Ekkehard Volume I Part 29

"Well said," laughed the Hun. "Why hast thou remained behind?"

Heribald became embarra.s.sed. He had too much pride to betray the true reason, viz. his torn shoes, so he replied: "Heribald is curious, and wanted to see what the sons of the Devil were like."

Ellak translated the monk's polite speech to his companions, who struck up a loud guffaw.

"You need not laugh," cried Heribald angrily. "We know very well what you are! Abbot Wazmann has told us."

"I shall have thee killed," said Ellak carelessly.

"That will only serve me right," returned Heribald. "Why did I not fly with the others?"

Ellak, casting a searching look at the queer fellow, was struck with another idea. He made a sign to the standard-bearer, who approached, swinging in the air his flag with the green cat, which had once appeared to King Attila in his youth. In a dreamy mood, he was sitting in his uncle Rugilas' tent, reflecting whether he had not better become a Christian and serve G.o.d and science, when the cat came in. Amongst the treasures of Rugilas, it had found the golden imperial globe, which had made part of the booty at Byzantium; this it held in its paws and played with it, rolling it about on the floor. And an inward voice said to Attila: "Thou shalt not become a monk, but thou shalt play with the globe of the universe, as the cat does with that golden bauble." Then he became aware that Kutka, the G.o.d of the Huns, had appeared to him, and so he sw.a.n.g his sword in the direction of the four quarters of the world,--let his finger-nails grow, and became what he was destined to become, Attila, King of the Huns, the scourge of G.o.d!...

"Kneel down, miserable monk," cried Ellak, "and wors.h.i.+p him, whom thou seest in this flag!"

But Heribald stood immovable.

"I don't know him," said he with a hollow laugh.

"Tis the G.o.d of the Huns!" angrily cried the chieftain. "Down on thy knees cowlbearer, or" ... he pointed to his sword.

Heribald laughed once more, and putting his forefinger to his forehead, said: "If you think that Heribald is so easily imposed upon, you are vastly mistaken. It has been written, when G.o.d created Heaven and Earth, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, He said: let there be light! Now if G.o.d were a cat he would not have said: let there be light! Heribald will not kneel down ..."

A Hunnic rider, who had stealthily approached the monk, now pulled his garment, and whispered in an excellent Suabian dialect in his ear: "countryman, I would kneel down, if I were in your place. They are dangerous people." The warner's real name was Snewelin, and his birthplace was Ellw.a.n.gen in Riesgau, but in the course of time he had dropt his Suabian nationality and had become a Hun; which transformation had rather improved his outward fortunes. When he spoke, his voice had something windy about it, which was caused by his having lost four front-teeth, besides several back ones; and this had been the princ.i.p.al reason why he had became a Hun. In his younger days namely, when he was still earning a peaceful livelihood in the capacity of cart-driver of the Salvator convent, he had been sent northwards, with a cart-load of choice Neckar-wine, to the great market at Magdeburg; a well armed escort, accompanying him. To that town, the priests of the heathenish Pomeranians and Wends, always resorted to buy their libation-wine, and Snewelin made an excellent bargain, when he sold his wine to the white-bearded upperpriest of the three-headed G.o.d Triglaff, for the great temple at Stettin. But afterwards, he remained sitting over the wine with the white-bearded heathen, who, being a great friend of the Suabian nectar, soon became enthusiastic, singing the praises of his native land, and saying that the world was infinitely more advanced in their parts, between the Oder and the Spree. He tried moreover to convert Snewelin to the wors.h.i.+p of Triglaff the three-headed one, and to that of the black and white Sun-G.o.d Radegast, as well as to Radomysl, the G.o.ddess of lovely thoughts,--but this was rather too much for the man of Ellw.a.n.gen. "You infamous heathenish swindler,"

exclaimed he, first upsetting the wine-table, and then flying at him--as the young knight Siegfried did at the wild, long-bearded dwarf Alberich,--he wrestled with him, and at one strong tug pulled out the half of his grey beard. But his antagonist, calling on Triglaff to help him, dealt him a blow on the mouth with his iron-plated staff, which for ever destroyed the beauty of his teeth; and before the toothless Suabian cart-driver had recovered from the blow, his white-bearded antagonist had vanished, so that he could not take revenge on him. But when Snewelin walked out of the gates of Magdeburg, he shook his fists northwards, and said: "we two shall meet again, some day!"

In his native town, he was much laughed at on account of his lost teeth, and so, to escape the continual ridicule, he went amongst the Huns, hoping that perhaps some day, when these should direct their steps northwards, he would be able to settle a heavy account with the three-headed Triglaff and all his wors.h.i.+ppers.

Heribald, however, did not heed the curious horseman's warning. The woman of the wood had meanwhile got down from her cart, and approached Ellak. With a sinister grin she looked at the monk. "I have read in the stars, that by the hands of such bald-headed men, evil will befall us,"

cried she. "To prevent the coming danger, you ought to hang up this miserable creature before the cloister-gate, with his face turned towards yonder mountains!"

"Hang him up," echoed many voices in the crowd, the pantomime of the old woman, having been understood. Ellak once more turned his head towards Erica. "This monster has also got principles," said he tauntingly. "It would save his life, and yet he refuses to bend his knees. Shall we have him hanged, flower-of-the-heath?"

Heribald's life was hanging on a very slender thread. Round about, he saw nothing but stern pitiless faces; his courage began to fail him, and the tears came into his eyes; but in the hour of danger, even the most foolish are often guided by a happy instinct. Like a star, the red-cheeked face of Erica shone before him, and with frightened steps he quickly approached her. To kneel before her, was not such a difficult task to him; her sweet looks inspiring him with confidence.

With outstretched arms he implored her a.s.sistance.

"There!" cried the flower-of-the-heath, "the man of the island is by no means so foolish as he looks. He prefers kneeling to Erica, instead of the green and red flag." She smiled graciously on the pitiful suppliant, and jumping from the saddle, she patted him as if he were some half wild animal. "Don't be afraid," said she, "thou shalt live, poor old black-coat!" and Heribald could read in her eyes, that she meant what she said. He pointed to the woman of the wood, who had frightened him most. Erica shook her head; "she shall not harm thee." Then Heribald briskly ran to the wall, near which lilacs and spring-roses were already blooming, and hastily tearing off some of their branches, he presented them to the Hunnic maiden.

A loud shout of delight rang through the cloister-yard. "Hail to the flower-of-the-heath," cried they all, clas.h.i.+ng their arms together.

"Why don't you shout likewise," whispered the man from Ellw.a.n.gen into Heribald's ear. So he also raised his voice to a hoa.r.s.e "hurrah!" with tears glistening in his eyes.

The Huns had unsaddled their horses, and very much resembled a pack of hounds, which, in the evening at the end of the sport, are waiting for the entrails of the deer which has been killed. Here and there, one is pulling at the cord that restrains him,--there another is barking fiercely with impatience. With similar feelings the Huns stood before the monastery. At last Ellak gave the signal, that the pillage might begin. In wild disorder they then ran forwards, up the staircase, and along the pa.s.sage into the church. Confused cries, of expected booty and disappointed hopes, resounded everywhere. Then they examined the cells of the brotherhood, but here also, nothing was found, except the scanty furniture.

"Show us the treasury," said they to Heribald, who complied with this wish willingly enough, as he well knew that all that was precious had been taken away. Only a few plated candlesticks, and the big emerald of coloured gla.s.s, was still there.

"Miserable convent! The set of beggars!" called out one, giving a kick with his iron-clad foot to the false jewel, so that it became cracked.

Heribald was rewarded by sundry heavy blows, so he stole sorrowfully away, as soon as an opportunity offered.

In the cross-pa.s.sage he met Snewelin, who accosted him, with: "countryman, I am an old wine-merchant, tell me where your cellar may be?" Heribald led him down and chuckled contentedly when he saw that the chief entrance had been walled up. With a knowing look he winked at the fresh lime, as if to say, that he well knew its secret. The man of Ellw.a.n.gen without much ado, now cut off the seals on one of the tuns, tapped it and filled his helmet. This he raised to his lips, and took a long, long draught. "Oh Hahnenkamm and Heidenheim!"[11] exclaimed he, s.h.i.+vering as with the ague, "for this beverage, I verily need not have become a Hun!" He then ordered his companions to carry up the vats, but Heribald stepping forwards, pulled his gown, and anxiously said: "Allow me, good man, but what am I to drink when you are gone away?"

Snewelin laughingly reported the monk's scruples to the others. "The fool must keep something," they said, putting back the smallest tun unopened. This kindness touched Heribald so much, that he fervently shook hands with them.

Upstairs in the court-yard, a wild shouting was now heard. Some, who had searched the church, I had also lifted a grave-stone, from under which a bleached skull grinned at them, out of its dark cowl. This spectacle frightened even the Huns. Two of the gang went up to the belfry, the steeple of which was adorned with a gilt weatherc.o.c.k, according to custom. Whether they took it to be the protecting G.o.d of the monastery, or imagined it to be real gold, they climbed up the roof, and audaciously sitting there, tried to bring the c.o.c.k down with their lances. But now a sudden giddiness came over them. One, let his raised arm sink;--a stagger,--a cry; and he fell down, quickly followed by the other. With broken necks they lay in the cloister-yard.

"A bad omen," said Ellak to himself. The Huns uttered a dismal howl, but a few moments later, the accident was entirely forgotten. The sword had ravished so many of their companions from their side; so what mattered two more, or less? The bodies were carried into the cloister-garden. With the logs which Heribald had upset in the early morning, a funeral-pile was erected; the books which had been left in the libraries, were thrown down from the windows, and were made use of in filling up the gaps between the logs,--an excellent burning material!

Ellak and Hornebog were walking together through the ranks. Squeezed in between the logs, a neatly written ma.n.u.script with s.h.i.+ning golden initials, peeped out. Hornebog, drawing his sword, pierced the parchment with it, and presented it to his companion, stuck on the point of the blade.

"What do these hooks and chickens' feet mean, Sir Brother?" asked he.

Ellak took the ma.n.u.script, and glanced over some of its pages. He also knew Latin.

"Western wisdom," replied he. "A man, named Boethius, wrote it, and it contains many fine things about the comfort of Philosophy."

"Phi--losophy," slowly repeated Hornebog, "what does that mean, Sir Brother?"

"It does not mean a fair woman, nor yet firewater either," was Ellak's reply. "It will be difficult to describe it in the Hunnic language ...

but if a man does not know wherefore he is in the world, and stands on his head to find out the reason, that is near about what they call Philosophy in these western lands. He, who comforted himself with it, in his tower at Pavia, was after all killed for it." ...

"And that served him right!" exclaimed Hornebog. "He, who holds a sword in his hand, and feels a horse between his thighs, knows why he is in the world; and if we did not know the reason better than those, who smear such hooks on a.s.ses' skins, then _they_ would be on our heels at the Danube, and our horses would not drink their fill out of the Suabian sea."

"Don't you think, that it is very lucky that such trash is made?"

continued Ellak, throwing back the ma.n.u.script on to the funeral-pile.

"Why so?" asked Hornebog.

"Because the hand which guides the pen is never fit to handle the sword so as to make a good gash in the flesh; and when once the nonsense which is concocted by one single head, is written down, then at least a hundred others will muddle their brains with it. A hundred blockheads more make a hundred soldiers less, which is clearly enough our advantage, whenever we choose to make an invasion. 'As long as they write books and hold synods in the West, my children may safely carry their tents forwards!' that's what the great Attila himself said."

"Praised be the great Attila!" said Hornebog, reverently, when a voice called out, "Let the dead rest!" and with dancing steps, Erica came towards the two chieftains. She had mustered the cloister-booty, and an altar-cloth of red silk, finding grace in her eyes, she put it on like a mantle; the corners lightly thrown back over her shoulders.

"How do I look?" said she, turning her little head complacently about.

"The flower-of-the-heath does not require any tinsel belonging to Suabian idolators, to please us," sternly replied Ellak. Upon this, she jumped up at him, to pat and stroke his lank black hair, and then called out, "come along, the meal is ready prepared."

Then they went all three to the court-yard. All the hay which could be found, the Huns had strewn about, lying down on it and waiting for the repast. With crossed arms, Heribald stood in the background, looking down at them. "The heathenish dogs cannot even sit down like Christians, when they are about to eat their daily bread," he thought, taking good care, however, not to utter his thoughts aloud. The experience of former blows, had taught him silence.

"Lie down blackcoat, thou mayest eat also," cried Erica, making a sign to him to follow the example of the others. He looked at the man of Ellw.a.n.gen, who was lying there with crossed legs, as if he had never known what it was to sit otherwise. So Heribald tried to follow his example; but he very soon got up again, as this position seemed too undignified to him. So he fetched a chair out of the monastery, and sat down upon it.

A whole ox had been roasted on a spit, and whatever else they had found in the cloister-kitchen, served to complete the repast; and they fell to, ravenously. The meat was cut off with their short sabres, the fingers serving as knife and fork. In the middle of the court-yard, the big wine-tun stood upright, everyone taking as much as he liked. Here and there, a finely wrought chalice was used as a drinking cup.

Heribald also, had as much wine as he wished for, but when with inward contentment he was just beginning to sip at it, a half gnawed bone flew at his head. With a sorrowful look of surprise, he gazed up, and beheld that many another met with the same fate. To throw bones at each other, was a Hunnic custom, which served as dessert.

When the wine was beginning to tell on them, they began a rough and unmelodious singing. Two of the younger hors.e.m.e.n sang an old song in honour of King Attila, in which it was said, that he had not only been a conqueror with the sword, but also a conqueror of hearts. Then followed a taunting verse, on a Roman Emperor's sister, who, charmed with him by hearsay, fell in love with him at a distance, and offered her heart and hand to him, which however he refused.

The chorus which followed it, strongly resembled the screeching of owls and the croaking of toads. When this was finished, some of the men approached Heribald, and made him understand that he also was expected to give them a song. He began to refuse, but this availed him nothing.

So he sang in an almost sobbing voice, the antiphon in honour of the holy cross, beginning with the "_sanctifica nos_."

With mute astonishment, the drunken men, listened to the long-drawn notes of the old church-music, which sounded like the voice of the preacher in the wilderness. With rising anger, the woman of the wood, sitting beside the copper-kettle, heard it. Grasping her knife, she stealthily approached Heribald from behind, and seizing his hair, wanted to cut off his curls,--the greatest insult that could be offered to a consecrated head. But Heribald vigorously pushed her back, and chanted on, nothing daunted, which mightily pleased the a.s.sembly, so that they gave a shout of delight. Cymbals and violins also resounded again, and now Erica, who had become tired of the monotonous chant, approached Heribald. With a look that combined both archness and pity, she seized him by the arm, and drawing him into the midst of the wild dance which was now beginning, she called out. "Singing must always be followed by dancing!" Heribald did not know what to do, while the flower-of-the-heath was all eagerness to begin. "It matters little whether Heribald dances or not, it will be only another small link in the chain of abominations," he finally thought; so he bravely stamped the ground with his sandal-clad feet, his habit flying about him.