BRIDGING THE FORD
The snow melted, the torrent became a flood, then contracted itself, but
was still a broad stream, when one spring afternoon Ebbo showed his
brother some wains making for the ford, adding, “It cannot be rightly
passable. They will come to loss. I shall get the men together to aid
them.”
He blew a blast on his horn, and added, “The knaves will be alert enough
if they hope to meddle with honest men’s luggage.”
“See,” and Friedel pointed to the thicket to the westward of the meadow
around the stream, where the beech trees were budding, but not yet
forming a full mass of verdure, “is not the Snake in the wood? Methinks
I spy the glitter of his scales.”
“By heavens, the villains are lying in wait for the travellers at our
landing-place,” cried Ebbo, and again raising the bugle to his lips, he
sent forth three notes well known as a call to arms. Their echoes came
back from the rocks, followed instantly by lusty jodels, and the brothers
rushed into the hall to take down their light head-pieces and corslets,
answering in haste their mother’s startled questions, by telling of the
endangered travellers, and the Schlangenwald ambush. She looked white
and trembled, but said no word to hinder them; only as she clasped
Friedel’s corslet, she entreated them to take fuller armour.
“We must speed the short way down the rock,” said Ebbo, “and cannot be
cumbered with heavy harness. Sweet motherling, fear not; but let a meal
be spread for our rescued captives. Ho, Heinz, ’tis against the
Schlangenwald rascals. Art too stiff to go down the rock path?”
“No; nor down the abyss, could I strike a good stroke against
Schlangenwald at the bottom of it,” quoth Heinz.
“Nor see vermin set free by the Freiherr,” growled Koppel; but the words
were lost in Ebbo’s loud commands to the men, as Friedel and Hatto handed
down the weapons to them.
The convoy had by this time halted, evidently to try the ford. A
horseman crossed, and found it practicable, for a waggon proceeded to
make the attempt.
“Now is our time,” said Ebbo, who was standing on the narrow ledge
between the castle and the precipitous path leading to the meadow. “One
waggon may get over, but the second or third will stick in the ruts that
it leaves. Now we will drop from our crag, and if the Snake falls on
them, why, then for a pounce of the Eagle.”
The two young knights, so goodly in their bright steel, knelt for their
mother’s blessing, and then sprang like chamois down the ivy-twined
steep, followed by their men, and were lost to sight among the bushes and
rocks. Yet even while her frame quivered with fear, her heart swelled at
the thought what a gulf there was between these days and those when she
had hidden her face in despair, while Ermentrude watched the Debateable
Ford.
She watched now in suspense, indeed, but with exultation instead of
shame, as two waggons safely crossed; but the third stuck fast, and
presently turned over in the stream, impelled sideways by the efforts of
the struggling horses. Then, amid endeavours to disentangle the animals
and succour the driver, the travellers were attacked by a party of armed
men, who dashed out of the beechwood, and fell on the main body of the
waggons, which were waiting on the bit of bare shingly soil that lay
between the new and old channels. A wild mêlée was all that Christina
could see—weapons raised, horses starting, men rushing from the river,
while the clang and the shout rose even to the castle.
Hark! Out rings the clear call, “The Eagle to the rescue!” There they
speed over the meadow, the two slender forms with glancing helms! O
overrun not the followers, rush not into needless danger! There is
Koppel almost up with them with his big axe—Heinz’s broad shoulders near.
Heaven strike with them! Visit not their forefathers’ sin on those pure
spirits. Some are flying. Some one has fallen! O heavens! on which
side? Ah! it is into the Schlangenwald woods that the fugitives direct
their flight. Three—four—the whole troop pursued! Go not too far! Run
not into needless risk! Your work is done, and gallantly. Well done,
young knights of Adlerstein! Which of you is it that stands pointing out
safe standing-ground for the men that are raising the waggon? Which of
you is it who stands in converse with a burgher form? Thanks and
blessings! the lads are safe, and full knightly hath been their first
emprise.
A quarter of an hour later, a gay step mounted the ascent, and Friedel’s
bright face laughed from his helmet: “There, mother, will you crown your
knights? Could you see Ebbo bear down the chief squire? for the old
Snake was not there himself. And whom do you think we rescued, besides a
whole band of Venetian traders to whom he had joined himself? Why, my
uncle’s friend, the architect, of whom he used to speak—Master Moritz
Schleiermacher.”
“Moritz Schleiermacher! I knew him as a boy.”
“He had been laying out a Lustgarten for the Romish king at Innspruck,
and he is a stout man of his hands, and attempted defence; but he had
such a shrewd blow before we came up, that he lay like one dead; and when
he was lifted up, he gazed at us like one moon-struck, and said, ‘Are my
eyes dazed, or are these the twins of Adlerstein, that are as like as
face to mirror? Lads, lads, your uncle looked not to hear of you acting
in this sort.’ But soon we and his people let him know how it was, and
that eagles do not have the manner of snakes.”
“Poor Master Moritz! Is he much hurt? Is Ebbo bringing him up hither?”
“No, mother, he is but giddied and stunned, and now must you send down
store of sausage, sourkraut, meat, wine, and beer; for the wains cannot
all cross till daylight, and we must keep ward all night lest the
Schlangenwalden should fall on them again. Plenty of good cheer, mother,
to make a right merry watch.”
“Take heed, Friedel mine; a merry watch is scarce a safe one.”
“Even so, sweet motherling, and therefore must Ebbo and I share it. You
must mete out your liquor wisely, you see, enough for the credit of
Adlerstein, and enough to keep out the marsh fog, yet not enough to make
us snore too soundly. I am going to take my lute; it would be using it
ill not to let it enjoy such a chance as a midnight watch.”
So away went the light-hearted boy, and by and by Christina saw the red
watch-fire as she gazed from her turret window. She would have been
pleased to see how, marshalled by a merchant who had crossed the desert
from Egypt to Palestine, the waggons were ranged in a circle, and the
watches told off, while the food and drink were carefully portioned out.
Freiherr Ebbo, on his own ground, as champion and host, was far more at
ease than in the city, and became very friendly with the merchants and
architect as they sat round the bright fire, conversing, or at times
challenging the mountain echoes by songs to the sound of Friedel’s lute.
When the stars grew bright, most lay down to sleep in the waggons, while
others watched, pacing up and down till Karl’s waggon should be over the
mountain, and the vigil was relieved.
No disturbance took place, and at sunrise a hasty meal was partaken of,
and the work of crossing the river was set in hand.
“Pity,” said Moritz, the architect, “that this ford were not spanned by a
bridge, to the avoiding of danger and spoil.”
“Who could build such a bridge?” asked Ebbo.
“Yourself, Herr Freiherr, in union with us burghers of Ulm. It were well
worth your while to give land and stone, and ours to give labour and
skill, provided we fixed a toll on the passage, which would be willingly
paid to save peril and delay.”
The brothers caught at the idea, and the merchants agreed that such a
bridge would be an inestimable boon to all traffickers between Constance,
Ulm, and Augsburg, and would attract many travellers who were scared away
by the evil fame of the Debateable Ford. Master Moritz looked at the
stone of the mountain, pronounced it excellent material, and already
sketched the span of the arches with a view to winter torrents. As to
the site, the best was on the firm ground above the ford; but here only
one side was Adlerstein, while on the other Ebbo claimed both banks, and
it was probable that an equally sound foundation could be obtained, only
with more cost and delay.
After this survey, the travellers took leave of the barons, promising to
write when their fellow-citizens should have been sounded as to the
bridge; and Ebbo remained in high spirits, with such brilliant purposes
that he had quite forgotten his gloomy forebodings. “Peace instead of
war at home,” he said; “with the revenue it will bring, I will build a
mill, and set our lads to work, so that they may become less dull and
doltish than their parents. Then will we follow the Emperor with a train
that none need despise! No one will talk now of Adlerstein not being
able to take care of himself!”
Letters came from Ulm, saying that the guilds of mercers and wine
merchants were delighted with the project, and invited the Baron of
Adlerstein to a council at the Rathhaus. Master Sorel begged the mother
to come with her sons to be his guest; but fearing the neighbourhood of
Sir Kasimir, she remained at home, with Heinz for her seneschal while her
sons rode to the city. There Ebbo found that his late exploit and his
future plan had made him a person of much greater consideration than on
his last visit, and he demeaned himself with far more ease and affability
in consequence. He had affairs on his hands too, and felt more than one
year older.
The two guilds agreed to build the bridge, and share the toll with the
Baron in return for the ground and materials; but they preferred the plan
that placed one pier on the Schlangenwald bank, and proposed to write to
the Count an offer to include him in the scheme, awarding him a share of
the profits in proportion to his contribution. However vexed at the turn
affairs had taken, Ebbo could offer no valid objection, and was obliged
to affix his signature to the letter in company with the guildmasters.
It was despatched by the city pursuivants—
The only men who safe might ride;
Their errands on the border side;
and a meeting was appointed in the Rathhaus for the day of their expected
return. The higher burghers sat on their carved chairs in the grand old
hall, the lesser magnates on benches, and Ebbo, in an elbowed seat far
too spacious for his slender proportions, met a glance from Friedel that
told him his merry brother was thinking of the frog and the ox. The
pursuivants entered—hardy, shrewd-looking men, with the city arms decking
them wherever there was room for them.
“Honour-worthy sirs,” they said, “no letter did the Graf von
Schlangenwald return.”
“Sent he no message?” demanded Moritz Schleiermacher.
“Yea, worthy sir, but scarce befitting this reverend assembly.” On being
pressed, however, it was repeated: “The Lord Count was pleased to swear
at what he termed the insolence of the city in sending him heralds, ‘as
if,’ said he, ‘the dogs,’ your worships, ‘were his equals.’ Then having
cursed your worships, he reviled the crooked writing of Herr Clerk
Diedrichson, and called his chaplain to read it to him. Herr Priest
could scarce read three lines for his foul language about the ford.
‘Never,’ said he, ‘would he consent to raising a bridge—a mean trick,’ so
said he, ‘for defrauding him of his rights to what the flood sent him.’”
“But,” asked Ebbo, “took he no note of our explanation, that if he give
not the upper bank, we will build lower, where both sides are my own?”
“He passed it not entirely over,” replied the messenger.
“What said he—the very words?” demanded Ebbo, with the paling cheek and
low voice that made his passion often seem like patience.
“He said—(the Herr Freiherr will pardon me for repeating the words)—he
said, ‘Tell the misproud mongrel of Adlerstein that he had best sit firm
in his own saddle ere meddling with his betters, and if he touch one
pebble of the Braunwasser, he will rue it. And before your city-folk
take up with him or his, they had best learn whether he have any right at
all in the case.’”
“His right is plain,” said Master Gottfried; “full proofs were given in,
and his investiture by the Kaisar forms a title in itself. It is mere
bravado, and an endeavour to make mischief between the Baron and the
city.”
“Even so did I explain, Herr Guildmaster,” said the pursuivant; “but,
pardon me, the Count laughed me to scorn, and quoth he, ‘asked the Kaisar
for proof of his father’s death!’”
“Mere mischief-making, as before,” said Master Gottfried, while his
nephews started with amaze. “His father’s death was proved by an
eye-witness, whom you still have in your train, have you not, Herr
Freiherr?”
“Yea,” replied Ebbo, “he is at Adlerstein now, Heinrich Bauermann, called
the Schneiderlein, a lanzknecht, who alone escaped the slaughter, and
from whom we have often heard how my father died, choked in his own
blood, from a deep breast-wound, immediately after he had sent home his
last greetings to my lady mother.”
“Was the corpse restored?” asked the able Rathsherr Ulrich.
“No,” said Ebbo. “Almost all our retainers had perished, and when a
friar was sent to the hostel to bring home the remains, it appeared that
the treacherous foe had borne them off—nay, my grandfather’s head was
sent to the Diet!”
The whole assembly agreed that the Count could only mean to make the
absence of direct evidence about a murder committed eighteen years ago
tell in sowing distrust between the allies. The suggestion was not worth
a thought, and it was plain that no site would be available except the
Debateable Strand. To this, however, Ebbo’s title was assailable, both
on account of his minority, as well as his father’s unproved death, and
of the disputed claim to the ground. The Rathsherr, Master Gottfried,
and others, therefore recommended deferring the work till the Baron
should be of age, when, on again tendering his allegiance, he might
obtain a distinct recognition of his marches. But this policy did not
consort with the quick spirit of Moritz Schleiermacher, nor with the
convenience of the mercers and wine-merchants, who were constant
sufferers by the want of a bridge, and afraid of waiting four years, in
which a lad like the Baron might return to the nominal instincts of his
class, or the Braunwasser might take back the land it had given; whilst
Ebbo himself was urgent, with all the defiant fire of youth, to begin
building at once in spite of all gainsayers.
“Strife and blood will it cost,” said Master Sorel, gravely.
“What can be had worth the having save at cost of strife and blood?” said
Ebbo, with a glance of fire.
“Youth speaks of counting the cost. Little knows it what it saith,”
sighed Master Gottfried.
“Nay,” returned the Rathsherr, “were it otherwise, who would have the
heart for enterprise?”
So the young knights mounted, and had ridden about half the way in
silence, when Ebbo exclaimed, “Friedel”—and as his brother started, “What
art musing on?”
“What thou art thinking of,” said Friedel, turning on him an eye that had
not only something of the brightness but of the penetration of a sunbeam.
“I do not think thereon at all,” said Ebbo, gloomily. “It is a figment
of the old serpent to hinder us from snatching his prey from him.”
“Nevertheless,” said Friedel, “I cannot but remember that the Genoese
merchant of old told us of a German noble sold by his foes to the Moors.”
“Folly! That tale was too recent to concern my father.”
“I did not think it did,” said Friedel; “but mayhap that noble’s family
rest equally certain of his death.”
“Pfui!” said Ebbo, hotly; “hast not heard fifty times how he died even in
speaking, and how Heinz crossed his hands on his breast? What wouldst
have more?”
“Hardly even that,” said Friedel, slightly smiling.
“Tush!” hastily returned his brother, “I meant only by way of proof.
Would an honest old fellow like Heinz be a deceiver?”
“Not wittingly. Yet I would fain ride to that hostel and make
inquiries!”
“The traitor host met his deserts, and was broken on the wheel for
murdering a pedlar a year ago,” said Ebbo. “I would I knew where my
father was buried, for then would I bring his corpse honourably back; but
as to his being a living man, I will not have it spoken of to trouble my
mother.”
“To trouble her?” exclaimed Friedel.
“To trouble her,” repeated Ebbo. “Long since hath passed the pang of his
loss, and there is reason in what old Sorel says, that he must have been
a rugged, untaught savage, with little in common with the gentle one, and
that tender memory hath decked him out as he never could have been. Nay,
Friedel, it is but sense. What could a man have been under the
granddame’s breeding?”
“It becomes not thee to say so!” returned Friedel. “Nay, he could learn
to love our mother.”
“One sign of grace, but doubtless she loved him the better for their
having been so little together. Her heart is at peace, believing him in
his grave; but let her imagine him in Schlangenwald’s dungeon, or some
Moorish galley, if thou likest it better, and how will her mild spirit be
rent!”
“It might be so,” said Friedel, thoughtfully. “It may be best to keep
this secret from her till we have fuller certainty.”
“Agreed then,” said Ebbo, “unless the Wildschloss fellow should again
molest us, when his answer is ready.”
“Is this just towards my mother?” said Friedel.
“Just! What mean’st thou? Is it not our office and our dearest right to
shield our mother from care? And is not her chief wish to be rid of the
Wildschloss suit?”
Nevertheless Ebbo was moody all the way home, but when there he devoted
himself in his most eager and winning way to his mother, telling her of
Master Gottfried’s woodcuts, and Hausfrau Johanna’s rheumatism, and of
all the news of the country, in especial that the Kaisar was at Lintz,
very ill with a gangrene in his leg, said to have been caused by his
habit of always kicking doors open, and that his doctors thought of
amputation, a horrible idea in the fifteenth century. The young baron
was evidently bent on proving that no one could make his mother so happy
as he could; and he was not far wrong there.
Friedel, however, could not rest till he had followed Heinz to the
stable, and speaking over the back of the old white mare, the only other
survivor of the massacre, had asked him once more for the particulars, a
tale he was never loth to tell; but when Friedel further demanded whether
he was certain of having seen the death of his younger lord, he replied,
as if hurt: “What, think you I would have quitted him while life was yet
in him?”
“No, certainly, good Heinz; yet I would fain know by what tokens thou
knewest his death.”
“Ah! Sir Friedel; when you have seen a stricken field or two, you will
not ask how I know death from life.”
“Is a swoon so utterly unlike death?”
“I say not but that an inexperienced youth might be mistaken,” said
Heinz; “but for one who had learned the bloody trade, it were impossible.
Why ask, sir?”
“Because,” said Friedel, low and mysteriously—“my brother would not have
my mother know it, but—Count Schlangenwald demanded whether we could
prove my father’s death.”
“Prove! He could not choose but die with three such wounds, as the old
ruffian knows. I shall bless the day, Sir Friedmund, when I see you or
your brother give back those strokes! A heavy reckoning be his.”
“We all deem that line only meant to cross our designs,” said Friedel.
“Yet, Heinz, I would I knew how to find out what passed when thou wast
gone. Is there no servant at the inn—no retainer of Schlangenwald that
aught could be learnt from?”
“By St. Gertrude,” roughly answered the Schneiderlein, “if you cannot be
satisfied with the oath of a man like me, who would have given his life
to save your father, I know not what will please you.”
Friedel, with his wonted good-nature, set himself to pacify the warrior
with assurances of his trust; yet while Ebbo plunged more eagerly into
plans for the bridge-building, Friedel drew more and more into his old
world of musings; and many a summer afternoon was spent by him at the
Ptarmigan’s Mere, in deep communings with himself, as one revolving a
purpose.
Christina could not but observe, with a strange sense of foreboding,
that, while one son was more than ever in the lonely mountain heights,
the other was far more at the base. Master Moritz Schleiermacher was a
constant guest at the castle, and Ebbo was much taken up with his
companionship. He was a strong, shrewd man, still young, but with much
experience, and he knew how to adapt himself to intercourse with the
proud nobility, preserving an independent bearing, while avoiding all
that haughtiness could take umbrage at; and thus he was acquiring a
greater influence over Ebbo than was perceived by any save the watchful
mother, who began to fear lest her son was acquiring an infusion of
worldly wisdom and eagerness for gain that would indeed be a severance
between him and his brother.
If she had known the real difference that unconsciously kept her sons
apart, her heart would have ached yet more.