“I understand,” said the knight; “it was the shot that severed the goodly bond that was so fair to see. Young man, none has grieved more truly than King Max.”
“And well he may,” said Ebbo. “He has not lost merely one of his best servants, but all the better half of another.”
“There is still stuff enough left to make that one well worth having,” said Theurdank, kindly grasping his hand, “though I would it were more substantial! How didst get old Wolfgang down, boy? He must have been a tough morsel for slight bones like these, even when better covered than now. Come, tell me all. I promised the Markgraf of Wurtemburg to look into the matter when I came to be guest at St. Ruprecht’s cloister, and I have some small interest too with King Max.”
His kindliness and sympathy were more effectual with Ebbo than the desire to represent his case favourably, for he was still too wretched to care for policy; but he answered Theurdank’s questions readily, and explained how the idea of the bridge had originated in the vigil beside the broken waggons.
“I hope,” said Theurdank, “the merchants made up thy share? These overthrown goods are a seignorial right of one or other of you lords of the bank.”
“True, Herr Ritter; but we deemed it unknightly to snatch at what travellers lost by misfortune.”
“Freiherr Eberhard, take my word for it, while thou thus holdest, all the arquebuses yet to be cut out of the Black Forest will not mar thy chivalry. Where didst get these ways of thinking?”
“My brother was a very St. Sebastian! My mother—”
“Ah! her sweet wise face would have shown it, even had not poor Kasimir of Adlerstein raved of her. Ah! lad, thou hast crossed a case of true love there! Canst not brook even such a gallant stepfather?”
“I may not,” said Ebbo, with spirit; “for with his last breath Schlangenwald owned that my own father died not at the hostel, but may now be alive as a Turkish slave.”