THE EAGLE AND THE SNAKE
THE reconciliation made Ebbo retract his hasty resolution of
relinquishing all the benefits resulting from his connection with the
Sorel family, and his mother’s fortune made it possible to carry out many
changes that rendered the castle and its inmates far more prosperous in
appearance than had ever been the case before. Christina had once again
the appliances of a _wirthschaft_, such as she felt to be the suitable
and becoming appurtenance of a right-minded Frau, gentle or simple, and
she felt so much the happier and more respectable.
A chaplain had also been secured. The youths had insisted on his being
capable of assisting their studies, and, a good man had been found who
was fearfully learned, having studied at all possible universities, but
then failing as a teacher, because he was so dreamy and absent as to be
incapable of keeping the unruly students in order. Jobst Schön was his
proper name, but he was translated into Jodocus Pulcher. The chapel was
duly adorned, the hall and other chambers were fitted up with some degree
of comfort; the castle court was cleansed, the cattle sheds removed to
the rear, and the serfs were presented with seed, and offered payment in
coin if they would give their labour in fencing and clearing the
cornfield and vineyard which the barons were bent on forming on the sunny
slope of the ravine. Poverty was over, thanks to the marriage portion,
and yet Ebbo looked less happy than in the days when there was but a bare
subsistence; and he seemed to miss the full tide of city life more than
did his brother, who, though he had enjoyed Ulm more heartily at the
time, seemed to have returned to all his mountain delights with greater
zest than ever. At his favourite tarn, he revelled in the vast stillness
with the greater awe for having heard the hum of men, and his minstrel
dreams had derived fresh vigour from contact with the active world. But,
as usual, he was his brother’s chief stay in the vexations of a reformer.
The serfs had much rather their lord had turned out a freebooter than an
improver. Why should they sow new seeds, when the old had sufficed their
fathers? Work, beyond the regulated days when they scratched up the soil
of his old enclosure, was abhorrent to them. As to his offered coin,
they needed nothing it would buy, and had rather bask in the sun or sleep
in the smoke. A vineyard had never been heard of on Adlerstein mountain:
it was clean contrary to his forefathers’ habits; and all came of the bad
drop of restless burgher blood, that could not let honest folk rest.
Ebbo stormed, not merely with words, but blows, became ashamed of his
violence, tried to atone for it by gifts and kind words, and in return
was sulkily told that he would bring more good to the village by rolling
the fiery wheel straight down hill at the wake, than by all his
new-fangled ways. Had not Koppel and a few younger men been more open to
influence, his agricultural schemes could hardly have begun; but
Friedel’s persuasions were not absolutely without success, and every rood
that was dug was achieved by his patience and perseverance.
Next came home the Graf von Schlangenwald. He had of late inhabited his
castle in Styria, but in a fierce quarrel with some of his neighbours he
had lost his eldest son, and the pacification enforced by the King of the
Romans had so galled and infuriated him that he had deserted that part of
the country and returned to Swabia more fierce and bitter than ever.
Thenceforth began a petty border warfare such as had existed when
Christina first knew Adlerstein, but had of late died out. The shepherd
lad came home weeping with wrath. Three mounted Schlangenwaldern had
driven off his four best sheep, and beaten himself with their halberds,
though he was safe on Adlerstein ground. Then a light thrown by a
Schlangenwald reiter consumed all Jobst’s pile of wood. The swine did
not come home, and were found with spears sticking in them; the great
broad-horned bull that Ebbo had brought from the pastures of Ulm vanished
from the Alp below the Gemsbock’s Pass, and was known to be salted for
winter use at Schlangenwald.
Still Christina tried to persuade her sons that this might be only the
retainers’ violence, and induced Ebbo to write a letter, complaining of
the outrages, but not blaming the Count, only begging that his followers
might be better restrained. The letter was conveyed by a lay brother—no
other messenger being safe. Ebbo had protested from the first that it
would be of no use, but he waited anxiously for the answer.
Thus it stood, when conveyed to him by a tenant of the Ruprecht
cloister:—
“Wot you, Eberhard, Freiherr von Adlerstein, that your house have
injured me by thought, word, and deed. Your great-grandfather
usurped my lands at the ford. Your grandfather stole my cattle and
burnt my mills. Then, in the war, he slew my brother Johann and
lamed for life my cousin Matthias. Your father slew eight of my
retainers and spoiled my crops. You yourself claim my land at the
ford, and secure the spoil which is justly mine. Therefore do I
declare war and feud against you. Therefore to you and all yours, to
your helpers and helpers’ helpers, am I a foe. And thereby shall I
have maintained my honour against you and yours.
WOLFGANG, Graf von Schlangenwald.
HIEROM, Graf von Schlangenwald—his cousin.”
&c. &c. &c.
And a long list of names, all connected with Schlangenwald, followed; and
a large seal, bearing the snake of Schlangenwald, was appended thereto.
“The old miscreant!” burst out Ebbo; “it is a feud brief.”
“A feud brief!” exclaimed Friedel; “they are no longer according to the
law.”
“Law?—what cares he for law or mercy either? Is this the way men act by
the League? Did we not swear to send no more feud letters, nor have
recourse to fist-right?”
“We must appeal to the Markgraf of Wurtemburg,” said Friedel.
It was the only measure in their power, though Ebbo winced at it; but his
oaths were recent, and his conscience would not allow him to transgress
them by doing himself justice. Besides, neither party could take the
castle of the other, and the only reprisals in his power would have been
on the defenceless peasants of Schlangenwald. He must therefore lay the
whole matter before the Markgraf, who was the head of the Swabian League,
and bound to redress his wrongs. He made his arrangements without
faltering, selecting the escort who were to accompany him, and insisting
on leaving Friedel to guard his mother and the castle. He would not for
the world have admitted the suggestion that the counsel and introduction
of Adlerstein Wildschloss would have been exceedingly useful to him.
Poor Christina! It was a great deal too like that former departure, and
her heart was heavy within her! Friedel was equally unhappy at letting
his brother go without him, but it was quite necessary that he and the
few armed men who remained should show themselves at all points open to
the enemy in the course of the day, lest the Freiherr’s absence should be
remarked. He did his best to cheer his mother, by reminding her that
Ebbo was not likely to be taken at unawares as their father had been; and
he shared the prayers and chapel services, in which she poured out her
anxiety.
The blue banner came safe up the Pass again, but Wurtemburg had been
formally civil to the young Freiherr; but he had laughed at the fend
letter as a mere old-fashioned habit of Schangenwald’s that it was better
not to notice, and he evidently regarded the stealing of a bull or the
misusing of a serf as far too petty a matter for his attention. It was
as if a judge had been called by a crying child to settle a nursery
quarrel. He told Ebbo that, being a free Baron of the empire, he must
keep his bounds respected; he was free to take and hang any spoiler he
could catch, but his bulls were his own affair: the League was not for
such gear.
And a knight who had ridden out of Stuttgard with Ebbo had told him that
it was no wonder that this had been his reception, for not only was
Schlangenwald an old intimate of the Markgraf, but Swabia was claimed as
a fief of Wurtemburg, so that Ebbo’s direct homage to the Emperor,
without the interposition of the Markgraf, had made him no object of
favour.
“What could be done?” asked Ebbo.
“Fire some Schlangenwald hamlet, and teach him to respect yours,” said
the knight.
“The poor serfs are guiltless.”
“Ha! ha! as if they would not rob any of yours. Give and take, that’s
the way the empire wags, Sir Baron. Send him a feud letter in return,
with a goodly file of names at its foot, and teach him to respect you.”
“But I have sworn to abstain from fist-right.”
“Much you gain by so abstaining. If the League will not take the trouble
to right you, right yourself.”
“I shall appeal to the Emperor, and tell him how his League is
administered.”
“Young sir, if the Emperor were to guard every cow in his domains he
would have enough to do. You will never prosper with him without some
one to back your cause better than that free tongue of yours. Hast no
sister that thou couldst give in marriage to a stout baron that could aid
you with strong arm and prudent head?”
“I have only one twin brother.”
“Ah! the twins of Adlerstein! I remember me. Was not the other
Adlerstein seeking an alliance with your lady mother? Sure no better aid
could be found. He is hand and glove with young King Max.”
“That may never be,” said Ebbo, haughtily. And, sure that he should
receive the same advice, he decided against turning aside to consult his
uncle at Ulm, and returned home in a mood that rejoiced Heinz and Hatto
with hopes of the old days, while it filled his mother with dreary dismay
and apprehension.
“Schlangenwald should suffer next time he transgressed,” said Ebbo. “It
should not again be said that he himself was a coward who appealed to the
law because his hand could not keep his head.”
The “next time” was when the first winter cold was setting in. A party
of reitern came to harry an outlying field, where Ulrich had raised a
scanty crop of rye. Tidings reached the castle in such good time that
the two brothers, with Heinz, the two Ulm grooms, Koppel, and a troop of
serfs, fell on the marauders before they had effected much damage, and
while some remained to trample out the fire, the rest pursued the enemy
even to the village of Schlangenwald.
“Burn it, Herr Freiherr,” cried Heinz, hot with victory. “Let them learn
how to make havoc of our corn.”
But a host of half-naked beings rushed out shrieking about sick children,
bed-ridden grandmothers, and crippled fathers, and falling on their
knees, with their hands stretched out to the young barons. Ebbo turned
away his head with hot tears in his eyes. “Friedel, what can we do?”
“Not barbarous murder,” said Friedel.
“But they brand us for cowards!”
“The cowardice were in striking here,” and Friedel sprang to withhold
Koppel, who had lighted a bundle of dried fern ready to thrust into the
thatch.
“Peasants!” said Ebbo, with the same impulse, “I spare you. You did not
this wrong. But bear word to your lord, that if he will meet me with
lance and sword, he will learn the valour of Adlerstein.”
The serfs flung themselves before him in transports of gratitude, but he
turned hastily away and strode up the mountain, his cheek glowing as he
remembered, too late, that his defiance would be scoffed at, as a boy’s
vaunt. By and by he arrived at the hamlet, where he found a prisoner, a
scowling, abject fellow, already well beaten, and now held by two serfs.
“The halter is ready, Herr Freiherr,” said old Ulrich, “and yon rowan
stump is still as stout as when your Herr grandsire hung three
lanzknechts on it in one day. We only waited your bidding.”
“Quick then, and let me hear no more,” said Ebbo, about to descend the
pass, as if hastening from the execution of a wolf taken in a gin.
“Has he seen the priest?” asked Friedel.
The peasants looked as if this were one of Sir Friedel’s unaccountable
fancies. Ebbo paused, frowned, and muttered, but seeing a move as if to
drag the wretch towards the stunted bush overhanging an abyss, he
shouted, “Hold, Ulrich! Little Hans, do thou run down to the castle, and
bring Father Jodocus to do his office!”
The serfs were much disgusted. “It never was so seen before, Herr
Freiherr,” remonstrated Heinz; “fang and hang was ever the word.”
“What shrift had my lord’s father, or mine?” added Koppel.
“Look you!” said Ebbo, turning sharply. “If Schlangenwald be a godless
ruffian, pitiless alike to soul and body, is that a cause that I should
stain myself too?”
“It were true vengeance,” growled Koppel.
“And now,” grumbled Ulrich, “will my lady hear, and there will be feeble
pleadings for the vermin’s life.”
Like mutterings ensued, the purport of which was caught by Friedel, and
made him say to Ebbo, who would again have escaped the disagreeableness
of the scene, “We had better tarry at hand. Unless we hold the folk in
some check there will be no right execution. They will torture him to
death ere the priest comes.”
Ebbo yielded, and began to pace the scanty area of the flat rock where
the need-fire was wont to blaze. After a time he exclaimed: “Friedel,
how couldst ask me? Knowst not that it sickens me to see a mountain cat
killed, save in full chase. And thou—why, thou art white as the snow
crags!”
“Better conquer the folly than that he there should be put to needless
pain,” said Friedel, but with labouring breath that showed how terrible
was the prospect to his imaginative soul not inured to death-scenes like
those of his fellows.
Just then a mocking laugh broke forth. “Ha!” cried Ebbo, looking keenly
down, “what do ye there? Fang and hang may be fair; fang and torment is
base! What was it, Lieschen?”
“Only, Herr Freiherr, the caitiff craved drink, and the fleischerinn gave
him a cup from the stream behind the slaughter-house, where we killed the
swine. Fit for the like of him!”
“By heavens, when I forbade torture!” cried Ebbo, leaping from the rock
in time to see the disgusting draught held to the lips of the captive,
whose hands were twisted back and bound with cruel tightness; for the
German boor, once roused from his lazy good-nature, was doubly savage
from stolidity.
“Wretches!” cried Ebbo, striking right and left with the back of his
sword, among the serfs, and then cutting the thong that was eating into
the prisoner’s flesh, while Friedel caught up a wooden bowl, filled it
with pure water, and offered it to the captive, who drank deeply.
“Now,” said Ebbo, “hast ought to say for thyself?”
A low curse against things in general was the only answer.
“What brought thee here?” continued Ebbo, in hopes of extracting some
excuse for pardon; but the prisoner only hung his head as one stupefied,
brutally indifferent and hardened against the mere trouble of answering.
Not another word could be extracted, and Ebbo’s position was very
uncomfortable, keeping guard over his condemned felon, with the sulky
peasants herding round, in fear of being balked of their prey; and the
reluctance growing on him every moment to taking life in cold blood.
Right of life and death was a heavy burden to a youth under seventeen,
unless he had been thoughtless and reckless, and from this Ebbo had been
prevented by his peculiar life. The lion cub had never tasted blood.
The situation was prolonged beyond expectation.
Many a time had the brothers paced their platform of rock, the criminal
had fallen into a dose, and women and boys were murmuring that they must
call home their kine and goats, and it was a shame to debar them of the
sight of the hanging, long before Hans came back between crying and
stammering, to say that Father Jodocus had fallen into so deep a study
over his book, that he only muttered “Coming,” then went into another
musing fit, whence no one could rouse him to do more than say “Coming!
Let him wait.”
“I must go and bring him, if the thing is to be done,” said Friedel.
“And let it last all night!” was the answer. “No, if the man were to
die, it should be at once, not by inches. Hark thee, rogue!” stirring
him with his foot.
“Well, sir,” said the man, “is the hanging ready yet? You’ve been long
enough about it for us to have twisted the necks of every Adlerstein of
you all.”
“Look thee, caitiff!” said Ebbo; “thou meritest the rope as well as any
wolf on the mountain, but we have kept thee so long in suspense, that if
thou canst say a word for thy life, or pledge thyself to meddle no more
with my lands, I’ll consider of thy doom.”
“You have had plenty of time to consider it,” growled the fellow.
A murmur, followed by a wrathful shout, rose among the villagers.
“Letting off the villain! No! No! Out upon him! He dares not!”
“Dare!” thundered Ebbo, with flashing eyes. “Rascals as ye are, think ye
to hinder me from daring? Your will to be mine? There, fellow; away
with thee! Up to the Gemsbock’s Pass! And whoso would follow him, let
him do so at his peril!”
The prisoner was prompt to gather himself up and rush like a hunted
animal to the path, at the entrance of which stood both twins, with drawn
swords, to defend the escape. Of course no one ventured to follow; and
surly discontented murmurs were the sole result as the peasants
dispersed. Ebbo, sheathing his sword, and putting his arm into his
brother’s, said: “What, Friedel, turned stony-hearted? Hadst never a
word for the poor caitiff?”
“I knew thou wouldst never do the deed,” said Friedel, smiling.
“It was such wretched prey,” said Ebbo. “Yet shall I be despised for
this! Would that thou hadst let me string him up shriftless, as any
other man had done, and there would have been an end of it!”
And even his mother’s satisfaction did not greatly comfort Ebbo, for he
was of the age to feel more ashamed of a solecism than a crime.
Christina perceived that this was one of his most critical periods of
life, baited as he was by the enemy of his race, and feeling all the
disadvantages which heart and conscience gave him in dealing with a man
who had neither, at a time when public opinion was always with the most
masterful. The necessity of arming his retainers and having fighting men
as a guard were additional temptations to hereditary habits of violence;
and that so proud and fiery a nature as his should never become involved
in them was almost beyond hope. Even present danger seemed more around
than ever before. The estate was almost in a state of siege, and
Christina never saw her sons quit the castle without thinking of their
father’s fate, and passing into the chapel to entreat for their return
unscathed in body or soul. The snow, which she had so often hailed as a
friend, was never more welcome than this winter; not merely as shutting
the enemy out, and her sons in, but as cutting off all danger of a visit
from her suitor, who would now come armed with his late sufferings in her
behalf; and, moreover, with all the urgent need of a wise and respected
head and protector for her sons. Yet the more evident the expediency
became, the greater grew her distaste.
Still the lonely life weighed heavily on Ebbo. Light-hearted Friedel was
ever busy and happy, were he chasing the grim winter game—the bear and
wolf—with his brother, fencing in the hall, learning Greek with the
chaplain, reading or singing to his mother, or carving graceful angel
forms to adorn the chapel. Or he could at all times soar into a minstrel
dream of pure chivalrous semi-allegorical romance, sometimes told over
the glowing embers to his mother and brother. All that came to Friedel
was joy, from battling with the bear on a frozen rock, to persuading rude
little Hans to come to the Frau Freiherrinn to learn his Paternoster.
But the elder twin might hunt, might fence, might smile or kindle at his
brother’s lay, but ever with a restless gloom on him, a doubt of the
future which made him impatient of the present, and led to a sharpness
and hastiness of manner that broke forth in anger at slight offences.
“The matron’s coif succeeding the widow’s veil,” Friedel heard him
muttering even in sleep, and more than once listened to it as Ebbo leant
over the battlements—as he looked over the white world to the gray mist
above the city of Ulm.
“Thou, who mockest my forebodings and fancies, to dwell on that gipsy
augury!” argued Friedel. “As thou saidst at the time, Wildschloss’s
looks gave shrewd cause for it.”
“The answer is in mine own heart,” answered Ebbo. “Since our stay at
Ulm, I have ever felt as though the sweet motherling were less my own!
And the same with my house and lands. Rule as I will, a mocking laugh
comes back to me, saying: ‘Thou art but a boy, Sir Baron, thou dost but
play at lords and knights.’ If I had hung yon rogue of a reiter, I
wonder if I had felt my grasp more real?”
“Nay,” said Friedel, glancing from the sparkling white slopes to the pure
blue above, “our whole life is but a play at lords and knights, with the
blessed saints as witnesses of our sport in the tilt-yard.”
“Were it merely that,” said Ebbo, impatiently, “I were not so galled.
Something hangs over us, Friedel! I long that these snows would melt,
that I might at least know what it is!”