he dreadful deed was himself
burned at the stake by the master he had betrayed. The Stockholm
Massacre drowned the Kalmar Union in its torrents of blood.
Retribution came swiftly. Above the peal of the Christmas bells rose
the clash and clangor of armed hosts pouring forth from the mountain
fastnesses to avenge the foul treachery. They were led by Gustav[1]
Eriksson Vasa, a young noble upon whose head Christian had set a
price.

[Footnote 1: The older spelling of this name is followed here in
preference to the more modern Gustaf. Gustav Vasa himself wrote his
name so.]

The Vasas were among the oldest and best of the great Swedish
families. It was said of them that they ever loved a friend, hated
a foe, and never forgot. Gustav was born in the castle of
Lindholmen, when the news that the world had grown suddenly big by
the discovery of lands beyond the unknown seas was still ringing
through Europe, on May 12, 1496. He was brought up in the home of
his kinsman, the Swedish patriot Sten Sture, and early showed the
fruits of his training. "See what I will do," he boasted in school
when he was thirteen, "I will go to Dalecarlia, rouse the people,
and give the Jutes (Danes) a black eye." Master Ivar, his Danish
teacher, gave him a whaling for that. White with anger, the boy
drove his dirk through the book, nailing it to the desk, and stalked
out of the room. Master Ivar's eyes followed the slim figure in the
scarlet cloak, and he sighed wearily "_nobilium nati nolunt aliquid
pati_,--the children of the great will put up with nothing."

Hardly yet of age, he served under the banner of Sten Sture against
King Christian, and was one of six hostages sent to the King when he
asked an interview of the Swedish leader. But Christian stayed away
from the meeting and carried the hostages off to Denmark against his
plighted faith. There Gustav was held prisoner a year. All that
winter rumors of great armaments against Sweden filled the land. He
heard the young bloods from the court prate about bending the stiff
necks in the country across the Sound, and watched them throw dice
for Swedish castles and Swedish women,--part of the loot when his
fatherland should be laid under the yoke. Ready to burst with anger
and grief, he sat silent at their boasts. In the spring he escaped,
disguised as a cattle-herder, and made his way to Luebeck, where he
found refuge in the house of the wealthy merchant Kort Koenig.

They soon heard in Denmar