CHAPTER XXIRITTER THEURDANK
THE snow fell all night without ceasing, and was still falling on themorrow, when the guest explained his desire of paying a short visit tothe young Baron, and then taking his departure. Christina would gladlyhave been quit of him, but she felt bound to remonstrate, for theirmountain was absolutely impassable during a fall of snow, above all whenaccompanied by wind, since the drifts concealed fearful abysses, and theshifting masses insured destruction to the unwary wayfarer; nay, nativesthemselves had perished between the hamlet and the castle.
“Not the hardiest cragsman, not my son himself,” she said, “could ventureon such a morning to guide you to—”
“Whither, gracious dame?” asked Theurdank, half smiling.
“Nay, sir, I would not utter what you would not make known.”
“You know me then?”
“Surely, sir, for our noble foe, whose generous trust in our honour mustwin my son’s heart.”
“So!” he said, with a peculiar smile, “Theurdank—Dankwart—I see! May Iask if your son likewise smelt out the Schlangenwald?”
“Verily, Sir Count, my Ebbo is not easily deceived. He said our guestcould be but one man in all the empire.”
Theurdank smiled again, saying, “Then, lady, you shudder not at a manwhose kin and yours have shed so much of one another’s blood?”
“Nay, ghostly knight, I regard you as no more stained therewith than aremy sons by the deeds of their grandfather.”
“If there were more like you, lady,” returned Theurdank, “deadly feudswould soon be starved out. May I to your son? I have more to say tohim, and I would fain hear his views of the storm.”
Christina could not be quite at ease with Theurdank in her son’s room,but she had no choice, and she knew that Heinz was watching on the turretstair, out of hearing indeed, but as ready to spring as a cat who seesher young ones in the hand of a child that she only half trusts.
Ebbo lay eagerly watching for his visitor, who greeted him with the samealmost paternal kindness he had evinced the night before, but consultedhim upon the way from the castle. Ebbo confirmed his mother’s opinionthat the path was impracticable so long as the snow fell, and the windtossed it in wild drifts.
“We have been caught in snow,” he said, “and hard work have we had to gethome! Once indeed, after a bear hunt, we fully thought the castle stoodbefore us, and lo! it was all a cruel snow mist in that mocking shape. Iwas even about to climb our last Eagle’s Step, as I thought, when behold,it proved to be the very brink of the abyss.”
“Ah! these ravines are well-nigh as bad as those of the Inn. I’ve knownwhat it was to be caught on the ledge of a precipice by a sharp wind,changing its course, mark’st thou, so swiftly that it verily tore my holdfrom the rock, and had well-nigh swept me into a chasm of mighty depth.There was nothing for it but to make the best spring I might towards thecrag on the other side, and grip for my life at my alpenstock, which byOur Lady’s grace was firmly planted, and I held on till I got breathagain, and felt for my footing on the ice-glazed rock.”
“Ah!” said Eberhard with a long breath, after having listened with ahunter’s keen interest to this hair’s-breadth escape, “it sounds like agust of my mountain air thus let in on me.”
“Truly it is dismal work for a lusty hunter to lie here,” said Theurdank,“but soon shalt thou take thy crags again in full vigour, I hope. Howcall’st thou the deep gray lonely pool under a steep frowning cragsharpened well-nigh to a spear point, that I passed yester afternoon?”
“The Ptarmigan’s Mere, the Red Eyrie,” murmured Ebbo, scarcely able toutter the words as he thought of Friedel’s delight in the pool, hisexploit at the eyrie, and the gay bargain made in the streets of Ulm,that he should show the scaler of the Dom steeple the way to the eagle’snest.
“I remember,” said his guest gravely, coming to his side. “Ah, boy! thybrother’s flight has been higher yet. Weep freely; fear me not. Do Inot know what it is, when those who were over-good for earth have foundtheir eagle’s wings, and left us here?”
Ebbo gazed up through his tears into the noble, mournful face that wasbent kindly over him. “I will not seek to comfort thee by counsellingthee to forget,” said Theurdank. “I was scarce thine elder when my lifewas thus rent asunder, and to hoar hairs, nay, to the grave itself, willshe be my glory and my sorrow. Never owned I brother, but I trow ye twowere one in no common sort.”
“Such brothers as we saw at Ulm were little like us,” returned Ebbo, fromthe bottom of his heart. “We were knit together so that all will beginwith me as if it were the left hand remaining alone to do it! I am gladthat my old life may not even in shadow be renewed till after I have gonein quest of my father.”
“Be not over hasty in that quest,” said the guest, “or the infidels maychance to gain two Freiherren instead of one. Hast any designs?”
Ebbo explained that he thought of making his way to Genoa to consult themerchant Gian Battista dei Battiste, whose description of the captiveGerman noble had so strongly impressed Friedel. Ebbo knew the differencebetween Turks and Moors, but Friedel’s impulse guided him, and he furtherthought that at Genoa he should learn the way to deal with either varietyof infidel. Theurdank thought this a prudent course, since the Genoesehad dealings both at Tripoli and Constantinople; and, moreover, thetransfer was not impossible, since the two different hordes of Moslemstrafficked among themselves when either had made an unusually successfulrazzia.
“Shame,” he broke out, “that these Eastern locusts, these raveninghounds, should prey unmolested on the fairest lands of the earth, and ourGerman nobles lie here like swine, grunting and squealing over theplunder they grub up from one another, deaf to any summons from heaven orearth! Did not Heaven’s own voice speak in thunder this last year, evenin November, hurling the mighty thunderbolt of Alsace, an ell long,weighing two hundred and fifteen pounds? Did I not cause it to be hungup in the church of Encisheim, as a witness and warning of the plaguesthat hang over us? But no, nothing will quicken them from their slothand drunkenness till the foe are at their doors; and, if a man arise ofdifferent mould, with some heart for the knightly, the good, and thetrue, then they kill him for me! But thou, Adlerstein, this pious questover, thou wilt return to me. Thou hast head to think and heart to feelfor the shame and woe of this misguided land.”
“I trust so, my lord,” said Ebbo. “Truly, I have suffered bitterly forpursuing my own quarrel rather than the crusade.”
“I meant not thee,” said Theurdank, kindly. “Thy bridge is a benefit tome, as much as, or more than, ever it can be to thee. Dost know Italian?There is something of Italy in thine eye.”
“My mother’s mother was Italian, my lord; but she died so early that herlanguage has not descended to my mother or myself.”
“Thou shouldst learn it. It will be pastime while thou art bed-fast, andserve thee well in dealing with the Moslem. Moreover, I may have workfor thee in Welschland. Books? I will send thee books. There is thewhole chronicle of Karl the Great, and all his Palsgrafen, by Pulci andBoiardo, a brave Count and gentleman himself, governor of Reggio, andworthy to sing of deeds of arms; so choice, too, as to the names of hisheroes, that they say he caused his church bells to be rung when he hadfound one for Rodomonte, his infidel Hector. He has shown up Roland as alove-sick knight, though, which is out of all accord with ArchbishopTurpin. Wilt have him?”
“When we were together, we used to love tales of chivalry.”
“Ah! Or wilt have the stern old Ghibelline Florentine, who explored thethree realms of the departed? Deep lore, and well-nigh unsearchable, ishis; but I love him for the sake of his Beatrice, who guided him. May wefind such guides in our day!”
“I have heard of him,” said Ebbo. “If he will tell me where my Friedelwalks in light, then, my lord, I would read him with all my heart.”
“Or wouldst thou have rare Franciscus Petrarca? I wot thou art too youngas yet for the yearnings of his sonn
ets, but their voice is sweet to thebereft heart.”
And he murmured over, in their melodious Italian flow, the lines onLaura’s death:—
“Not pallid, but yet whiter than the snow By wind unstirred that on a hillside lies; Rest seemed as on a weary frame to grow, A gentle slumber pressed her lovely eyes.”
“Ah!” he added aloud to himself, “it is ever to me as though the poet hadwatched in that chamber at Ghent.”
Such were the discourses of that morning, now on poetry and book lore;now admiration of the carvings that decked the room; now talk on grandarchitectural designs, or improvements in fire-arms, or the discussion ofhunting adventures. There seemed nothing in art, life, or learning inwhich the versatile mind of Theurdank was not at home, or that did notend in some strange personal reminiscence of his own. All was so kind,so gracious, and brilliant, that at first the interview was full ofwondering delight to Ebbo, but latterly it became very fatiguing from thestrain of attention, above all towards a guest who evidently knew that hewas known, while not permitting such recognition to be avowed. Ebbobegan to long for an interruption, but, though he could see by thelightened sky that the weather had cleared up, it would have beenimpossible to have suggested to any guest that the way might now probablybe open, and more especially to such a guest as this. Considerate as hisvisitor had been the night before, the pleasure of talk seemed to havedone away with the remembrance of his host’s weakness, till Ebbo soflagged that at last he was scarcely alive to more than the continuedsound of the voice, and all the pain that for a while had been inabeyance seemed to have mastered him; but his guest, half reading hisbooks, half discoursing, seemed too much immersed in his own plans,theories, and adventures, to mark the condition of his auditor.
Interruption came at last, however. There was a sudden knock at the doorat noon, and with scant ceremony Heinz entered, followed by three otherof the men-at-arms, fully equipped.
“Ha! what means this?” demanded Ebbo.
“Peace, Sir Baron,” said Heinz, advancing so as to place his large personbetween Ebbo’s bed and the strange hunter. “You know nothing of it. Weare not going to lose you as well as your brother, and we mean to see howthis knight likes to serve as a hostage instead of opening the gates as atraitor spy. On him, Koppel! it is thy right.”
“Hands off! at your peril, villains!” exclaimed Ebbo, sitting up, andspeaking in the steady resolute voice that had so early rendered himthoroughly their master, but much perplexed and dismayed, and entirelyunassisted by Theurdank, who stood looking on with almost a smile, as ifdiverted by his predicament.
“By your leave, Herr Freiherr,” said Heinz, putting his hand on hisshoulder, “this is no concern of yours. While you cannot guard yourselfor my lady, it is our part to do so. I tell you his minions are on theirway to surprise the castle.”
Even as Heinz spoke, Christina came panting into the room, and, hurryingto her son’s side, said, “Sir Count, is this just, is this honourable,thus to return my son’s welcome, in his helpless condition?”
“Mother, are you likewise distracted?” exclaimed Ebbo. “What is all thismadness?”
“Alas, my son, it is no frenzy! There are armed men coming up theEagle’s Stairs on the one hand and by the Gemsbock’s Pass on the other!”
“But not a hair of your head shall they hurt, lady,” said Heinz. “Thisfellow’s limbs shall be thrown to them over the battlements. On,Koppel!”
“Off, Koppel!” thundered Ebbo. “Would you brand me with shame for ever?Were he all the Schlangenwalds in one, he should go as freely as he came;but he is no more Schlangenwald than I am.”
“He has deceived you, my lord,” said Heinz. “My lady’s own letter toSchlangenwald was in his chamber. ’Tis a treacherous disguise.”
“Fool that thou art!” said Ebbo. “I know this gentleman well. I knewhim at Ulm. Those who meet him here mean me no ill. Open the gates andreceive them honourably! Mother, mother, trust me, all is well. I knowwhat I am saying.”
The men looked one upon another. Christina wrung her hands, uncertainwhether her son were not under some strange fatal deception.
“My lord has his fancies,” growled Koppel. “I’ll not be balked of myright of vengeance for his scruples! Will he swear that this fellow iswhat he calls himself?”
“I swear,” said Ebbo, slowly, “that he is a true loyal knight, well knownto me.”
“Swear it distinctly, Sir Baron,” said Heinz. “We have all too deep adebt of vengeance to let off any one who comes here lurking in theinterest of our foe. Swear that this is Theurdank, or we send his headto greet his friends.”
Drops stood on Ebbo’s brow, and his breath laboured as he felt his sensesreeling, and his powers of defence for his guest failing him. Evenshould the stranger confess his name, the people of the castle might notbelieve him; and here he stood like one indifferent, evidently measuringhow far his young host would go in his cause.
“I cannot swear that his real name is Theurdank,” said Ebbo, rallying hisforces, “but this I swear, that he is neither friend nor fosterer ofSchlangenwald, that I know him, and I had rather die than that theslightest indignity were offered him.” Here, and with a great effortthat terribly wrenched his wounded leg, he reached past Heinz, andgrasped his guest’s hand, pulling him as near as he could.
“Sir,” he said, “if they try to lay hands on you, strike my death-blow!”
A bugle-horn was wound outside. The men stood daunted—Christina inextreme terror for her son, who lay gasping, breathless, but stillclutching the stranger’s hand, and with eyes of fire glaring on themutinous warriors. Another bugle-blast! Heinz was almost in the act ofgrappling with the silent foe, and Koppel cried as he raised his halbert,“Now or never!” but paused.
“Never, so please you,” said the strange guest. “What if your young lordcould not forswear himself that my name is Theurdank! Are you foes toall the world save Theurdank?”
“No masking,” said Heinz, sternly. “Tell your true name as an honestman, and we will judge whether you be friend or foe.”
“My name is a mouthful, as your master knows,” said the guest, slowly,looking with strangely amused eyes on the confused lanzknechts, who weretrying to devour their rage. “I was baptized Maximilianus; Archduke ofAustria, by birth; by choice of the Germans, King of the Romans.”
“The Kaisar!”
Christina dropped on her knee; the men-at-arms tumbled backwards; Ebbopressed the hand he held to his lips, and fainted away. The buglesounded for the third time.