that case, which I regard as impossible if we are lucky enough to find our man, has your Grace forgotten that a false Hans of Iceland awaits me two days hence at the hour and place appointed for meeting the three chiefs, at Blue Star, a place, moreover, conveniently near Arbar ruin?”

“You are right, my dear Musdœmon, as usual,” said the count; and each resumed his own particular line of thought.

Musdœmon, whose interest it was to keep his master in good humor, for the purpose of diverting him, asked the guide a question.

“My good man, what is that ruined stone cross yonder, behind those young oaks?”

The guide, a man with fixed stare and stupid mien, turned his head and shook it several times, as he said: “Oh, master, that is the oldest gallows in Norway; holy king Olaf had it built for a judge who made a compact with a robber.”

Musdœmon saw by his patron’s face that the guide’s artless words had produced an effect quite contrary to that which he hoped.

“It is a curious story,” the guide added; “good Mother Osia told it to me. The robber was ordered to hang the judge.”

The poor guide, in his simplicity, did not suppose that the incident with which he meant to entertain his employers was almost an insult to them. Musdœmon stopped him.

“That will do,” said he; “we have heard the story before.”

“Insolent fellow!” muttered the count, “he has heard the story before. Ah, Musdœmon, you shall pay for your impudence yet.”

“Did your Grace speak to me?” obsequiously asked Musdœmon.

“I was thinking how I could obtain the Order of the Dannebrog for you. The marriage of my daughter Ulrica and Baron Ordener would be an excellent opportunity.”

Musdœmon was profuse in protestations and thanks.

“By the way,” added his Grace, “let us talk business. Do you suppose that the temporary recall which we sent him has reached the Mecklenburger?”

The reader may remember that the count was in the habit of thus designating General Levin de Knud, who was indeed a native of Mecklenburg.

“Let us talk business!” thought the injured Musdœmon; “it seems that my affairs are not ‘business.’ Count,” he replied aloud, “I think that the viceroy’s messenger must be in Throndhjem by this time, and therefore General Levin must be getting ready to start.”

The count assumed a kindly tone.

“That recall, my dear fellow, was one of your masterstrokes,--one of your best planned and most skilfully executed intrigues.”

“The credit belongs as much to your Grace as to me,” replied Musdœmon, careful, as we have already remarked, to mix the count in all his machinations.

The master understood this secret desire of his confidant, but chose to seem unconscious of it.

He smiled.

“My dear private secretary, you are always modest; but nothing can make me depreciate your most eminent services. Elphega’s presence and the Mecklenburger’s absence assure my triumph in Throndhjem. I am now at the head of the province; and if Hans of Iceland accepts the command of the rebels, which I intend to offer him in person, to me will fall, in the eyes of the king, the glory of putting down this distressing insurrection and capturing this terrible brigand.”

They were chatting thus in low voices when the guide rode back to them.

“Masters,” said he, “here on our left is the hillock upon which Biorn the Just had the double-tongued Vellon beheaded in the presence of his entire army, the traitor having driven off the king’s allies and summoned the enemy to the camp, that he might have the appearance of saving Biorn’s life.”

All these reminiscences of old Norway did not seem to be to Musdœmon’s taste, for he hurriedly interrupted the guide.

“Come, come, good man, be silent and go your way, without turning back so often. What do we care about the foolish stories of which these ruins and dead trees remind you? You annoy my master with your old wives’ tales.”

XXII.

Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; While the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task foredone. Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud. Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide. SHAKESPEARE: _Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

Let us now retrace our steps. We left Ordener and Spiagudry struggling laboriously up the brow of Oëlmœ cliff by the light of the rising moon. This rock, bare of vegetation at the point where it begins to curve, is, from this peculiarity, called by the Norwegian peasants the Vulture’s Neck,--a name which gives an excellent idea of the aspect of this huge granite bowlder as seen from a distance.

As our travellers approached this part of the rock, the forest changed to heather. Grass gave place to moss; wild brier-roses, broom, and holly were substituted for oaks and beeches,--a scantier growth, which in mountainous regions always shows that the summit is near, as it indicates the gradual diminution of the stratum of earth covering what may be termed the skeleton of the mountain.

“Mr. Ordener,” said Spiagudry, whose lively mind seemed ever a prey to a varying world of ideas, “this is a very tiresome climb, and it takes all my devotion to follow you. But it seems to me that I see a superb _convolvulus_ yonder to the right; how I should like to examine it. Why is it not broad daylight? Don’t you think it was a great piece of impertinence to value a learned man like me at no more than four paltry crowns? ’Tis true, the famous Phædrus was a slave, and Æsop, if we are to believe the learned Planudes, was sold at a fair like a beast of burden or household chattel. And who would not be proud to bear any sort of resemblance to the great Æsop?”

“Or to the celebrated Hans?” added Ordener, with a smile.

“By Saint Hospitius,” replied the keeper, “do not utter that name so lightly; I swear I could readily forego the latter comparison. But wouldn’t it be strange if Benignus Spiagudry, his companion in misfortune, should win the reward for his head? Mr. Ordener, you are more generous than Jason, for he did not give the golden fleece to the Argonaut pilot; and I am sure that your mission, although I do not clearly understand its object, is no less perilous than that of Jason.”

“Well,” said Ordener, “since you know Hans of Iceland, tell me something about him. You say that he is by no means a giant, as is generally supposed.”

Spiagudry interrupted him: “Stop, master! Don’t you hear footsteps behind us?”

“Yes,” quietly answered the young man; “don’t be alarmed; it is some animal frightened at our coming, and brushing against the bushes in its flight.”

“You are right, my young Cæsar; it is so long since these woods have seen the face of man! If we may judge by its heavy tread, it must be a good-sized animal. It may be an elk or a reindeer; this part of Norway abounds in these beasts. Wildcats are also found here; I saw one myself, which was brought to Copenhagen; he was monstrous big. I must give you a description of this ferocious animal.”

“My dear guide,” said Ordener, “I would rather that you would give me a description of another and no less ferocious monster, the horrible Hans.”

“Speak lower, sir! How calmly you utter that name! You do not know--Good Heavens, sir! just hear that!”

As Spiagudry said this, he drew closer to Ordener, who did indeed distinctly hear a cry similar to the growl which, as the reader may remember, had so alarmed the timid keeper on the stormy night of their departure from Throndhjem.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, breathless with fright.

“To be sure I did,” said Ordener; “but I don’t see why you tremble so violently. It is the howl of some wild beast, possibly the cry of one of those very wildcats of which you were just talking. Did you expect to pass through such a place at this time of night without disturbing any of its inhabitants? I’ll warrant you, old man, they are far more frightened than you are.”

Spiagudry, seeing his young companion’s composure, was somewhat reassured.

“Well, it may be, sir, that you are right. But that yell sounded terribly like a voice that I--It was a very poor idea, let me tell you, sir, to insist upon climbing up to this Vermund’s castle. I fear we shall meet with some accident on the Vulture’s Neck.”

“Fear nothing while you are with me,” answered Ordener.

“Oh, nothing disturbs you; but, sir, nobody but the blessed Saint Paul can handle vipers without getting bitten. You did not even notice, when we struck into this confounded footpath, that it seemed to have been recently trodden, and that the grass had not had time to lift its head since it was trampled.”

“I confess that I did not pay much heed to it, and that my peace of mind is not dependent upon the state of a few blades of grass. See, we are now out of the thicket; we shall hear no more from the wild beasts; I need not therefore tell you, my brave guide, to summon all your courage, but rather bid you muster all your strength, for this path, cut in the rock, will doubtless be even steeper than the one we have left.”

“It is not that it is steeper, sir, but the learned traveller, Suckson, says that it is often impeded by rocks or heavy stones too big to be handled, over which it is not easy to clamber. Among others, there is, just beyond the Maläer postern, which must be close at hand, a huge triangular granite bowlder, which I have always had the greatest desire to see. Schoenning asserts that he discovered the three primitive Runic characters on it.”

The travellers had for some time been climbing the face of the rock; they now reached a small, ruined tower, through which their path led, and to which Spiagudry drew Ordener’s attention.

“This is the Maläer postern, sir. This path hewn in the living rock contains several curious structures, which show the ancient style of fortification used in our Norwegian manor-houses. This postern, which was always guarded by four men-at-arms, was the first outwork of Vermund’s fort. Speaking of posterns, the monk Urensius makes an odd remark; he asks whether the word _janua_, derived from Janus, whose temple doors were so widely celebrated, has any connection with ‘Janissary,’ a name applied to the troops who guard the sultan’s gate. It would be strange enough if the name of the mildest prince known to history should have passed to the most ferocious soldiers upon earth.”

In the midst of all the keeper’s scientific twaddle, they journeyed laboriously along, over loose stones and sharp pebbles, mingled with the short, slippery grass which sometimes grows upon rocks. Ordener beguiled his weariness by thinking how delightful it would be to gaze once more upon distant Munkholm; all at once Spiagudry exclaimed: “Oh, I see it! This sight alone repays me for all my trouble. I see it, sir, I see it!”

“See what?” said Ordener, who was just then thinking of Ethel.

“Why, sir, the three-sided pyramid described by Schoenning. I shall be the third scientific man, with Professor Schoenning and Bishop Isleif, to have the pleasure of studying it. Only it is a great pity that there is no moon.”

As they approached the famous bowlder, Spiagudry uttered an exclamation of horror and distress. Ordener, in surprise, asked with some interest the cause of this new emotion; but the archæologist was for a time unable to reply.

“You thought,” said Ordener, “that this rock blocked the path; on the contrary, you should be grateful to find that it leaves it entirely open.”

“And that is the very thing which provokes me,” said Benignus, in piteous accents.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, sir,” replied the keeper, “do you not see that the position of the pyramid has been changed; that the base, which rested on the path, is now uppermost; and that the bowlder stands upside down, upon the very side on which Schoenning discovered the primordial Runic letters? I am indeed unfortunate!”

“It is a pity,” said the young man.

“And besides,” hastily added Spiagudry, “the overturning of this mass of stone proves the presence of some superhuman being. Unless it be the work of the Devil, there is but one man in Norway whose arm could--”

“My poor guide, there you are, giving way again to your foolish fears. Who knows but this stone has lain thus for more than a hundred years?”

“It is a hundred and fifty years, it is true,” said Spiagudry, more quietly, “since the last scientific man observed it. But it seems to me to have been moved recently; the place which it formerly occupied is still damp. Look, sir.”

Ordener, impatient to reach the ruins, dragged his guide away from the marvellous pyramid, and succeeded, by gentle words, in removing the fresh fears with which this strange displacement inspired the aged scholar.

“See here, old man, you can take up your abode on the borders of this lake, and devote yourself to your important studies, when you get the thousand crowns reward for Hans’s head.”

“You are right, noble sir; but do not speak so lightly of so dubious a victory. I must give you one piece of advice which may help you to overcome the monster.”

Ordener drew eagerly toward Spiagudry. “Advice! what is it?”

“The robber,” said the latter, in a low voice, casting uneasy glances around him,--“the robber wears at his belt a skull, from which he usually drinks. It is the skull of his son, of the mutilation of whose corpse I am accused.”

“Speak a little louder, and don’t be frightened; I can hardly hear you. Well, this skull?”