Part 18

“As your worship,” added the wife, her face beaming with curiosity, “does not seem able to tell us anything about yourself, can you not tell us something about what is going on just now, for instance, something about this wonderful marriage of which my husband speaks?”

“Yes,” rejoined her husband, with a self-important air, “that’s the very latest news. Within a month the viceroy’s son will marry the chancellor’s daughter.”

“I doubt it,” said Ordener.

“You doubt it, sir! I assure you that the thing is certain. I have it on the best authority. The fellow who told me had it from Mr. Poël, the favorite servant of the noble Baron Thorwick,--that is, the noble Count Danneskiold. Can any storm have troubled the waters within the week? Has this grand match been broken off?”

“I think so,” replied the young man, smiling.

“If that is so, sir, I am wrong. Never light the fire to fry the fish before it is in the net. But have they really quarrelled? Who told you so?”

“Nobody,” said Ordener. “I merely imagined so.”

At this frank confession the fisherman could not help transgressing the laws of Norwegian courtesy by a loud burst of laughter.

“A thousand pardons, sir. But it is easy to see that you are indeed a traveller, and probably a stranger. Do you fancy that things will turn out as you happen to wish, and that the sky will be clear or cloudy at your caprice?”

Here the fisherman, well versed in the affairs of the nation, as all Norse peasants are, began to explain to Ordener why this marriage could not fail to take place: it was essential to the interests of the d’Ahlefeld family; the viceroy could not refuse the king, who desired it; besides, it was said that the future husband and wife were very much in love. In a word, fisher Braal could not doubt that the match would come off; he only wished he was as sure of killing next day that confounded dogfish which infested Master-Bick pond.

Ordener was little inclined to carry on a political discussion with so uncouth a statesman, and was delighted when the arrival of another guest relieved him of all embarrassment.

“It is he; it is my brother!” cried old Maase.

And no less event than the arrival of her brother could have diverted her from the rapt admiration with which she listened to her husband’s lengthy discourse.

The latter, while the two children threw themselves noisily upon their uncle’s neck, quietly offered him his hand, saying,--

“Welcome, brother.”

Then, turning to Ordener: “Sir, this is our brother, the famous hunter Kennybol, from the mountains of Kiölen.”

“A hearty greeting to you all,” said the mountaineer, taking off his bearskin cap. “Brother, I’ve had as bad luck in hunting upon your coast as you would probably have had if you had gone fishing in our mountains. I think I could sooner fill my game-bag if I chased elves and goblins in the misty forests of Queen Mab. Sister Maase, you are the first sea-mew whom I have caught sight of to-day. Here, friends, God keep you! but this wretched grouse is all that the best hunter in the province of Throndhjem has got in a whole day’s tramp through the heather in this weather.”

With these words he drew from his pouch and laid on the table a white ptarmigan, declaring that it was not worth a shot.

“But,” he muttered between his teeth, “my faithful arquebuse, you shall soon hunt far bigger game. If you can bring down no more chamois or elk skins, you shall make holes in green jackets and red jerkins.”

These words, but half heard, struck the curious Maase.

“Eh!” asked she; “what did you say, brother?”

“I said that there was always a goblin dancing under a woman’s tongue.”

“You are right, brother Kennybol,” cried the fisherman. “Eve’s daughters are all curious, like their mother. Weren’t you talking of green jackets?”

“Brother Braal,” replied the hunter, with some spirit, “I trust my secrets to no one but my musket, because I am sure that then they will never be repeated.”

“There’s talk in the village,” boldly continued the fisherman, “of a revolt among the miners. Do you know anything about it, brother?”

The mountaineer picked up his cap and pulled it over his eyes, with a sidelong look at the stranger; then he bent toward the fisherman and said in a low, stern tone: “Silence!”

The fisherman shook his head several times.

“Brother Kennybol, the fish may be silent, but it falls into the net all the same.”

There was a short pause. The two brothers exchanged meaning glances; the children picked the feathers from the ptarmigan as it lay on the table; the good wife listened, and hoped to guess more than was actually said; and Ordener studied them all.

“If you have but meagre fare to-day,” suddenly observed the hunter, evidently anxious to change the subject, “it shall not be so to-morrow. Brother Braal, catch the king of fish, if you can, for I promise you plenty of bear’s grease to dress it.”

“Bear’s grease!” cried Maase. “Has any one seen a bear in the neighborhood? Patrick, Regner, my boys, I forbid you to leave the house. A bear!”

“Make yourself easy, sister; you will have nothing to fear from him after to-morrow. Yes, it was really a bear that I saw about two miles away from Surb,--a white bear. He seemed to be carrying off a man, or rather an animal. But no, it may have been a goatherd, for goatherds dress in the skins of animals; however, I was not near enough to tell. What amazed me, was that he carried his prey on his back, and not in his teeth.”

“Really, brother?”

“Yes; and the creature must have been dead, for it made no attempt to defend itself.”

“But,” sagely inquired the fisherman, “if it were dead, how did it stay on the bear’s back?”

“That’s more than I can say. Never mind; it shall be the bear’s last meal. As I entered the village I engaged six strong companions, and to-morrow, sister Maase, I will bring you the handsomest white fur that ever ran over mountain snow.”

“Take care, brother,” said the woman; “you have seen strange things, truly. That bear may be the Devil.”

“Are you mad?” interrupted the mountaineer, with a laugh; “the Devil change himself into a bear, indeed! Into a cat or a monkey, I grant you; but to a bear! Oh, by Saint Eldon the exorciser, you’re worse than any child or old woman, with your superstition!”

The poor woman hung her head.

“Brother, you were my lord and master before my revered husband cast his eyes upon me; do as your guardian angel bids you.”

“But,” the fisherman asked the mountaineer, “where did you meet with this bear?”

“Between Lake Miösen and Walderhog.”

“Walderhog!” said the woman, crossing herself.

“Walderhog!” repeated Ordener.

“But, brother,” rejoined the fisherman; “I hope you were not travelling toward Walderhog.”

“I! Heaven forbid; it was the bear.”

“Shall you go there to-morrow in search of him?” broke in the terrified Maase.

“No, truly; how can you suppose, friends, that even a bear would venture to take refuge in a cave where--”

He stopped short, and all three made the sign of the cross.

“You are right,” replied the fisherman; “wild beasts would be warned away by their instinct.”

“My good friends,” said Ordener, “what is there so frightful about this Walderhog cave?”

They looked at one another in stupid surprise, as if they could not understand such a question.

“Is that where King Walder’s tomb is?” added the young man.

“Yes,” replied the woman; “a stone tomb which sings.”

“And that’s not all,” said the fisherman.

“No,” she added; “the bones of the dead dance there by night.”

“And that’s not all,” said the mountaineer.

All were silent, as if they dared not go on.

“Well,” asked Ordener, “what else is there that is supernatural?”

“Young man,” said the mountaineer, gravely, “you should not speak so lightly; when you see an old gray wolf like me, shudder.”

The young man answered, with a gentle smile: “Still, I should like to know all the marvels which occur in this Walderhog cave; for that is exactly where I am going.”

These words seemed to turn his three hearers into stone.

“To Walderhog! Heavens! are you going to Walderhog?”

“And he says that,” rejoined the fisherman, “just as I might say I’m going to Loevig to sell my codfish, or to Ralph’s meadow for herring. To Walderhog! Great Heavens!”

“Poor young man!” cried the wife; “were you born without a guardian angel? Have you no patron saint? Alas! it must be so; for you do not even seem to know your own name.”

“And what motive,” broke in the mountaineer, “can lead your worship to that fearful spot?”

“I have a question to ask,” answered Ordener.

The astonishment of his hosts grew with their curiosity.

“See here, stranger; you do not seem to be familiar with this part of the country. Your worship is doubtless mistaken; it cannot be to Walderhog that you wish to go.”

“Besides,” added the mountaineer, “if you want to speak with any human being, you will find none there.”

“None but the demon,” rejoined the woman.

“The demon! What demon?”

“Yes,” she added; “the one for whom the tomb sings and the dead dance.”

“Then you do not know, sir,” said the fisherman, dropping his voice and approaching Ordener,--“you do not know that Walderhog cave is the favorite abode of--”

The woman stopped him.

“Husband, do not speak that name; it brings ill luck.”

“Whose abode?” asked Ordener.

“That of Beelzebub incarnate,” said Kennybol.

“Really, my kind hosts, I know not what you mean. I was surely told that Walderhog was the haunt of Hans of Iceland.”

A triple cry of terror arose.

“Well!--Then you do know!--He is the demon we mean!”

The woman drew her woollen kerchief over her face, and called on all the saints to witness that it was not she who uttered that name.

When the fisherman had somewhat recovered from his surprise, he looked steadily at Ordener, as if there were something about that young man which he could not comprehend.

“I did not expect, stranger, that even if I lived still longer than my father, who died at the age of one hundred and twenty, I should ever have to show the road to Walderhog to any human being possessed of his senses and believing in God.”

“Surely not,” cried Maase; “your worship will not go to that accursed cave; for if one only step foot inside, he must make a compact with the Devil!”

“I must go, my kind hosts, and the greatest service that you can do me is to show me the shortest road there.”

“The shortest way to reach the place where you wish to go,” said the fisherman, “is to throw yourself from the top of the nearest rock into the next torrent.”

“Should I reach the same end,” quietly asked Ordener, “by preferring a useless death to a profitable danger?”

Braal shook his head, while his brother looked scrutinizingly at the young adventurer.

“I understand,” suddenly exclaimed the fisherman; “you want to earn the thousand crowns reward which the lord mayor offers for the head of this Iceland demon.”

Ordener smiled.

“Young sir,” added the fisherman, with deep emotion, “take my advice; give up your scheme. I am old and poor, and I would not sell the remnant of my life for a thousand crowns if I had but one day left.”

The woman, with a beseeching, compassionate look, watched the effect of her husband’s entreaties. Ordener made haste to reply: “It is a much higher motive which leads me to seek this robber whom you call a demon; it is for the sake of others, not my own--”

The mountaineer, who had not taken his eyes from Ordener, interrupted him.

“I understand you now. I know why you seek the demon of Iceland.”

“I wish to force him to fight,” said the young man.

“That’s it,” said Kennybol; “you are intrusted with important interests, are you not?”

“So I just said.”

The mountaineer approached the young man with an air of great intelligence, and to his utter amazement whispered in his ear: “You come from Count Schumacker, from Griffenfeld, do you not?”

“Good man,” he exclaimed, “how did you know that?”

And, indeed, it was hard for him to guess how a Norwegian mountaineer came to know a secret which he had confided to no one, not even to General Levin.

Kennybol leaned toward him.

“I wish you success,” he observed in the same mysterious whisper. “You are a noble young man to labor thus for the oppressed.”

Ordener’s surprise was so great that he could scarcely find words to inquire how the mountaineer had learned the purpose of his journey.

“Silence!” said Kennybol, putting his finger to his lip. “I hope that you may gain all that you desire from the dweller in Walderhog; my arm, like yours, is loyal to the prisoner of Munkholm.”

Then, raising his voice, before Ordener could answer, he added: “Brother, dear sister Maase, regard this worthy youth as another brother. Come, I think supper is ready.”

“What!” interrupted Maase, “have you persuaded his worship to give up his plan for visiting the demon?”

“Sister, pray that no harm may come to him. He is a noble and worthy young man. Come, brave sir, take some food and a little rest beneath our roof; to-morrow I will show you your road, and we will set out in search,--you of the Devil, and I of my bear.”

XXIX.

Comrade, ah! comrade, what comrade’s son art thou? From what race canst thou have sprung to dare attack Fafnir thus?--EDDA.

The first rays of the rising sun were just reddening the highest peak of the rocks upon the seacoast, when the fisherman, who had come before the dawn to cast his nets off the shore opposite the mouth of Walderhog cave, saw a figure wrapped in a cloak or shroud descend from the rocks, and disappear beneath the much-dreaded arched roof of the cavern. Struck with terror, he commended his boat and his soul to Saint Usuph, and ran to tell his frightened family that he had seen one of the ghosts which dwell in the palace of Hans of Iceland return to the cave at daybreak.

This ghost, thenceforth the theme and dread of many a long winter evening, was no other than Ordener, the noble son of the Norwegian viceroy, who, while both kingdoms fancied him absorbed in paying tender attentions to his haughty betrothed, had come alone and unknown to risk his life for her to whom he had given his heart and his future, for the daughter of a proscribed man.

Evil omens, sad forebodings, had thus far accompanied him. He had left the fisherman and his family, and as they parted, good Maase knelt and prayed for him. Kennybol and his six comrades, who had pointed out the right road, quitted him within half a mile of Walderhog, and those dauntless hunters who sallied forth to face a bear with a laugh on their lips, gazed in terror upon the fearless traveller as he followed that unhallowed path.

The young man entered Walderhog cave as he might have entered a long-wished-for haven. He felt a transport of delight as he thought that he was about to accomplish the object of his life, and that in a few moments he might perhaps shed his last drop of blood for his Ethel. About to attack a brigand dreaded by an entire province, it might be a monster, a very demon, it was not that frightful image which filled his fancy; he saw only the figure of the sweet captive maid, praying perhaps for him before her prison altar. Had the object of his devotion been any other than it was, he might have weighed for an instant, only to scorn them, the dangers in search of which he had journeyed so far; but what room is there for reflection in a youthful heart throbbing with the double stimulus of heroic sacrifice and noble love?

He advanced proudly into the vaulted cavern, which echoed and re-echoed the sound of his footsteps, not deigning even a glance at the stalactites and the century-old columns of basalt which towered above him amid mosses, lichen, and ivy,--a confused medley of weird forms, from which the superstitious credulity of the Norwegian countryfolk had more than once created hosts of evil spirits or long processions of ghosts.

With the same indifference he passed the tomb of King Walder, to which so many mournful legends cling, and he heard no voice save the long-drawn sigh of the north wind through those gloomy galleries.

He traversed winding passages, dimly lighted by crevices half stopped with grass and heather. Ever and anon he stumbled over strange objects, which rolled from beneath his foot with a hollow sound, and assumed in the darkness the shape of broken skulls or long rows of white teeth with fleshless gums.

But his soul was undismayed. He was only surprised that he had not yet encountered the much-dreaded inhabitant of this horrible cave.

He reached a sort of circular hall, hewn from the rock. Here the subterranean road which he had thus far followed came to an end, and the rocky walls were without exit, save for a few wide fissures, through which he saw the mountains and woods outside.

Amazed that he should have thus traversed the fatal cavern in vain, he began to despair of finding the brigand. A singular monument in the middle of the underground hall caught his attention. Three long, massive bowlders, standing upright, supported a fourth, broad and square, as three pillars might uphold a roof. Beneath this gigantic tripod was an altar, also formed of a single block of granite, with a round hole in the middle of its upper surface. Ordener recognized it as one of those colossal Druidic structures which he had often seen in travelling through Norway, the most amazing instances being found in France, at Lokmariaker and Karnak,--wondrous fabrics which have grown old, resting upon the earth like tents pitched for a day, and made solid by their mere weight.

The young man, lost in thought, leaned mechanically against this altar, whose stone lips were stained dark brown, so deep had they drunk of the blood of human victims.

All at once he started. A voice, apparently proceeding from the stone, fell upon his ear: “Young man, you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.”

He rose quickly, and his hand sought his sword, while an echo, clear but faint as the voice of a dying man, repeated: “Young man, you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.” At this instant a hideous face appeared on the other side of the Druid altar, a face crowned with red hair, and disfigured by a brutal sneer.

“Young man,” it again repeated, “you come to this place with feet which touch the tomb.”

“And with a hand which touches a sword,” calmly responded Ordener.

The monster emerged from beneath the altar, revealing his thick-set, muscular limbs, his wild, blood-stained dress, his hooked hands, and his heavy stone axe.

“It is I,” he cried, with a growl like that of a wild beast.

“And I,” answered Ordener.

“I expected you.”

“I did more,” replied the bold young man; “I sought you out.”

The brigand folded his arms.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“And you are not frightened?”

“Not now.”

“Then you were afraid to come here?” And the monster tossed his head with a look of triumph.

“Afraid I might not find you.”

“You bid me defiance, and your feet have trampled on dead bodies!”

“To-morrow they may tread upon your own.”

The little man quivered with rage. Ordener stood motionless, in an attitude of haughty calm.

“Take care!” muttered the brigand; “I will burst upon you and rend you as Norwegian hailstones do a lady’s parasol.”

“Such a shield would be all-sufficient for me.”

Something in Ordener’s eye seemed to daunt the monster. He plucked the hairs from his mantle, as a tiger might devour grass before it springs upon its prey.

“You teach me what pity means,” he said.

“And you teach me what it is to scorn.”

“Child, your voice is soft, your face is fair, like the voice and the face of a girl; what death will you choose?”

“Your own.”

The small man laughed.

“Know you not that I am a demon, that my spirit is the spirit of Ingulf the Destroyer?”

“I know that you are a robber, that you commit murder for the love of gold.”

“You are wrong,” broke in the monster; “it is for love of blood.”

“Were you not paid by the d’Ahlefelds to slay Captain Dispolsen?”

“What are you talking about? What names are these?”

“Do you not know Captain Dispolsen, whom you killed on Urchtal Sands?”

“That may be, but I have forgotten him, as I shall forget you three days hence.”

“Do you not know Count d’Ahlefeld, who paid you to steal an iron casket from the captain?”

“D’Ahlefeld! Stay; yes, I know him. I drank his son’s blood only yesterday, from my son’s skull.”

Ordener shuddered with horror.

“Were you not content with your wages?”

“What wages?” asked the brigand.

“Hark ye; the sight of you offends me; I must have done. You stole, a week since, an iron casket from one of your victims, a Munkholm officer, did you not?”

At the word “Munkholm” the brigand started.

“An officer from Munkholm?” he muttered. Then he asked, with a look of surprise, “Are you too an officer from Munkholm?”

“No,” said Ordener.

“So much the worse!” and his face clouded.

“Enough of this,” rejoined the persistent Ordener; “where is the casket that you stole from the captain?”

The little man meditated for a moment.

“By Ingulf! here’s a paltry iron box that occupies many minds. I will promise you there’ll not be so much search for that which holds your bones, if ever they be collected in a coffin.”

These words, as they showed Ordener that the robber knew the casket to which he referred, revived his hope of obtaining it.

“Tell me what you did with that casket. Is it in Count d’Ahlefeld’s possession?”

“No.”

“You lie, for you laugh.”

“Believe what you will. What matters it to me?”

The monster had assumed a mocking air which awakened Ordener’s suspicions. He saw that there was nothing to be done but to rouse him to fury if possible, or to intimidate him.

“Hear me,” said he, raising his voice; “you must give me that casket.”

The other answered with a savage sneer.

“You must give it to me!” the young man repeated in tones of thunder.

“Are you accustomed to issuing orders to buffaloes and bears?” replied the monster, still sneering.

“I would give this command to the very Devil in hell.”

“You may do so ere long, if you like.”

Ordener drew his sword, which gleamed in the darkness like a flash of lightning.

“Obey me!”

“Nay,” cried Hans, brandishing his axe; “I might have broken your bones and sucked your blood when you first appeared, but I restrained my wrath; I was curious to see the sparrow attack the vulture.”

“Wretch,” exclaimed Ordener, “defend yourself!”

“’Tis the first time I was ever told to do so,” muttered the brigand, gnashing his teeth.

With these words, he sprang upon the granite altar and gathered himself together, like a leopard awaiting the hunter on a high cliff, ready to spring upon him unawares.

From this vantage-ground he glared at the young man, apparently seeking the best side from which to attack him. All would have been over with Ordener had he hesitated an instant. But he gave the brigand no time to consider, and threw himself violently upon him, aiming the point of his sword at his face.

Then began the most fearful fight which imagination can picture. The little man, standing upon the altar, like a statue on its pedestal, looked like one of those horrid idols which, in barbarous ages, received in that same spot impious sacrifices and sacrilegious offerings.