“Nay, motherling, there is much more trouble and unrest to me in not knowing how my king will treat us after such a requital! Prithee let him know that I am at his service.”
And, after having fed and refreshed her patient, the gentle potentate of his chamber consented to intimate her consent to admit the invader. But not till after delay enough to fret the impatient nerves of illness did Maximilian appear, handing her in, and saying, in the cheery voice that was one of his chief fascinations,
“Yea, truly, fair dame, I know thou wouldst sooner trust Schlangenwald himself than me alone with thy charge. How goes it, my true knight?”
“Well, right well, my liege,” said Ebbo, “save for my shame and grief.”
“Thou art the last to be ashamed for that,” said the good-natured prince. “Have I never seen my faithful vassals more bent on their own feuds than on my word?—I who reign over a set of kings, who brook no will but their own.”
“And may we ask your pardon,” said Ebbo, “not only for ourselves, but for the misguided men-at-arms?”
“What! the grewsome giant that was prepared with the axe, and the honest lad that wanted to do his duty by his father? I honour that lad, Freiherr; I would enrol him in my guard, but that probably he is better off here than with Massimiliano pochi danari, as the Italians call me. But what I came hither to say was this,” and he spoke gravely: “thou art sincere in desiring reconciliation with the house of Schlangenwald?”
“With all my heart,” said Ebbo, “do I loathe the miserable debt of blood for blood!”
“And,” said Maximilian, “Graf Dankwart is of like mind. Bred from pagedom in his Prussian commandery, he has never been exposed to the irritations that have fed the spirit of strife, and he will be thankful to lay it aside. The question next is how to solemnize this reconciliation, ere your retainers on one side or the other do something to set you by the ears together again, which, judging by this morning’s work, is not improbable.”
“Alas! no,” said Ebbo, “while I am laid by.”