In the thicket near Vaarby Bridge, the shaggy-bearded fellows, stretched on the grass, held a short council, at the same time making good cheer from one of the huntsmen's wallets. A tall young man, with a knight's feathered hat over his handsome brown locks, but otherwise dressed as a seaman, in coarse pitched wadmel, alone stood up among them, and appeared to be their leader. He had an expression of daring in his features, which yet presented a fine noble outline, and a pair of dark eyes flashed audaciously from under his bushy eyebrows. "There is no time now for stretching and lounging," said he, in an imperious, commanding tone. "Give heed, fellows! To-day, I am both count of Tönsberg and Niels Breakpeace; and he who dares to disobey me, I shall cut down on the spot." The fellows seemed to understand this discourse, without being at all intimidated. They appeared to expect such a speech; and only half rising from their recumbent position, regarded him with silence and attention. "Over this bridge," he continued, "not a living soul from Korsöer crosses to-day, were he even king of Denmark. Whoever sets foot upon the bridge is our prisoner. If he resists, we cut him down, or pitch him into the river, without more ado. I remain at this side, with my Norwegian bears; you, Morten Longknife, with your own men, shall guard the other end. If you budge a foot when it comes to the pinch, it costs you your neck. To Korsöer may travel who will; but not a cat to Slagelse. Do you understand?" A tall, red-bearded fellow, with a knife an ell long in his belt, had sprung up, with ten others, sturdy and dirty-looking enough. "That is easy to be understood, stern knight," said he, in the dialect of a Jutland peasant, and nodding his head. "You and the northmen break backs to-day, and we Jutes cleave brainpans. For that I can be depended upon: it is a token that you know us." "You are to lie quiet in yonder thicket until I whistle, when you shall spring up, and close the bridge in three ranks. As soon as I call out, 'Hack away!' cleave to the foot whoever comes. Now, off to your post!" Morten Longknife nodded assent. With his ten men, he went immediately over the bridge, and disappeared in the thicket on the opposite bank of the river. Drost Peter, in the meantime, rode between Sir Thorstenson and Bent Rimaardson, at a brisk trot, along the road towards Vemmelöv and Vaarby. They were silent, and seemed to be considering the most prudent way of accomplishing their difficult undertaking.