CHAPTER XXTHE WOUNDED EAGLE
THE star and the spark in the stubble! Often did the presage of herdream occur to Christina, and assist in sustaining her hopes during thedays that Ebbo’s life hung in the balance, and he himself had hardlyconsciousness to realize either his brother’s death or his own state,save as much as was shown by the words, “Let him not be taken away,mother; let him wait for me.”
Friedmund did wait, in his coffin before the altar in the castle chapel,covered with a pall of blue velvet, and great white cross, mournfullysent by Hausfrau Johanna; his sword, shield, helmet, and spurs laid onit, and wax tapers burning at the head and feet. And, when Christinacould leave the one son on his couch of suffering, it was to kneel besidethe other son on his narrow bed of rest, and recall, like a breath ofsolace, the heavenly loveliness and peace that rested on his featureswhen she had taken her last long look at them.
Moritz Schleiermacher assisted at Sir Friedmund’s first solemn requiem,and then made a journey to Ulm, whence he returned to find the Baron’sdanger so much abated that he ventured on begging for an interview withthe lady, in which he explained his purpose of repairing at once to theimperial camp, taking with him a letter from the guilds concerned in thebridge, and using his personal influence with Maximilian to obtain notonly pardon for the combat, but authoritative sanction to the erection.Dankwart of Schlangenwald, the Teutonic knight, and only heir of oldWolfgang, was supposed to be with the Emperor, and it might be possibleto come to terms with him, since his breeding in the Prussiancommanderies had kept him aloof from the feuds of his father and brother.This mournful fight had to a certain extent equalized the injuries oneither side, since the man whom Friedel had cut down was Hierom, one ofthe few remaining scions of Schlangenwald, and there was thus nodishonour in trying to close the deadly feud, and coming to an amicablearrangement about the Debateable Strand, the cause of so much bloodshed.What was now wanted was Freiherr Eberhard’s signature to the letter tothe Emperor, and his authority for making terms with the new count; andhaste was needed, lest the Markgraf of Wurtemburg should represent theaffray in the light of an outrage against a member of the League.
Christina saw the necessity, and undertook if possible to obtain herson’s signature, but, at the first mention of Master Moritz and thebridge, Ebbo turned away his head, groaned, and begged to hear no more ofeither. He thought of his bold declaration that the bridge must bebuilt, even at the cost of blood! Little did he then guess of whoseblood! And in his bitterness of spirit he felt a jealousy of thatinfluence of Schleiermacher, which had of late come between him and hisbrother. He hated the very name, he said, and hid his face with ashudder. He hoped the torrent would sweep away every fragment of thebridge.
“Nay, Ebbo mine, wherefore wish ill to a good work that our blessed oneloved? Listen, and let me tell you my dream for making yonder strand apeaceful memorial of our peaceful boy.”
“To honour Friedel?” and he gazed on her with something like interest inhis eyes.
“Yes, Ebbo, and as he would best brook honour. Let us seek for ever toend the rival claims to yon piece of meadow by praying this knight of areligious order, the new count, to unite with us in building there—or asnear as may be safe—a church of holy peace, and a cell for a priest, whomay watch over the bridge ward, and offer the holy sacrifice for thedeparted of either house. There will we place our gentle Friedel to bethe first to guard the peace of the ford, and there will we sleepourselves when our time shall come, and so may the cruel feud of manygenerations be slaked for ever.”
“In his blood!” sighed Ebbo. “Ah! would that it had been mine, mother.It is well, as well as anything can be again. So shall the spot where hefell be made sacred, and fenced from rude feet, and we shall see his faireffigy keeping his armed watch there.”
And Christina was thankful to see his look of gratification, sad thoughit was. She sat down near his bed, and began to write a letter in theirjoint names to Graf Dankwart von Schlangenwald, proposing that thus,after the even balance of the wrongs of the two houses, their mutualhostility might be laid to rest for ever by the consecration of the causeof their long contention. It was a stiff and formal letter, full of theset pious formularies of the age, scarcely revealing the deepheart-feeling within; but it was to the purpose, and Ebbo, after hearingit read, heartily approved, and consented to sign both it and those thatSchleiermacher had brought. Christina held the scroll, and placed thepen in the fingers that had lately so easily wielded the heavy sword, butnow felt it a far greater effort to guide the slender quill.
Moritz Schleiermacher went his way in search of the King of the Romans,far off in Carinthia. A full reply could not be expected till thecampaign was over, and all that was known for some time was through amessenger sent back to Ulm by Schleiermacher with the intelligence thatMaximilian would examine into the matter after his return, and that CountDankwart would reply when he should come to perform his father’sobsequies after the army was dispersed. There was also a letter of kindthough courtly condolence from Kasimir of Wildschloss, much grieving forgallant young Sir Friedmund, proffering all the advocacy he could givethe cause of Adlerstein, and covertly proffering the protection that sheand her remaining son might now be more disposed to accept. Christinasuppressed this letter, knowing it would only pain and irritate Ebbo, andthat she had her answer ready. Indeed, in her grief for one son, and heranxiety for the other, perhaps it was this letter that first made herfully realize the drift of those earnest words of Friedel’s respectinghis father.
Meantime the mother and son were alone together, with much of sufferingand of sorrow, yet with a certain tender comfort in the being all in allto one another, with none to intermeddle with their mutual love andgrief. It was to Christina as if something of Friedel’s sweetness hadpassed to his brother in his patient helplessness, and that, while thusfully engrossed with him, she had both her sons in one. Nay, in spite ofall the pain, grief, and weariness, these were times when both dreadedany change, and the full recovery, when not only would the loss ofFriedel be every moment freshly brought home to his brother, but whenEbbo would go in quest of his father.
For on this the young Baron had fixed his mind as a sacred duty, from themoment he had seen that life was to be his lot. He looked on his neglectof indications of the possibility of his father’s life in the light of asin that had led to all his disasters, and not only regarded the intendedsearch as a token of repentance, but as a charge bequeathed to him by hisless selfish brother. He seldom spoke of his intention, but his motherwas perfectly aware of it, and never thought of it without such an agonyof foreboding dread as eclipsed all the hope that lay beyond. She couldonly turn away her mind from the thought, and be thankful for what wasstill her own from day to day.
“Art weary, my son?” asked Christina one October afternoon, as Ebbo layon his bed, languidly turning the pages of a noble folio of the Legendsof the Saints that Master Gottfried had sent for his amusement. It wassuch a book as fixed the ardour a few years later of the woundedNavarrese knight, Inigo de Loyola, but Ebbo handled it as if each pagewere lead.
“Only thinking how Friedel would have glowed towards these as his ownkinsmen,” said Ebbo. “Then should I have cared to read of them!” and hegave a long sigh.
“Let me take away the book,” she said. “Thou hast read long, and it isdark.”
“So dark that there must surely be a snow-cloud.”
“Snow is falling in the large flakes that our Friedel used to callwinter-butterflies.”
“Butterflies that will swarm and shut us in from the weary world,” saidEbbo. “And alack! when they go, what a turmoil it will be! Councils inthe Rathhaus, appeals to the League, wranglings with the Markgraf, wisesaws, overweening speeches, all alike dull and dead.”
“It will scarce be so when strength and spirit have returned, mine Ebbo.”
“Never can life be more to me than the way to him,” said the lonely boy;“and I—never like him—shall miss the road
without him.”
While he thus spoke in the listless dejection of sorrow and weakness,Hatto’s aged step was on the stair. “Gracious lady,” he said, “here is ahuntsman bewildered in the hills, who has been asking shelter from thestorm that is drifting up.”
“See to his entertainment, then, Hatto,” said the lady.
“My lady—Sir Baron,” added Hatto, “I had not come up but that this guestseems scarce gear for us below. He is none of the foresters of ourtract. His hair is perfumed, his shirt is fine holland, his buff suit isof softest skin, his baldric has a jewelled clasp, and his arblast! Itwould do my lord baron’s heart good only to cast eyes on the perfect makeof that arblast! He has a lordly tread, and a stately presence, and,though he has a free tongue, and made friends with us as he dried hisgarments, he asked after my lord like his equal.”
“O mother, must you play the chatelaine?” asked Ebbo. “Who can thefellow be? Why did none ever so come when they would have been morewelcome?”
“Welcomed must he be,” said Christina, rising, “and thy state shall be myexcuse for not tarrying longer with him than may be needful.”
Yet, though shrinking from a stranger’s face, she was not without hopethat the variety might wholesomely rouse her son from his depression, andin effect Ebbo, when left with Hatto, minutely questioned him on theappearance of the stranger, and watched, with much curiosity, for hismother’s return.
“Ebbo mine,” she said, entering, after a long interval, “the knight asksto see thee either after supper, or to-morrow morn.”
“Then a knight he is?”
“Yea, truly, a knight truly in every look and gesture, bearing his headlike the leading stag of the herd, and yet right gracious.”
“Gracious to you, mother, in your own hall?” cried Ebbo, almost fiercely.
“Ah! jealous champion, thou couldst not take offence! It was the mannerof one free and courteous to every one, and yet with an inherentloftiness that pervades all.”
“Gives he no name?” said Ebbo.
“He calls himself Ritter Theurdank, of the suite of the late Kaisar, butI should deem him wont rather to lead than to follow.”
“Theurdank,” repeated Eberhard, “I know no such name! So, motherling,are you going to sup? I shall not sleep till I have seen him!”
“Hold, dear son.” She leant over him and spoke low. “See him thou must,but let me first station Heinz and Koppel at the door with halberts, notwithin earshot, but thou art so entirely defenceless.”
She had the pleasure of seeing him laugh. “Less defenceless than whenthe kinsman of Wildschloss here visited us, mother? I see for whom thoutakest him, but let it be so; a spiritual knight would scarce wreak hisvengeance on a wounded man in his bed. I will not have him insulted withprecautions. If he has freely risked himself in my hands, I will asfreely risk myself in his. Moreover, I thought he had won thy heart.”
“Reigned over it, rather,” said Christina. “It is but the disguise thatI suspect and mistrust. Bid me not leave thee alone with him, my son.”
“Nay, dear mother,” said Ebbo, “the matters on which he is like to speakwill brook no presence save our own, and even that will be hard enough tobear. So prop me more upright! So! And comb out these locks somewhatsmoother. Thanks, mother. Now can he see whether he will chooseEberhard of Adlerstein for friend or foe.”
By the time supper was ended, the only light in the upper room came fromthe flickering flames of the fire of pine knots on the hearth. Itglanced on the pale features and dark sad eyes of the young Baron, sad inspite of the eager look of scrutiny that he turned on the figure thatentered at the door, and approached so quickly that the partial lightonly served to show the gloss of long fair hair, the glint of a jewelledbelt, and the outline of a tall, well-knit, agile frame.
“Welcome, Herr Ritter,” he said; “I am sorry we have been unable to giveyou a fitter reception.”
“No host could be more fully excused than you,” said the stranger, andEbbo started at his voice. “I fear you have suffered much, and stillhave much to suffer.”
“My sword wound is healing fast,” said Ebbo; “it is the shot in my brokenthigh that is so tedious and painful.”
“And I dare be sworn the leeches made it worse. I have hated all leechesever since they kept me three days a prisoner in a ’pothecary’s shopstinking with drugs. Why, I have cured myself with one pitcher of waterof a raging fever, in their very despite! How did they serve thee, mypoor boy?”
“They poured hot oil into the wound to remove the venom of the lead,”said Ebbo.
“Had it been my case the lead should have been in their own brains first,though that were scarce needed, the heavy-witted Hans Sausages. Whyshould there be more poison in lead than in steel? I have asked all mysurgeons that question, nor ever had a reasonable answer. Greater havocof warriors do they make than ever with the arquebus—ay, even when everylanzknecht bears one.”
“Alack!” Ebbo could not help exclaiming, “where will be room forchivalry?”
“Talk not old world nonsense,” said Theurdank; “chivalry is in the heart,not in the weapon. A youth beforehand enough with the world to bebuilding bridges should know that, when all our troops are provided withsuch an arm, then will their platoons in serried ranks be as a solid wallbreathing fire, and as impregnable as the lines of English archers withlong bows, or the phalanx of Macedon. And, when each man bears a pistolinstead of the misericorde, his life will be far more his own.”
Ebbo’s face was in full light, and his visitor marked his contracted browand trembling lip. “Ah!” he said, “thou hast had foul experience ofthese weapons.”
“Not mine own hurt,” said Ebbo; “that was but fair chance of war.”
“I understand,” said the knight; “it was the shot that severed the goodlybond that was so fair to see. Young man, none has grieved more trulythan King Max.”
“And well he may,” said Ebbo. “He has not lost merely one of his bestservants, but all the better half of another.”
“There is still stuff enough left to make that _one_ well worth having,”said Theurdank, kindly grasping his hand, “though I would it were moresubstantial! How didst get old Wolfgang down, boy? He must have been atough morsel for slight bones like these, even when better covered thannow. Come, tell me all. I promised the Markgraf of Wurtemburg to lookinto the matter when I came to be guest at St. Ruprecht’s cloister, and Ihave some small interest too with King Max.”
His kindliness and sympathy were more effectual with Ebbo than the desireto represent his case favourably, for he was still too wretched to carefor policy; but he answered Theurdank’s questions readily, and explainedhow the idea of the bridge had originated in the vigil beside the brokenwaggons.
“I hope,” said Theurdank, “the merchants made up thy share? Theseoverthrown goods are a seignorial right of one or other of you lords ofthe bank.”
“True, Herr Ritter; but we deemed it unknightly to snatch at whattravellers lost by misfortune.”
“Freiherr Eberhard, take my word for it, while thou thus holdest, all thearquebuses yet to be cut out of the Black Forest will not mar thychivalry. Where didst get these ways of thinking?”
“My brother was a very St. Sebastian! My mother—”
“Ah! her sweet wise face would have shown it, even had not poor Kasimirof Adlerstein raved of her. Ah! lad, thou hast crossed a case of truelove there! Canst not brook even such a gallant stepfather?”
“I may not,” said Ebbo, with spirit; “for with his last breathSchlangenwald owned that my own father died not at the hostel, but maynow be alive as a Turkish slave.”
“The devil!” burst out Theurdank. “Well! that might have been a prettymess! A Turkish slave, saidst thou! What year chanced all thismatter—thy grandfather’s murder and all the rest?”
“The year before my birth,” said Ebbo. “It was in the September of1475.”
“Ha!” muttered Theurdank, musing to h
imself; “that was the year thedotard Schenk got his overthrow at the fight of Rain on Sare from theMoslem. Some composition was made by them, and old Wolfgang was notunlikely to have been the go-between. So! Say on, young knight,” headded, “let us to the matter in hand. How rose the strife that kept backtwo troops from our—from the banner of the empire?”
Ebbo proceeded with the narration, and concluded it just as the bell nowbelonging to the chapel began to toll for compline, and Theurdankprepared to obey its summons, first, however, asking if he should sendany one to the patient. Ebbo thanked him, but said he needed no one tillhis mother should come after prayers.
“Nay, I told thee I had some leechcraft. Thou art weary, and must restmore entirely;”—and, giving him little choice, Theurdank supported himwith one arm while removing the pillows that propped him, then laid himtenderly down, saying, “Good night, and the saints bless thee, braveyoung knight. Sleep well, and recover in spite of the leeches. I cannotafford to lose both of you.”
Ebbo strove to follow mentally the services that were being performed inthe chapel, and whose “Amens” and louder notes pealed up to him, devoidof the clear young tones that had sung their last here below, but swelledby grand bass notes that as much distracted Ebbo’s attention as thememory of his guest’s conversation; and he impatiently awaited hismother’s arrival.
At length, lamp in hand, she appeared with tears shining in her eyes, andbending over him said,
“He hath done honour to our blessed one, my Ebbo; he knelt by him, andcrossed him with holy water, and when he led me from the chapel he toldme any mother in Germany might envy me my two sons even now. Thou mustlove him now, Ebbo.”
“Love him as one loves one’s loftiest model,” said Ebbo—“value the oldcastle the more for sheltering him.”
“Hath he made himself known to thee?”
“Not openly, but there is only one that he can be.”
Christina smiled, thankful that the work of pardon and reconciliation hadbeen thus softened by the personal qualities of the enemy, whose conductin the chapel had deeply moved her.
“Then all will be well, blessedly well,” she said.
“So I trust,” said Ebbo, “but the bell broke our converse, and he laid medown as tenderly as—O mother, if a father’s kindness be like his, I havetruly somewhat to regain.”
“Knew he aught of the fell bargain?” whispered Christina.
“Not he, of course, save that it was a year of Turkish inroads. He willspeak more perchance to-morrow. Mother, not a word to any one, nor letus betray our recognition unless it be his pleasure to make himselfknown.”
“Certainly not,” said Christina, remembering the danger that thehousehold might revenge Friedel’s death if they knew the foe to be intheir power. Knowing as she did that Ebbo’s admiration was apt to beenthusiastic, and might now be rendered the more fervent by fever andsolitude, she was still at a loss to understand his dazzled, fascinatedstate.
When Heinz entered, bringing the castle key, which was always laid underthe Baron’s pillow, Ebbo made a movement with his hand that surprisedthem both, as if to send it elsewhere—then muttered, “No, no, not till hereveals himself,” and asked, “Where sleeps the guest?”
“In the grandmother’s room, which we fitted for a guest-chamber, littlethinking who our first would be,” said his mother.
“Never fear, lady; we will have a care to him,” said Heinz, somewhatgrimly.
“Yes, have a care,” said Ebbo, wearily; “and take care all due honour isshown to him! Good night, Heinz.”
“Gracious lady,” said Heinz, when by a sign he had intimated to her hisdesire of speaking with her unobserved by the Baron, “never fear; I knowwho the fellow is as well as you do. I shall be at the foot of thestairs, and woe to whoever tries to step up them past me.”
“There is no reason to apprehend treason, Heinz, yet to be on our guardcan do no harm.”
“Nay, lady, I could look to the gear for the oubliette if you would speakthe word.”
“For heaven’s sake, no, Heinz. This man has come hither trusting to ourhonour, and you could not do your lord a greater wrong, nor one that hecould less pardon, than by any attempt on our guest.”
“Would that he had never eaten our bread!” muttered Heinz. “Vipers bethey all, and who knows what may come next?”
“Watch, watch, Heinz; that is all,” implored Christina, “and, above all,not a word to any one else.”
And Christina dismissed the man-at-arms gruff and sullen, and herselfretired ill at ease between fears of, and for, the unwelcome guest whosestrange powers of fascination had rendered her, in his absence, doublydistrustful.
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