“It was such wretched prey,” said Ebbo. “Yet shall I be despised for this! Would that thou hadst let me string him up shriftless, as any other man had done, and there would have been an end of it!”
And even his mother’s satisfaction did not greatly comfort Ebbo, for he was of the age to feel more ashamed of a solecism than a crime. Christina perceived that this was one of his most critical periods of life, baited as he was by the enemy of his race, and feeling all the disadvantages which heart and conscience gave him in dealing with a man who had neither, at a time when public opinion was always with the most masterful. The necessity of arming his retainers and having fighting men as a guard were additional temptations to hereditary habits of violence; and that so proud and fiery a nature as his should never become involved in them was almost beyond hope. Even present danger seemed more around than ever before. The estate was almost in a state of siege, and Christina never saw her sons quit the castle without thinking of their father’s fate, and passing into the chapel to entreat for their return unscathed in body or soul. The snow, which she had so often hailed as a friend, was never more welcome than this winter; not merely as shutting the enemy out, and her sons in, but as cutting off all danger of a visit from her suitor, who would now come armed with his late sufferings in her behalf; and, moreover, with all the urgent need of a wise and respected head and protector for her sons. Yet the more evident the expediency became, the greater grew her distaste.
Still the lonely life weighed heavily on Ebbo. Light-hearted Friedel was ever busy and happy, were he chasing the grim winter game—the bear and wolf—with his brother, fencing in the hall, learning Greek with the chaplain, reading or singing to his mother, or carving graceful angel forms to adorn the chapel. Or he could at all times soar into a minstrel dream of pure chivalrous semi-allegorical romance, sometimes told over the glowing embers to his mother and brother. All that came to Friedel was joy, from battling with the bear on a frozen rock, to persuading rude little Hans to come to the Frau Freiherrinn to learn his Paternoster. But the elder twin might hunt, might fence, might smile or kindle at his brother’s lay, but ever with a restless gloom on him, a doubt of the future which made him impatient of the present, and led to a sharpness and hastiness of manner that broke forth in anger at slight offences.
“The matron’s coif succeeding the widow’s veil,” Friedel heard him muttering even in sleep, and more than once listened to it as Ebbo leant over the battlements—as he looked over the white world to the gray mist above the city of Ulm.
“Thou, who mockest my forebodings and fancies, to dwell on that gipsy augury!” argued Friedel. “As thou saidst at the time, Wildschloss’s looks gave shrewd cause for it.”
“The answer is in mine own heart,” answered Ebbo. “Since our stay at Ulm, I have ever felt as though the sweet motherling were less my own! And the same with my house and lands. Rule as I will, a mocking laugh comes back to me, saying: ‘Thou art but a boy, Sir Baron, thou dost but play at lords and knights.’ If I had hung yon rogue of a reiter, I wonder if I had felt my grasp more real?”
“Nay,” said Friedel, glancing from the sparkling white slopes to the pure blue above, “our whole life is but a play at lords and knights, with the blessed saints as witnesses of our sport in the tilt-yard.”
“Were it merely that,” said Ebbo, impatiently, “I were not so galled. Something hangs over us, Friedel! I long that these snows would melt, that I might at least know what it is!”
CHAPTER XVII
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.”