The Dove in the Eagle's Nest by Charlotte M. Yonge (i read book TXT) 📕

towards her champion, and convince her sons that the adversary was too much hurt for them to attempt a fresh challenge. CHAPTER XVI
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