Niels Ebbeson

The Count to Denmark took his way,
Nor failed for fear of strife,
Tho’ langsyne ’twas to him foretold
He there should lose his life.

Was none that might gainsay his will
His fate to put to test;
Yeoman and boor and knight and knave,
With all he will be guest.

The Count he called Niels Ebbeson
To come and meet with him,
And truce he sent him therewithal,
And safety for life and limb.

The Count he met Niels Ebbeson
Northward beside the sea:
“Now be thou welcome, Niels Ebbeson,
Right welcome unto me!

“Blithe is thy cheer, Niels Ebbeson,
Retainer dear of mine!
Say, what is the mind of the northern Jutes,
And what of kinsmen thine?”

“Oh, kinsmen have I ’mid the northern Jutes,
And my wife hath kin alsò;
And all of them shall do thy will,
If they thy will may know.”

“Niels Ebbeson, thou art a valiant man,
And a man of wit beside,
And canst thou not ride straightforward,
The long way round thou’lt ride.

“Now lithe and listen, Niels Ebbeson,
Wilt thou mine errand speed,
Then say how many swains hast thou
Will stand thee by at need?”

“Oh, five and forty carles have I,
Such as they well may be;
And be they many or be they few
Right dear are they to me.”

“And hast thou five and forty carles
Well art thou served, I ween!
But last night wert thou in Sir Bugge’s hold
With a hundred mail-clad men.”

Niels Ebbeson he stamped his foot,
And straight made answer high:
“Is any man here, or knight or knave,
Who dares maintain that lie?

“Is any man here, or knight or knave,
Dares put it to the touch,
Never a foot will I give back,
For I have sworn as much!”

“Lithe and listen, Niels Ebbeson,
Such words must have an end!
Now seek him, and see, Sir Bugge,
If he will be my friend.

“Sir Bugge and Povl Glob the young
To do my will did swear,
And Sir Anders Frost is one with them,
And foremost in counsel there.

“And more have sworn to do my will
That now will work me woe;
So list and heed Sir Bugge’s rede,
And see how the thing will go!”

“Oh, nought know I of Sir Bugge’s mind,
What he may say or do;
But Anders hath kept his faith with thee,
As all men will tell thee true.

“Anders hath kept his faith with thee,
As all men will tell thee true;
But, would he take leave of thy service,
Such leave is a free man’s due.

“For this is the Danish custom,
And hath been from days of yore,
If a swain would cease his service,
He should have leave therefor.”

Up and spake Sir Gert the Count
That liked his words right ill:
“Oh, never a vassal should leave his lord
Save with his lord’s good-will!”

“Oh, none is joined with a holy vow
Save a monk to his cowl of grey!
Let chieftains come and chieftains go,
Men serve them as best they may!”

“Overbold is his speech, Niels Ebbeson,
Dares bandy words with me!
Or thou shalt depart from Denmark
Or I’ll hang thee to a tree!”

“And must I depart from Denmark,
From wife’s and bairn’s embrace,
Oh, thou shalt call it a luckless hour
That ever thou saw’st my face!”

“Get hence, get hence, Niels Ebbeson,
Let all thy prating be!
Or I will do what well I may,
And break my truce with thee!”

“Oh, ne’er hast thou seen me so sore afraid
As to tremble for curse and ban!
Look well to thyself, Lord Count, I say,
And defend thy head like a man!”

“Niels Ebbeson, thy words are wild,
To hold thy peace were best;
But I will keep truce with thee to-day
Till the sun goes down to rest.”

Niels Ebbeson waved his lily-white hand,
And turned his steed on the shore:
“Farewell, Count Gert, with all thy men!
Soon shall we meet once more.”

Niels Ebbeson he fled full fast,
Nor spur was fain to spare,
And the Count held back with all his men,
Was none durst follow there.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,
That to his hold did win;
It was his own dear lady
Came forth to lead him in.

“Now lithe and listen, mine own dear wife,
And my rede shall rise at thee;
The Count will drive me from the land
Or hang me to a tree!”

“What counsel can I give to thee
That have but a woman’s wit?
The worst of rede were here the best
Could we but light on it.

“The worst of rede were here the best,
All in this evil hour,
Either the Count to strike adown
Or burn him in his bower!

“Now let thy steeds to the smithy fare
(This is my counsel true),
And see that their shoon turn the backward way
When they are shod anew.

“Oh, see that their shoon turn the backward way,
So the foemen thy track shall miss,
And take heed and tell to no man
That a woman taught thee this!”

Up and spake Niels Ebbeson,
Unto his men cried he:
“Now which of you will follow,
And which take leave of me?

“Let him that now will follow
Stretch forth his hand to me,
And he that now will take his leave
Speak up right speedilie!”

Up they stood, his Danish squires,
And answered their lord so free:
“Lo, all of us will follow
And risk our lives for thee!”

Oh, up they rode to Lady-wood,
And there their steeds did bind,
And forth into the town they went
Count Gert to seek and find.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,
To Randers Bridge did ride:
“Now let him take leave and go his way
Dares not the brunt abide!”

Up and spake he, little boy Trust,
More faithful than them all:
“Now give me leave, my master,
And saddle and steed withal!”

He gave him leave, his master,
And saddle and steed withal,
And or ever the day was over
He served him best of all.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,
With sword that smote the door:
“Stand up, stand up, Lord Gert the Count,
For thou shalt sleep no more!

“Stand up, Lord Gert the Count,
And lend to me thine ear,
Duke Henrik’s messenger am I,
And he hath sent me here.

“Harken, Gert the Count,
Nor longer lay thee down!
Kolding is beleaguered,
And burnt is Ribe town.”

“And dost thou tell me tidings true,
Then good are such tidings to hear;
Forth from the hold while yet we live,
And forth with the steeds and gear!”

Oh, they have opened wide the door
That the message might be sped,
And it was he, Niels Ebbeson,
Went up to the County’s bed.

“Oh, thou and I, Niels Ebbeson,
Can a better bargain strike;
Word will we send to Duke Henrik
And Sir Klaus Krummerdike.”

“Yestere’en thy words were other,
All out upon the strand;
I should go to the gallows,
Or get me from the land.”

Up and spake the swarthy swain:
“Now waste no further word!
Let be, let be thy tedious tale,
And harken to the sword!”

They’ve seized him, Gert the Count,
All by his golden hair,
And they have hewn his neck in twain
Over his bedside there.

Now when the Count was done to death
All on their drums they beat;
Forth he fared, Niels Ebbeson,
And galloped adown the street.

Forth he fared, Niels Ebbeson,
And fain would flee away,
But there he met Sir Ove Haas
That strove to say him nay.

“Now lithe and listen, Sir Ove Haas,
And see that thou let me go,
For thou hast wed my kinswoman,
And that thou well dost know.”

“And have I wed thy kinswoman,
Then kin am I to thee,
But since thou hast struck down my lord
I may not let thee be!”

Niels Ebbeson drew his brand so brown,
For ne’er would he shrink from strife;
Sir Ove and many a Teuton swain
Must there lay down his life.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,
To Randers Bridge did ride,
And the little page that erst took leave
Was standing there beside.

Niels Ebbeson rode o’er the bridge,
For fast his foes came on;
It was the little foot-page
That broke the bridge adown.

Niels Ebbeson rode to Noringsris,
And fast he spurred his steed,
Sore, good sooth, was his anguish,
And sore, good sooth, his need.

She sheltered him, an old good-wife,
Of loaves that had but two,
And she’s given one to Niels Ebbeson
Because the Count he slew!