THE KING AND THE “LITTLE DOVE”

A savage murmur ran through the market-place of Bergen, one summer morning in the year 1507, as Chancellor Valkendorf made his pompous way along the avenues of stalls laden with their country produce, his passage followed by scowling eyes and low-spoken maledictions.

There could not have been a more unwelcome visitor than this cold-eyed, supercilious Chancellor, unless it were his master, Christian, the Danish Prince who had come to rule Norway with the iron hand, and to stamp out the fires of rebellion against the alien rule that were always smouldering, when not leaping into flame.  Bergen itself had been the scene of the latest revolt against oppressive and unjust taxes, and the insolent Valkendorf, who was now taking his morning stroll in the market-place, was fresh from suppressing it with a rough hand which had left many a smart and longing for vengeance behind it.

But the Chancellor could afford to smile at such evidences of unpopularity.  He knew that he was the most hated man in Norway—­after his master—­but he had executed his mission well and was ready to do it again.  And thus it was with an air, half-amused, half-contemptuous, that he made his progress this July morning among the booths and stalls of the market, with eyes scornfully blind to frowns, but very wide open for any pretty face he might chance to see.

He had not strolled far before his eyes were arrested by as strangely contrasted a picture as any he had ever seen.  Behind one of the stalls, heaped high with luscious, many-coloured fruits and mountains of vegetables, were two women, each so remarkable in her different way that, almost involuntarily, he stood rooted to the spot, gazing open-eyed at them.  The elder of the two was of gigantic stature, towering head and shoulders over her companion, with harsh, masculine face, massive jaw, coarse protruding lips, and black eyes which were fixed on him in a magnetic stare, defiant and scornful—­for none knew better than she who the stranger was, and few hated him more.

But it was not to this grim, hard-visaged Amazon that Valkendorf’s eyes were drawn, compelling as were her stature and her basilisk stare.  They quickly turned from her, with a motion of contempt, to feast on the vision by her side—­that of a girl on the threshold of young womanhood and of a beauty that dazzled the eyes of the old voluptuary.  How had she come there and in such company, this ravishing girl on whom Nature had lavished the last touch of virginal loveliness, this maiden with her figure of such supple grace, the proud little oval face with its complexion of cream and roses, the dainty head from which twin plaits of golden hair fell almost to her knees, and the eyes blue as violets, now veiled demurely, now opening wide to reveal their glories, enhanced by a look of appeal, almost of fear.