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

“That is like to be a far shorter and safer journey than mine.  The Genoese and Venetians understand traffic with the infidels for their captives, and only by your own fault could you get into danger.  Even at the worst, should mishap befall you, you could so order matters as to leave your girl-widow in your mother’s charge.”

“Then,” added Ebbo, “she would still have one left to love and cherish her.  Sir Kasimir, it is well; though, if you knew me without my Friedel, you would repent of your bargain.”

“Thanks from my heart,” said Wildschloss, “but you need not be concerned.  You have never been over-friendly with me even with Friedel at your side.  But to business, my son.  You will endure that title from me now?  My time is short.”

“What would you have me do?  Shall I send the little one a betrothal ring, and ride to Ulm to wed and fetch her home in spring?”

“That may hardly serve.  These kinsmen would have seized on her and the castle long ere that time.  The only safety is the making wedlock as fast as it can be made with a child of such tender years.  Mine is the only power that can make the abbess give her up, and therefore will I ride this moonlight night to Ulm, bring the little one back with me by the time the reconciliation be concluded, and then shall ye be wed by the Abbot of St. Ruprecht’s, with the Kaisar for a witness, and thus will the knot be too strong for the Trautbachs to untie.”

Ebbo looked disconcerted, and gasped, as if this were over-quick work.—“To-morrow!” he said.  “Knows my mother?”

“I go to speak with her at once.  The Kaisar’s consent I have, as he says, ‘If we have one vassal who has common sense and honesty, let us make the most of him.’  Ah! my son, I shall return to see you his counsellor and friend.”

Those days had no delicacies as to the lady’s side taking the initiative: and, in effect, the wealth and power of Wildschloss so much exceeded those of the elder branch that it would have been presumptuous on Eberhard’s part to have made the proposal.  It was more a treaty than an affair of hearts, and Sir Kasimir had not even gone through the form of inquiring if Ebbo were fancy-free.  It was true, indeed, that he was still a boy, with no passion for any one but his mother; but had he even formed a dream of a ladye love, it would scarcely have been deemed a rational objection.  The days of romance were no days of romance in marriage.

Yet Christina, wedded herself for pure love, felt this obstacle strongly.  The scheme was propounded to her over the hall fire by no less a person than Maximilian himself, and he, whose perceptions were extremely keen when he was not too much engrossed to use them, observed her reluctance through all her timid deference, and probed her reasons so successfully that she owned at last that, though it might sound like folly, she could scarce endure to see her son so bind himself that the romance of his life could hardly be innocent.

“Nay, lady,” was the answer, in a tone of deep feeling.  “Neither lands nor honours can weigh down the up-springing of true love;” and he bowed his head between his hands.

Verily, all the Low Countries had not impeded the true-hearted affection of Maximilian and Mary; and, though since her death his want of self-restraint had marred his personal character and morals, and though he was now on the point of concluding a most loveless political marriage, yet still Mary was—as he shows her as the Beatrice of both his strange autobiographical allegories—the guiding star of his fitful life; and in heart his fidelity was so unbroken that, when after a long pause he again looked up to Christina, he spoke as well understanding her feelings.

“I know what you would say, lady; your son hardly knows as yet how much is asked of him, and the little maid, to whom he vows his heart, is over-young to secure it.  But, lady, I have often observed that men, whose family affections are as deep and fervent as your son’s are for you and his brother, seldom have wandering passions, but that their love flows deep and steady in the channels prepared for it.  Let your young Freiherr regard this damsel as his own, and you will see he will love her as such.”

“I trust so, my liege.”

“Moreover, if she turn out like the spiteful Trautbach folk,” said Maximilian, rather wickedly, “plenty of holes can be picked in a baby-wedding.  No fear of its over-firmness.  I never saw one come to good; only he must keep firm hold on the lands.”

This was not easy to answer, coming from a prince who had no small experience in premature bridals coming to nothing, and Christina felt that the matter was taken out of her hands, and that she had no more to do but to enjoy the warm-hearted Kaisar’s praises of her son.

In fact, the general run of nobles were then so boorish and violent compared with the citizens, that a nobleman who possessed intellect, loyalty, and conscience was so valuable to the sovereign that Maximilian was rejoiced to do all that either could bind him to his service or increase his power.  The true history of this expedition on the Emperor’s part was this—that he had consulted Kasimir upon the question of the Debateable Ford and the feud of Adlerstein and Schlangenwald, asking further how his friend had sped in the wooing of the fair widow, to which he remembered having given his consent at Ulm.

Wildschloss replied that, though backed up by her kindred at Ulm, he had made no progress in consequence of the determined opposition of her two sons, and he had therefore resolved to wait a while, and let her and the young Baron feel their inability to extricate themselves from the difficulties that were sure to beset them, without his authority, influence, and experience—fully believing that some predicament might arise that would bring the mother to terms, if not the sons.

This disaster did seem to have fallen out, and he had meant at once to offer himself to the lady as her supporter and advocate, able to bring about all her son could desire; though he owned that his hopes would have been higher if the survivor had been the gentle, friendly Friedmund, rather than the hot and imperious Eberhard, who he knew must be brought very low ere his objections would be withdrawn.

The touch of romance had quite fascinated Maximilian.  He would see the lady and her son.  He would make all things easy by the personal influence that he so well knew how to exert, backed by his imperial authority; and both should see cause to be thankful to purchase consent to the bridge-building, and pardon for the fray, by the marriage between the widow and Sir Kasimir.

But the Last of the Knights was a gentleman, and the meek dignity of his hostess had hindered him from pressing on her any distasteful subject until her son’s explanation of the uncertainty of her husband’s death had precluded all mention of this intention.  Besides, Maximilian was himself greatly charmed by Ebbo’s own qualities—partly perhaps as an intelligent auditor, but also by his good sense, high spirit, and, above all, by the ready and delicate tact that had both penetrated and respected the disguise.  Moreover, Maximilian, though a faulty, was a devout man, and could appreciate the youth’s unswerving truth, under circumstances that did, in effect, imperil him more really than his guest.  In this mood, Maximilian felt disposed to be rid to the very utmost of poor Sir Kasimir’s unlucky attachment to a wedded lady; and receiving letters suggestive of the Eastern mission, instantly decided that it would only be doing as he would be done by instantly to order the disappointed suitor off to the utmost parts of the earth, where he would much have liked to go himself, save for the unlucky clog of all the realm of Germany.  That Sir Kasimir had any tie to home he had for the moment entirely forgotten; and, had he remembered it, the knight was so eminently fitted to fulfil his purpose, that it could hardly have been regarded.  But, when Wildschloss himself devised his little heiress’s union with the head of the direct line, it was a most acceptable proposal to the Emperor, who set himself to forward it at once, out of policy, and as compensation to all parties.

And so Christina’s gentle remonstrance was passed by.  Yet, with all her sense of the venture, it was thankworthy to look back on the trembling anxiety with which she had watched her boy’s childhood, and all his temptations and perils, and compare her fears with his present position: his alliance courted, his wisdom honoured, the child of the proud, contemned outlaw received as the favourite of the Emperor, and the valued ally of her own honoured burgher world.  Yet he was still a mere lad.  How would it be for the future?

Would he be unspoiled?  Yes, even as she already viewed one of her twins as the star on high—nay, when kneeling in the chapel, her dazzling tears made stars of the glint of the light reflected in his bright helmet—might she not trust that the other would yet run his course to and fro, as the spark in the stubble?

No one could bear to waken the young Baron till the sun had risen high enough to fall on his face and unclose his eyes.

“Mother” (ever his first word), “you have let me sleep too long.”

“Thou didst wake too long, I fear me.”

“I hoped you knew it not.  Yes, my wound throbbed sore, and the wonders of the day whirled round my brain like the wild huntsman’s chase.”

“And, cruel boy, thou didst not call to me.”

“What, with such a yesterday, and such a morrow for you? while, chance what may, I can but lie still.  I thought I must call, if I were still so wretched, when the last moonbeam faded; but, behold, sleep came, and therewith my Friedel sat by me, and has sung songs of peace ever since.”

“And hath lulled thee to content, dear son?”

“Content as the echo of his voice and the fulfilment of his hope can make me,” said Ebbo.

And so Christina made her son ready for the day’s solemnities, arraying him in a fine holland shirt with exquisite broidery of her own on the collar and sleeves, and carefully disposing his long glossy, dark brown hair so as to fall on his shoulders as he lay propped up by cushions.  She would have thrown his crimson mantle round him, but he repelled it indignantly.  “Gay braveries for me, while my Friedel is not yet in his resting-place?  Here—the black velvet cloak.”

“Alas, Ebbo! it makes thee look more of a corpse than a bridegroom.  Thou wilt scare thy poor little spouse.  Ah! it was not thus I had fancied myself decking thee for thy wedding.”

“Poor little one!” said Ebbo.  “If, as your uncle says, mourning is the seed of joy, this bridal should prove a gladsome one!  But let her prove a loving child to you, and honour my Friedel’s memory, then shall I love her well.  Do not fear, motherling; with the roots of hatred and jealousy taken out of the heart, even sorrow is such peace that it is almost joy.”

It was over early for pain and sorrow to have taught that lesson, thought the mother, as with tender tears she gave place to the priest, who was to begin the solemnities of the day by shriving the young Baron.  It was Father Norbert, who had in this very chamber baptized the brothers, while their grandmother was plotting the destruction of their godfather, even while he gave Friedmund his name of peace,—Father Norbert, who had from the very first encouraged the drooping, heart-stricken, solitary Christina not to be overcome of evil, but to overcome evil with good.

A temporary altar was erected between the windows, and hung with the silk and embroidery belonging to that in the chapel: a crucifix was placed on it, with the shrine of the stone of Nicæa, one or two other relics brought on St. Ruprecht’s cloister, and a beautiful mother-of-pearl and gold pyx also from the abbey, containing the host.  These were arranged by the chaplain, Father Norbert, and three of his brethren from the abbey.  And then the Father Abbot, a kindly, dignified old man, who had long been on friendly terms with the young Baron, entered; and after a few kind though serious words to him, assumed a gorgeous cope stiff with gold embroidery, and, standing by the altar, awaited the arrival of the other assistants at the ceremony.

The slender, youthful-looking, pensive lady of the castle, in her wonted mourning dress, was courteously handed to her son’s bedside by the Emperor.  He was in his plain buff