The Battle with the Huns.
Good Friday had come; but the anniversary of our Saviour's death, was
not kept on the Hohentwiel this time, in the silent way which the
prescriptions of the church require. By the arrival of old Moengal all
doubts about the enemy's approach were dispersed. Late in the night a
war-council was held, at which it was determined that they should go
out to meet the Huns in open battle.
The sun rose drearily on that day; soon being hidden again in mist. A
fierce gale was blowing over the land, chasing the clouds along, so
that they sank down on the distant Bodensee, as if water and air were
to mingle together. Now and then, a solitary sun-beam struggled
through. It was the as yet undecided battle which Spring was waging
against the powers of Winter. The men had already risen, and were
preparing for a serious day's work.
In his closet, up in the watch-tower, Ekkehard was silently pacing up
and down, his hands folded in prayer. A highly honourable commission
had devolved on him. He was to preach a sermon to the united forces
before they went out to battle, and so he was now praying for strength
and inspiration, that his words might be like sparks, kindling the
warlike flame in each breast. Suddenly the door opened, and in came the
Duchess, unaccompanied by Praxedis. Over her morning-dress she had
thrown an ample cloak, to protect herself against the cool air; perhaps
also that she might not be recognized by the stranger guests, while
going over to the watch-tower. A faint blush mantled on her cheeks,
when she thus stood alone, opposite her youthful teacher.
"You are also going out to battle, to-day?" asked she.
"Yes, I go with the others," replied Ekkehard.
"I should despise you, if you had given me any other reply," said she,
"and you have justly presumed, that for such an expedition, it would
not be necessary to ask my leave. But have you not thought of saying
Good-bye?" added she, in low reproachful accents.
Ekkehard was embarrassed. "There are many nobler and better men leaving
your castle to-day. The Abbots and knights will surround you;--how then
could I think of taking a special leave of you, even if ..." his voice
broke off.
The Duchess looked into his eyes. Neither said a word.
"I have brought you something which is to serve you in battle,"
said she after a while, drawing out a precious sword with a rich
shoulder-belt, from under her mantle. A white agate adorned the hilt.
"It is the sword of Sir Burkhard, my late husband. Of all the arms he
possessed, he valued this the most. 'With that blade one could split
rocks, without breaking it,' he said many a time. You will wear it
to-day with honour."
She held out the sword to him; Ekkehard received it in silence. His
coat-of-mail he had already put on under his habit. Now he buckled on
the shoulder-belt, and then seized the hilt with his right hand, as if
the enemy were already facing him.
"I have got something else for you," continued Dame Hadwig. On a silk
ribbon, she wore a golden locket round her neck. This she now drew
forth. It was a crystal, covering an insignificant looking splinter of
wood.
"If my prayers should not suffice, then this relic will protect you. It
is a splinter of the holy cross, which the Empress Helena discovered.
Wherever this relic is, wrote the Greek patriarch who attested its
genuineness, there will be peace, happiness and pure air.--May it now
bring a blessing to you in the coming battle."
She leaned towards him, to hang the jewel round his neck. Quickly he
bent his knees to receive it; but it had long been hanging round his
neck, and still he knelt before her. She passed her hand lightly over
his curly hair, and there was a peculiarly soft and half sad expression
on the usually haughty countenance.
Ekkehard had bent his knee at the name of the holy cross, but now he
felt as if he must kneel down a second time before her, who was
thus graciously thinking of him. A budding affection requires some time
to understand itself clearly, and in matters of love, he had not
learned to reckon and count, as in the verses of Virgil, or he
might have guessed, that she who had taken him away from his quiet
cloister-cell,--that she who on that evening on the Hohenkraehen, had
looked on him so tenderly, and now again on the morning of battle, was
standing before him, as Dame Hadwig was at that moment, might well have
expected some words out of the depth of his heart,--perhaps even more
than words only.
His thoughts quickly followed each other, and all his pulses were
throbbing. When on former occasions anything like love had stirred his
heart, then the reverence for his mistress had driven it back, nipping
it in the bud, as the cold winds of March wither and blight the early
spring-flowers. At this moment however, he was not thinking of that
reverence, but rather how he had once carried the Duchess boldly over
the cloister-yard. Neither did he think of his monastic vow, but he
felt as if he must rush into her arms, and press her to his heart with
a cry of delight. Sir Burkard's sword seemed to burn at his side.
"Throw aside all reserve, for only the bold will conquer the world."
Were not these words to be read in Dame Hadwig's eyes?
He stood up; strong, great and free,--she had never seen him look so
before, ... but it lasted only a second. As yet not one sound betraying
his inward struggle had escaped his lips, when his eye fell on the
dark, ebony cross, which Vincentius had once hung up on the wall. "It
is the day of the Lord, and thou shalt open thy lips to-day before his
people,"--the remembrance of his duty drove away all other thoughts....
There once came a frost, on a bright summer-morning, and grass and
leaves and blossoms became black and seared, before the sun rose over
them....
Shyly as in former times, he took Dame Hadwig's hand. "How shall I
thank my mistress?" said he in broken accents.
She cast a searching look at him. The soft expression had vanished, and
the old sternness had returned to her brow, as if she meant to say: "if
you don't know how, I am not going to tell you," but she said nothing.
Still Ekkehard held her hand in his. She drew it back.
"Be pious and brave," said she, turning to leave the chamber. It
sounded like mockery....
Scarcely longer than a person needs to say the Lord's prayer, had the
Duchess been with him, but far more had happened in that time, than he
knew of.
He resumed his walk up and down his small abode. "Thou shalt deny
thyself and follow the Lord," thus St. Benedict's rules began, and
Ekkehard felt almost proud of the victory he had won; but Dame Hadwig
had gone away with wounded feelings; and if a haughty mind believes
itself to be disdained, evil days must follow.
It was the seventh hour of the morning, and in the court-yard on the
Hohentwiel they were all attending divine service, before setting out.
The altar had been erected under the old linden-tree, and on it were
placed the sacred relics, to comfort the hearts of all believers. The
court-yard was entirely filled with armed men, standing in close,
orderly groups, just as Simon Bardo had arranged them. Like the roll of
distant thunder arose the introductory chaunts of the monks. The Abbot
of Reichenau, wearing the black pall with the white cross, celebrated
high-mass.
After him, Ekkehard mounted the altar-steps. With deep emotion his eye
glided over the crowded assembly; once more the remembrance of how he
had but a short while ago, stood face to face with the Duchess in the
solitary chamber, passed through his mind,--and then he read the gospel
of the suffering and death of our Saviour. As he read on, his voice
became always clearer and more distinct, and when he had finished, he
first kissed the book and then handed it to the deacon, for him to put
it back on its silk cushion. For a moment he looked up heavenwards, and
then began his sermon.
The assembly listened to his words with breathless attention.
"Almost a thousand years have come and gone," cried he, "since the Son
of God, bent his head on the cross, saying: 'it is finished!' but we
have not yet prepared our souls to receive the redemption, for we have
lived in sin, and the offences which we have committed through the
hardness of our hearts, cry out against us, towards Heaven. Therefore a
time of affliction has come upon us; glittering swords are raised
against us; heathenish monsters have invaded the christian territories.
"But instead of angrily enquiring, 'how long will the Lord forbear,
before He interferes and delivers our beloved homes from the hands of
such heathenish idolaters,' let everybody strike his own bosom and say:
on account of our sins this chastisement has been sent upon us. And if
ye would be delivered from them, think of our Saviour's painful death,
and as he took up his cross, bearing it himself to the place of skulls,
seize the sword, and choose your own Golgotha!" ...
Pointing over to the shores of the lake, he poured out words of comfort
and prophecy, strong and powerful, as the lion's call in the desert.
"The times are coming of which it has been written: 'And when the
thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison,
and shall go out to deceive the nations, which are in the four quarters
of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather them together to battle: the
number of whom is as the sand of the sea. And they went up, on the
breadth of the earth, and compassed the camp of the saints about, and
the beloved city: and fire came down from God, out of heaven, and
devoured them. And the devil that deceived them, was cast into the lake
of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and
shall be tormented day and night, for ever and ever.'[12]
"And all this, which the seer beheld and revealed at Patmos, is for us
a promise of the victory that is to come, if we go out with purified
hearts, to meet the enemy. Let them come, on their swift horses; what
does it matter? The Lord has marked them as the children of the devil,
therefore their face is but a mockery of the human countenance. They
can destroy the harvest on our fields, and desecrate our altars, but
they cannot resist the powerful arms of those, whom God himself has
inspired. Therefore keep in mind, that we Suabians, must always be in
the foremost ranks, when the fatherland has to be defended; and if in
other times, it would be a dire sin in the eyes of the Lord, to buckle
on the sword on His holy day,--to-day He will bless our weapons, and
send down his saints to assist us, and fight Himself in our ranks; He
the Lord of hosts, who sends down his destroying lightnings, and opens
the bowels of earth itself, when the right time has come."
With choice examples of glorious warlike deeds Ekkehard then tried to
inspire his auditors; and many a hand fiercely grasped the spear, and
many a foot was lifted impatiently from the ground, when he spoke of
Joshuah, who with the Lord's help had conquered thirty-one kings, on
the other side of the Jordan;--and of Gideon, who with loud sounding
trumpets, entered the camp of the Midianites, and drove them before him
unto Bethesda and Tebbath;--and of the sally of the men of Bethulia,
who after Judith's glorious deed, smote the Assyrians with the edge of
the sword.
But at the end, he quoted the words, which Judas Maccabaeus, had spoken
to his people, when they erected their camp at Emaus, before going out
to fight the army of King Antiochus. "Arm yourselves and be valiant
men, and see that ye be in readiness against the morning, that ye may
fight with these nations, that are assembled together against us to
destroy us and our sanctuary."
For a moment, after he had ended, there was perfect silence, but soon
arose a great stir among the men, and a rattling and clashing of arms
was heard. Swords and shields were knocked together, spears lifted and
badges waved in the air; all, as signs of hearty approval, according to
old custom. "Amen," was repeated from all sides, whilst the whole
assembly fell on their knees, as the high-mass was reaching its close.
The wooden rattles, instead of the usual church-bells, thrilled them
with awe. Everyone who had not yet taken the holy sacrament, went up to
the altar, to receive it. But now from the watch-tower was suddenly
heard the cry, "to arms! to arms! the enemy is coming! A dark mass of
riders and horses are moving towards us from the lake!" and now there
was no longer any possibility of keeping back the eager men, who were
all pressing towards the gate; Abbot Wazmann having scarcely time to
pronounce a blessing over them.
So, in our days does the fisher-man of the north, run out of the church
on a Sunday, at the time when the shoals of herrings are approaching.
"The fish are coming," cries the watch-man on the shore, and the moment
afterwards, every man is hurrying away, towards the boats. Forsaken and
alone, stands the clergyman,--so his devotions are also at an end and
he seizes the nets likewise to wage war upon the scaly tribe.
Thirsting for the coming battle, the troops left the court-yard;
each heart swelling with the soul-stirring conviction, that a great
and important moment was at hand. The monks of St. Gall, mustered
sixty-four, those of the Reichenau ninety, and of the arrier-ban men,
there were above five hundred. Close by the standard of the cross of
the brotherhood of St. Gall, walked Ekkehard. It was a crucifix, veiled
in black crape, with long black streamers; as the monastery's banner
had been left behind.
On the balcony stood the Duchess, waving her white handkerchief.
Ekkehard, turning round, looked up at her, but her eyes evaded his, and
the parting salutation was not meant for him.
St. Mark's coffin had been carried down to the lower castle-gate, by
some of the serving brothers. Everyone touched it with the points of
his lance and sword, and then silently passed on.
In the wide plain, stretching out towards the lake, Simon Bardo drew up
his troops, and one could see how pleased the old field-marshal was,
that his scar-covered breast again wore the accustomed mail, instead of
the monk's habit. His head was covered by a strangely shaped, pointed
steel morion; his broad, jewel-set girdle, as well as the gilt handle
of his sword, indicated the ancient general.
"You read the classics, on account of the grammar," said he to the
Abbots, "but I have learnt my _handicraft_ from them. With the military
advice of Frontinus and Vegetius, one may still achieve something even
now-a-days. First we will try the battle-array of the Roman legions;
for in that position one can best await the enemy, and see what he
means to do. Afterwards, we are still at liberty to change our tactics,
for affairs will not be settled between us in half an hour."
The light corps of the archers and sling-bearers were ordered to occupy
the border of the wood, where they would be sheltered by the fir-trees,
against any attack on horseback. "Take low aims," said he, "for even if
you should merely hit the horse instead of the rider, it is always
something." At the sound of the bugle, the troop advanced to execute
his commands. As yet, nothing was to be seen of the enemy.
The men of the arrier-ban, he arrayed in two close ranks. With levelled
lances they slowly advanced; a space of a few steps remaining between
the two files. The knight of Randegg, and the gaunt Friedinger,
commanded them.
The monks, Simon Bardo collected into one compact body, placing them in
the rear.
"Why this?" asked Abbot Wazmann, inwardly hurt, at losing the honour of
heading the attack. But Bardo, experienced in war, smilingly replied:
"Those are my Triarians; not because they are veteran soldiers, but
because they are fighting for their own warm nests. To be driven out of
house and home and bed, makes swords cut deepest, and spears thrust
fiercest. Don't be afraid, the tug of war, will yet draw the disciples
of St. Benedict into the strife."
The Huns had left the monastery of Reichenau at early dawn. The
provisions were all consumed, the wine drunk, and the cloister
pillaged; so, their day's work was done. Heribald's forehead lost many
a wrinkle, when the last of the Hunnic riders had passed out of the
cloister-gate. He threw after them a golden coin which the man from
Ellwangen, had secretly thrust into his hand. "Countryman, if thou
shouldst hear that a mishap has befallen me," said Snewelin, "I trust
that thou wilt let a dozen masses be read for my poor soul. I have
always befriended you and your fellow-monks, and how I have fallen
amongst the heathens, I scarcely can understand myself. The soil of
Ellwangen is unfortunately too rough and stony, for producing saints."
Heribald, however, would have nothing to do with him. In the garden, he
shovelled up the bones and ashes of the burnt Huns and their horses,
throwing them into the lake, whilst the Huns were still visible on the
other side. "No heathen dust shall remain on the island," said he. Then
he went to the cloister-yard, and thoughtfully stared at the place,
where he had been forced to dance on the day before.
Meanwhile, the Huns were riding through the dark fir-wood towards the
Hohentwiel. But as they were thus cantering along, heedless of all
danger, here and there a horse began to stagger, and arrows and other
sharp missiles flew into their ranks, sent by invisible hands. The
vanguard began to slacken rein and to halt; but Ellak, giving the spurs
to his horse, cried out: "Why do you care for the stinging of gnats?
forwards, the plain is a better field of battle!"
A dozen of his men were ordered to stay behind, in order to protect the
baggage and camp followers, against their hidden enemies. The ground
echoed with the tramp of the advancing horde, and as soon as they
reached the plain, they spread their ranks, and uttering a wild howl,
advanced to meet the approaching column of the arrier-ban.
Far ahead rode Ellak, accompanied by the Hunnic standard-bearer, who
was waving the green and red flag over his head. Uttering a piercing
cry, the chieftain now lifted himself high in the saddle, and then shot
off the first arrow, thus opening the battle according to old custom;
and now the bloody fight began in good earnest. Little availed it to
the Suabian warriors, that they stood firm and immovable like a wall of
lances; for although the horses recoiled before it, a shower of arrows
were sent at them from the distance. Half raised in the stirrups, with
the reins hanging over their horses necks, the Huns took aim, and
generally their arrows hit the mark.
Others, came on from the sides, and woe to the wounded, if his
companions did not take him into the centre.
Then the light troops intended to come out of the fir-wood, and attack
the Huns from behind. The sound of the bugle again collected them
together; they advanced,--but quick as thought, their enemies' horses
were turned round, and a shower of arrows greeted them. They staggered,
only a few advanced, but these also were thrown back, so that finally
Audifax was left alone, bravely marching along. Many an arrow whizzed
round his head, but without minding them, or once looking back, he blew
his bag-pipe, as was his duty. Thus he came right into the midst of the
Hunnic riders. But now his piping stopped suddenly, for in passing, one
of the Huns had thrown a noose over his head. Trying hard to resist,
Audifax looked around, but not a single man of his troop was to be
seen. "Oh Hadumoth!" cried he mournfully. The rider took pity on the
brave fair-haired boy; so instead of splitting his head, he lifted him
up into the saddle, and galloped away to the place where the Hunnic
train had stopped, under the shelter of a hill. With erect figure, the
woman of the wood stood on her cart, intently gazing at the raging
battle. She had dressed the wounds of the first Huns who fell,
pronouncing some powerful charms over them, to stop the bleeding.
"Here I bring you someone to clean the camp-kettles!" cried the Hunnic
rider, throwing the boy over, so that he fell right into the cart, and
at the feet of the old woman.
"Welcome, thou venomous little toad," cried she fiercely, "thou shalt
get thy reward sure enough, for having shown the way up to my house, to
that cowl-bearer!" She had recognized him at once, and dragging him
towards her, tied him fast to the cart.
Audifax remained silent, but scalding tears fell from his eyes. He did
not cry though on account of being taken prisoner, but he cried from
another heavy disappointment. "Oh Hadumoth!" sighed he again. Yesterday
at midnight he had sat together with the young goose-driver, hidden in
a corner of the fire-place. "Thou shalt become invulnerable," Hadumoth
had said, "for I will give thee a charm against all weapons!" She had
boiled a brown snake, and anointed his forehead, shoulders and breast
with its fat. "To-morrow evening I shall wait for thee in this same
corner, for thou wilt surely come back to me, safe and sound. No metal
can do anything, against the fat of a snake." Audifax had squeezed her
hands, and had gone out so joyously into battle,--and now!...
The fighting was still going on in the plain, and the Suabian
combatants not being used to battle, began to get tired already. With
an anxious expression Simon Bardo was watching the state of affairs;
and with an angry shake of the head, he grumbled to himself: "the best
strategy is lost on these Centaurs, who come and go, and shoot at a
distance, as if my threefold flanks stood there only to amuse them. It
would really be well, if one were to add a chapter to Emperor Leo's
book on tactics, treating of the attack of the Huns."
He now approached the monks, and dividing them again into two bodies,
ordered the men of St. Gall to advance on the right, and those of
Reichenau, on the left; then wheeling about, so that the enemy, having
the wood at his back, was shut in by a semicircle. "If we do not
surround them, they will not let us get at them," cried he, flourishing
his broad sword in the air. "So now to the attack!"
A wild fire was gleaming in all eyes; and on the point of starting,
they all dropt down on their knees; each took up a clod of earth, and
threw it over his head that he might be consecrated and blessed by his
native earth; and then they rushed on to battle. Those of St. Gall
struck up the pious war-song of "_media vita_." Notker the stutterer,
once passed through the ravines of the Martistobel, in his native land,
when a bridge was just being built over the yawning precipice. The
workmen were hanging suspended over the giddy height, and at that
sight, the idea rose in his soul, how in our life we are always walking
on the edge of the abyss of Death, and so he composed those verses. Now
they served as a sort of magic song, which was to protect them, and
bring death to their enemies. Solemn, sounded its strains from the lips
of the men going into battle:
"Though yet we live, by Death we are surrounded,
And ever near, his messengers are staying.
Whom could we choose, to help us in great danger,
But Thee, oh Lord! The judge of all the living!
Almighty God!"
And from the other wing the monks of the Reichenau were singing:
"Long our fathers for Thy coming panted,
And Thou redeemedst them from sin and sorrow,
Up to Thy throne arose their wailing voices,
And Thou didst not reject their tears and prayers,
Thou Lord of hosts!"
And from both sides, was then heard together:
"Forsake us not, when our strength is failing,
He our staff, when courage is departing,
Oh, not to bitter Death, give up Thy children,
Almighty God, in whom we all are trusting,
Merciful God, great God of all the Heavens,
Oh Lord forsake us not! Have mercy on us!"
Thus they stood in close combat. With unmitigated surprise the Huns had
beheld the approaching columns. Howls, and the hissing, devilish cry of
"hui! hui!" was their response to the "_media vita_." Ellak likewise,
now divided his horsemen for a regular attack, and the fighting
continued fiercer than ever. The Hunnic horsemen soon broke through the
ranks of the small body of the monks of St. Gall, and a close fight
then began. It was strength, wrestling with swiftness, German
awkwardness, against Hunnic cunning.
The earth of the Hegau was then dyed red, with the blood of many a
pious man. Tutilo, the strong, was slain. He had pulled down a Hun from
his horse by the feet, and swinging the wry-faced wretch through the
air, split his skull against a stone; but a moment afterwards, an arrow
pierced the temple of the hoary warrior. Like the victorious hymns of
the heavenly host, it sounded through his wounded brain,--then he fell
down on his slain foe. Sindolt the wicked, atoned for many a bad trick
which he had played his brothers in former times, by the death-wound in
his breast; and nothing did it avail Dubslan the Scot, that he had made
a vow to St. Minwaloius, to go bare-foot to Rome, if he would protect
him in this battle,--for he also was carried dead out of the tumult.
When the blows rained down on the helmets like hail-stones on
slate-roofs, old Moengal drew his hood over his head, so that he could
look neither to the right nor to the left; then throwing away his
spear, he cried, "out with thee now, my old Cambutta." Unbuckling his
beloved shilalah, which had accompanied him, fastened to his back, he
now stood like a thrasher on the barn-floor. For some time a horseman
had capered around him. "_Kyrie eleison_" sang out the old man,
breaking the horses' skull at one blow. With both feet the rider jumped
to the ground: grazing Moengal's arm with his crooked sabre. "Heigho,"
exclaimed he, "in spring 'tis a good thing to be bled; but take care,
little surgeon!" aiming a blow at him, as if he wanted to strike him
ten fathom deep into the ground. But the Hun evaded the blow, and
whilst doing so, the helmet fell off and disclosed a soft and rosy
face, framed in by long wavy tresses, interwoven with red ribbons.
Before Moengal could think of aiming another blow, his antagonist
jumped up at him like a tiger-cat; the young, fresh face approached
his, affording him as it were in his old days an opportunity of culling
a kiss from coral lips; but the moment after, he received a sharp bite
on his cheek. Clasping his assailant, he felt a soft and slender
waist. "Take thyself away, goblin," cried he. "Has hell sent out her
she-devils also?" Here, another bite, for the sake of symmetry, saluted
him on the left cheek. He started back, but before he had raised his
bludgeon again, Erica had jumped on a horse which had lost its rider,
and gaily laughing she rode away, swift as a dream that vanishes at
cockcrow....
In the middle of the arrier-ban fought Master Spazzo the chamberlain,
heading a troop. The slow advance had rather pleased him, but when the
fight seemed to come to no conclusion, and men were clinging to each
other, like the hounds to the deer in a chase,--then it became rather
too much for him. A dreamy, pensive mood came over him in the midst of
the raging battle, and only when a passing rider pulled off his helmet,
as an acceptable booty, was he roused from his meditations, and when
the same, renewing the experiment, tried to drag off his mantle, he
cried out angrily: "is it not yet enough, thou marksman of the Devil?"
dealing him at the same time a thrust with his long sword, which pinned
the Hun's thigh to his own horse. Master Spazzo then thought of giving
him the deathblow, but on looking into his face, he found it so very
ugly, that he resolved to bring him home to his mistress, as a living
memento of the battle. So he made the wounded man his prisoner. His
name was Cappan, and putting his head under Master Spazzo's arm, in
sign of submission, he grinned with delight, showing two rows of
shining white teeth, when he perceived that his life had been spared.
Hornebog had led his troops against the brothers of the Reichenau. Here
also, grim Death was reaping a rich harvest. The cloister-walls
glistened in the distance over the lake, like an appeal to the
combatants to exert their utmost strength; and many a Hun who came
within reach of their swords, found out that he was treading on Suabian
ground, where heavy blows are as plentiful as wild strawberries in
summer. But the ranks of the brothers also were considerably thinned.
Quirinius the scrivener was resting for ever from the writing-cramp,
which had caused the spear in his right hand to tremble. Beside
him, there fell Wiprecht the astronomer, and Kerimold the master of
salmon-fishing, and Witigowo the architect;--who knows them all? the
nameless heroes, who met a glorious end, on that day!
Only one of the monks had reason to be grateful to a Hunnic arrow, and
that was brother Pilgeram. He was born at Cologne on the Rhine, and had
carried his thirst of knowledge, as well as a mighty goitre to St.
Pirmin's isle; where he was one of the most learned and most pious
monks; but his goitre increased and he became hypochondriac over the
ethics of Aristotle, so that Heribald had often said to him: "Pilgeram
I pity thee." But now a Hunnic arrow pierced the excrescence on his
throat. "Farewell, friend of my youth!" cried he on sinking down; but
the wound was not dangerous, and when his consciousness returned, he
felt his throat as well as his head considerably lightened, and from
that moment, he never opened Aristotle again.
Round the standard of St. Gall, a select body of men had rallied. The
black streamers still floated in the air from the image on the cross;
but the contest was doubtful. With word and action, Ekkehard encouraged
his companions not to give way, but it was Ellak himself who fought
against them. The bodies of slain men and horses cumbered the ground in
wild disorder. He, who survived had done his duty, and when all are
brave, no single heroic deed can claim its special share of glory. Sir
Burkhard's sword had received a new baptism of blood in Ekkehard's
hands, but in vain had he fiercely attacked Ellak the chieftain; for
after having exchanged a few blows and thrusts, they were separated
again by other combatants. Already the cross, towering on high, began
to stagger, aimed at by unceasing arrows, when a loud cry of surprise
rang through the ranks; for from the hill on which stood the tower of
Hohenfriedingen, two unknown horsemen in strange looking armour, came
galloping at full speed towards the scene of battle. Heavily one of
them, who was of mighty bulk, sat on his steed. Both shield and harness
were of antiquated shape, but the faded golden ornaments indicated the
high birth, of the wearer. A golden band encircled his helmet, from
which a tuft of red feathers waved. His mantle fluttering in the wind,
and his lance levelled, he looked like a picture of the olden times;
like King Saul in Folkard's psalm-book riding to meet David. Close by
his side rode his companion, a faithful vassal, ready to succour and
protect him.
"Tis the archangel Michael!" cried some in the christian ranks, and
with this their strength rallied. The sun was shining brightly on the
strange rider's arms,--like an omen of victory,--and a few moments later
the two were in the midst of the battle. He, with the gilt armour was
looking about for a worthy antagonist, which he soon found, for when
the Hunnic chieftain's keen eyes had spied him out, his horse's head
was turned towards him. The spear of the stranger knight passed
harmlessly by him, missing its aim; and Ellak's sword was already
raised to deal him the death blow, when the vassal threw himself
between the two. His broad sword merely struck the enemy's horse, so,
bending his head forwards, to catch the blow meant for his master, the
faithful shield-bearer found his death.
With a loud, clattering sound Ellak's horse fell to the ground, but
before the sound had quite died out, the Hun had already recovered his
feet. The unknown knight raised his mace, to break his enemy's head,
but Ellak, with his left foot placed tightly on the body of his dead
courser, pressed back the raised arm with his sinewy hands, trying at
the same time to pull him down. Then, face to face, the two mighty ones
began wrestling, so that those around them ceased fighting, to look on.
With a cunning movement, Ellak now seized his short sword, but just
when he lifted his arm, his antagonist's mace came down slowly but
heavily on his head. Yet his hand still dealt the thrust, and then
lifting it up to his forehead, over which the blood was running in
streams, Ellak reeled back on his war-horse, on which a moment later
the Hunnic chieftain angrily gave up the ghost.
"Here, sword of God and St. Michael!" triumphantly rose again the joint
cry of monks and arrier-ban-men! Rallying their strength, they rushed
on to one last despairing attack. The knight in the gilt armour was
still the foremost in the fight. The death of their leader, caused such
a panic to the Huns, that they turned round, and sped away in wild,
disorderly flight.
The woman of the wood, had already perceived the unfavourable turn
which the battle was taking. Her horses were ready harnessed, and
casting one last angry glance at the victorious monks and the rocky
mountain which had once been her home, she drove on the horses at a
quick pace, in the direction of the Rhine, followed by the rest of the
train. "To the Rhine!" was the watch-word of the flying Huns. Hornebog
was the last, who, unwillingly turned his back on the battle-field, and
the Hohentwiel.
"Farewell, till next year!" cried he tauntingly.
The victory was gained; but he, whom they believed to be the archangel
Michael, sent to their rescue, now let his heavy head sink down on his
horse's neck. Reins and arms, had both fallen from his hands, and
whether the cause was the last thrust of the Hunnic chieftain, or
suffocation in the heat of the battle, he was lifted down from his
horse, a dead man. On opening his visor, a happy smile was still
visible on his wrinkled old face, and from that hour the headache of
the old man of the Heidenhoehlen, had ceased for ever.
A black dog ran about searching on the battlefield, till he found the
old man's body. Dismally howling he then licked his forehead; Ekkehard
standing near, with a tear in his eye, saying a prayer for the welfare
of his soul....
The conquerors returned to the Hohentwiel, their helmets adorned with
green fir-twigs, and leaving twelve of the brothers behind, to watch
the dead on the battle-field. Of the Huns, one hundred and eighty had
fallen in battle, whilst the Suabian arrier-ban had lost ninety six;
those of the Reichenau eighteen, and those of St. Gall twenty, besides
the old man and Rauching his bondsman.
With a handkerchief tied round his face, Moengal stalked over the
field, using his shilalah like a staff. One by one he examined the
dead. "Hast thou not seen a Hun amongst them, who in reality is a
Hunnic woman?" asked he of one of the watchkeeping brothers.
"No," was the reply.
"Then I may as well go home," said Moengal.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The _Allemannic_ land or _Allemannia_ as it was then
called, consisted of part of the present Wuertemberg, Baden and
Lothringen; where a dialect, called "_Allematmisch_" has been preserved
to the present day.]
[Footnote 2: These notes, for the greatest part have been omitted, as
being of no possible interest to the English reader.]
[Footnote 3: Old German words.]
[Footnote 4: Chriemhilde and Brunhilde.]
[Footnote 5: This fable has its origin in the "_historia naturalis_" of
Plinius.]
[Footnote 6: A peculiar kind of fish in the Bodensee.]
[Footnote 7: This it had, surely enough; for when lately a learned son
of the emerald isle, paid a visit to the library of St. Gallus, there
to inspect the work of his pious countryman, he soon burst into a merry
laugh, and then the Rector of Dublin, translated some of the Irish
comments as follows:
"God be thanked that it is getting dark!" "St. Patrick of Armagh
release me from this book-writing." "Oh, that I had a glass of good old
wine beside me" etc.]
[Footnote 8: Ausonius. Idyll. 7.]
[Footnote 9: The curious custom, that by this act, called the "_Chrene
Chruda_," the debt passed on to the next relation by blood, who was
able to pay it, is described in Merkel's "_lex Salica_." The origin of
"_Chrene Chruda_" has not yet been sufficiently explained.]
[Footnote 10: A kind of caterpillars, migrating in large numbers.]
[Footnote 11: Places notorious for their sour bad wines.]
[Footnote 12: Revelation XX, 7.]
* * * * *
PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Ekkehard. Vol. I (of II), by Joseph Victor Scheffel