Ekkehard Volume I Part 26

It was the song which the night-guards sang at Mutina in Italy, while the Huns were attacking the town in which the Bishop resided. The monk had stood himself on guard at the gate of St. Geminia.n.u.s, three years ago, and well knew the hissing of the Hunnic arrows; and when a presentiment of new battles, is so to say in the air, the old songs rise again in the minds of men.

CHAPTER XII.

The Approach of the Huns.

"The old man is right," said Dame Hadwig, when Ekkehard reported to her, the result of his mission. "When the enemy threatens,--prepare, and when he attacks us,--beat him; that is so simple that one really need not ask anyone's advice. I believe that the habit of long thinking and wavering in critical moments, has been sown by the enemy, like weeds in the German lands. He who doubts, is near falling; and he who misses the right moment for action, often digs his own grave. We will get ready."

The exciting and dangerous position, put the d.u.c.h.ess into high spirits; just as trout delight in the turbulent waters, rushing over rocks and stones; while they sicken in a still lake. An example of courage and energy given by one in power, is never lost on inferiors. So they were all busy, making preparations for the reception of the enemy. From the tower on the Hohentwiel, visible at a great distance, the war-flag floated forth upon the air; and through the woods and fields, unto the remotest farm-steads, hidden in lonely mountain-glens, the war-trumpet was heard; calling together all those capable of bearing arms; poverty alone freeing anyone from the military service. Every man possessing more than two acres of land, was obliged to place himself under arms, and to present himself at the first call. The Hohentwiel was to be head-quarters; nature herself having made it a fortress. Swift messengers were riding on horseback through the Hegau; and people began stirring everywhere in the land. Behind the dark fir-woods, the charcoal-burners had formed a corps. "This will do," said one of them, swinging a heavy poker over his head, as if about to strike down an enemy. "I will also fight with the rest of them."

At the doors of the priests, and at those of the old and sick, the messengers also knocked. Those who could not fight, were to pray for the others.--This decree resounded through the land; reaching also the monastery in St. Gall.

Ekkehard, likewise went to the peaceful little island of Reichenau, as the d.u.c.h.ess had desired. This mission would have been highly distasteful to him, if the reason for it had been a different one. He was to bring an invitation to the brotherhood, to come to the Hohentwiel, in case of danger.

There, he found everything already in a state of excitement. The brothers were promenading beside the fountain, in the mild spring air; but not one of them was seriously thinking of enjoying the fine weather and blue sky. They were talking of the evil times, and holding counsel, what was to be done. The idea of leaving their quiet cells, did not appear to please them at all.

"St. Mark," one of them had said, "will protect his disciples, and by striking the enemy with blindness, cause them to ride past; or he will raise the waves of the Bodensee, to devour them, as the Red Sea swallowed up the Egyptians."

But old Simon Bardo replied: "This calculation is not quite safe; and when a place is not fortified by towers and walls, a retreat might after all, be the better plan. Wherever a shilling's worth is still to be got, no Hun will ride by, and if you put a gold piece on the grave of a dead man, his hand will grow out of the earth to seize it."

"Holy Pirminius!" said the gardener, in doleful accents, "who then is to mind the fruits and vegetables in the garden, if we must go?"

"And the chickens," said another, whose chief delight was in the poultry-yard,--"have we then, bought the three dozen turkeys merely for the enemy?"

"If one were to write an impressive letter to them," proposed a third,--"they surely cannot be such barbarians, as to harm G.o.d and His saints."

Simon Bardo, with a pitying smile, then said: "Thou hadst better become a shepherd, and drink a decoction of camomile,--thou who wouldst write impressive letters to the Huns! Oh, that I had brought my old firework-maker Kedrenus with me, over the Alps! Then we should cast a light on the enemy, far brighter than the mild moonshine in the flower-garden, which called up such tender recollections in the soul of Abbot Walafrid. We should then sink ships; and command the whole sh.o.r.e with our long fire-tubes. Hurrah! How they would be scattered to the winds, when our missiles would be flying through the air like fiery dragons, pouring down a rain of burning naphta. But what does any of you, know about such fire! Oh Kedrenus, thou paragon of firework-makers!"

Ekkehard had entered the monastery, and asked for the Abbot. A serving brother showed him up to his apartments; but he was neither there, nor was he to be seen anywhere else.

"He will most likely be in the armoury," said a monk pa.s.sing by. So the serving brother led Ekkehard to the armoury, which was situated high up in the tower. There, quant.i.ties of arms and harness were heaped up; with which the monastery provided its warriors for the arrier-ban.

Abbot Wazmann stood there, hidden by a cloud of dust. He had had the armour taken down from the walls, to examine it. Dust and cobwebs bore witness to its having rested for a long while. During the examination, the Abbot had not forgotten to provide for himself. His upper garment lay on the ground before him; and in its place, he had donned a coat of mail, with the help of a fair-haired cloister-pupil. He was now stretching out his arms, to see whether it fitted him tightly and comfortably.

"Come nearer!" cried he, on seeing Ekkehard. "The reception is fitted to the times!"

Ekkehard then communicated the d.u.c.h.ess's invitation, to him.

"I should have asked for this, myself," replied he, "if you had not come." He had seized a long sword, and made a cut in the air with it; so that Ekkehard started back a pace or two. From the swift, whizzing sound which it produced, one could guess that the hand which held it, was not unaccustomed to its use.

"Yes, 'tis getting serious," said he. "Down in Altdorf in the Shussenthal, the Huns have already effected their entrance; and we shall soon see the flames of Lindau, reflected in the water. Do you wish to choose a suitable armour for yourself also? This one, with the shoulder-strap, will defeat every blow or thrust as well, as the finest linen shirt, ever spun by a virgin in holy nights."

Ekkehard courteously declined the offer, and then went down, accompanied by the Abbot; who seemed to enjoy his coat of mail thoroughly. Throwing his brown habit over it, like a true champion of the Lord, he made his appearance amongst the anxious brotherhood still a.s.sembled in the garden.

"St. Mark appeared to me this night, pointing to the Hohentwiel," cried the Abbot. "Thither, thou shalt bring my remains, to save them from desecration by the hands of the heathen," he said. "Be up and get ready! With prayers and fasting your souls have fought to the present moment with the Evil One; but now your fists are to prove that you are warriors indeed; for those who come, are the sons of the Devil. Witches and demons begot them in the Asiatic deserts. All their doings are vile wickedness, and when their time comes, they will all go back to h.e.l.l!"

During this appeal, even the most careless of the brothers became convinced that danger was near. A murmur of approbation ran through the ranks; for the cultivation of science had not yet made them so effeminate, but that they looked on a warlike expedition, as a very desirable pastime.

With his back leaning against an apple-tree, stood Rudimann the cellarer; an ominous frown on his forehead. Ekkehard went up to him, wishing to embrace him, as a sign that a general calamity was wiping out the old quarrel; but Rudimann, waving him off, said: "I know what you mean." Then drawing a coa.r.s.e thread out of the seam of his garment, he threw it to the ground, and placed his foot on it.

"As long as a Hunnic horse is treading German ground, all enmity shall be torn out of my heart, as this thread is out of my garment; but if we both outlive the coming battles, we will take it up again, as it were meet." After these words he turned round, and descended into the cellar, there to attend to important business. In due order, the large tuns lay there in the arched vaults; and not one of them gave back a hollow sound, when struck. Rudimann had ordered some masons, and now had a small antichamber, which generally served for the keeping of fruit and vegetable, arranged, as if it were the cloister-cellar. Two small casks, and one larger one, were put there. "If the enemy finds nothing, he becomes suspicious," said the cellarer to himself, "and if the Sipplinger choice wine, which I sacrifice, only does its duty, many a Hun will find some difficulty in continuing his journey."

The masons had already got ready the square stones, to wall up the inner cellar-door,--when Rudimann once more stepped in. Walking up to an old rotten-looking tun, he tapped it; and filling a small jug, emptied this with a most melancholy expression; and then, folding his hands as in prayer, he said: "May G.o.d protect thee, n.o.ble red wine of Meersburg!"--A solitary tear stood glistening in his eye ...

In all parts of the monastery, busy hands were preparing for the coming danger. In the armoury, the harness and arms were being divided.

Unfortunately there were many heads, and but few helmets. Then, the leather-work was in a somewhat dilapidated condition, and stood in great need of repair.

In the treasury, the Abbot was superintending the packing up of precious articles, and holy relics. Many heavy boxes were thus filled.

The golden cross with the holy blood; the white marble vase, which had once held the wine at the marriage of Cana; coffins with the remains of martyrs; the Abbot's staff, and the golden pixes,--all were carefully packed up, and brought over to the ships. Some, were also carrying off the heavy green emerald, weighing fully twenty-eight pounds.

"The emerald, you may leave behind," said the Abbot.

"The parting gift of the great Emperor Charles?--The rarest jewel of the cathedral? Another such the bowels of the earth do not contain?"

asked the serving brother.

"I know a gla.s.s-maker in Venetia, who can easily make another, if the Huns should carry this one away," carelessly replied the Abbot. So they put the jewel back into the cupboard.

Before evening had set in, everything was ready for the departure. Then the Abbot commanded the brothers to a.s.semble in the courtyard. All appeared, with the exception of one.

"Where is Heribald?" asked he.

Heribald was a pious monk, whose ways had many a time cheered up a desponding brother. In his infancy, his nurse had let him fall on the stone floor, and from that time, he had had a weakness of the brain; a certain softness,--but he possessed an excellent heart, and took as much delight in G.o.d's beautiful world, as any stronger-minded being.

So they went to look for Heribald, and found him up in his cell. The yellow and grey cloister-cat, seemed to have offended him in some way; for he had fastened the cord which generally served him as a girdle, round its body; and hung it up on a nail in the ceiling. The poor old animal hung thus suspended in the air; screeching and mewing pitifully; whilst Heribald rocked it gently to and fro, talking Latin to it.

"Come on Heribald!" called out his companions. "We must leave the island."

"Let him fly, who will," replied the idiot. "Heribald won't go away."

"Be good, Heribald, and follow us; the Abbot commands you."

Then Heribald pulled off his shoe, and held it out to the brothers.

"The shoe was already torn last year," said he. "Then Heribald went to the camerarius and said: 'give me my yearly portion of leather, that I may make myself a new pair of shoes.' But the camerarius replied: 'if thou didst not tread thy shoes all awry, then they would not tear,'--and so he refused the leather. Upon this, Heribald complained of the camerarius to the Abbot, but he said: 'a fool, as thou art, can well go barefoot.' Now Heribald has no decent shoes to put on; and he will not go amongst strangers with his torn ones."

Such sound reasons could not well be argued away; so the brothers seized him, intending to carry him off by force; but no sooner had they reached the pa.s.sage, than Heribald broke away from them, and rushed as quick as lightning to the church and from thence up the stairs, that led to the belfry. When he had reached the very top, he drew up the small wooden ladder after him; so that there was no possibility of getting at him.

They reported to the Abbot, how matters stood. "Well, then we must leave him behind," said he. "Children and fools, are protected by a guardian-angel of their own."

Two large barges lay waiting at the sh.o.r.e, to receive the fugitives.

They were strong, well-built ships; furnished with oars and masts. In some smaller boats, the serving people, and all others who lived on the Reichenau, sailed, with all their chattels and belongings. The whole looked a strange medley.

One bark, filled by the maid-servants, and commanded by Kerhildis the upper maid, had already steered off; without its crew knowing what place they were bound for; but fear, this time was stronger than their curiosity to see the moustaches of strange warriors.

And now the brotherhood was approaching the sh.o.r.e; presenting a strange sight. The greater part were armed; some chaunting the litany, others carrying the coffin of St. Mark; the Abbot with Ekkehard walking at the head of the cloister-pupils. They all cast back a sorrowful look towards the home where they had spent so many years; and then they went on board.

No sooner had they fairly started, than all the bells began to ring merrily. The weak-minded Heribald, was ringing a farewell-greeting to them. Afterwards, he appeared on the top of the cathedral-tower, and called down with a powerful voice "_dominus vobisc.u.m_," and here and there, one of the monks responded in the accustomed way: "_et c.u.m spiritu tuo_."