“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.