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Chap. XXXVIII.
BRATTINGSBORG.
133
It is not to the credit of the Vendsyssel country, but
an old proverb declares “ At Aalborg Sund ends law
and right.” Let us hope matters are mended since
those days. We roll down a hill, and arrive at Hobrø,
where we dine ; and the fair fiorde, with the town and
its church, lie clustered before us. Nothing can be
more beautiful than the site, which the foolish town
has not known how to take advantage of; built in one
long street scampering up the hill on the Randers road.
The church is of modern Gothic brickwork, striped
horizontally in dark and pale red—the effect admirable. In
the churchyard stands a Runic stone, the characters as
fresh as though incised yesterday. After half an hour’s
drive we leave the Randers road, and turn across a
moor, through a windy country, all drily historical, but
no remains to make it interesting.
BRATTINGSBOEG.
Later we arrive at Kleitrup Lake, where alone a few
embankments tell the existence of Brattingsborg castle;
to take which the seventy-seven knights of the ballad
set out from Hald by way of Viborg. A cow,
tormented by the flies, fords the moat, so they follow her
example and scale the walls. It was when riding in
the neighbourhood of Kleitrup that Prince Inge, son of
King Niels, fell from his horse and was killed. His
affrighted tutor fled, disguised as a woman, and was
captured in a bog—people always got captured in the
bogs in Jutland—and was buried alive, without bell,
book, or candle, pegged flat on his back, a høi heaped
up over his body.
From here, too, eloped the Princess Ingeborg, wife of
Prince Henrik Skatelar. She fled disguised in knight’s
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