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Kubernetes
Fundamentals
A Step-by-Step Development and
Interview Guide
—
Himanshu Agrawal
Foreword by Krishna Prasad P
Kubernetes
Fundamentals
A Step-by-Step Development
and Interview Guide
Himanshu Agrawal
Foreword by Krishna Prasad P
Kubernetes Fundamentals: A Step-by-Step Development and
Interview Guide
Himanshu Agrawal
Pune, India
Acknowledgments�����������������������������������������������������������������������������xxi
Introduction�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xxiii
Foreword���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xxvii
v
Table of Contents
What Is Kubernetes?�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������21
What Is Red Hat’s OpenShift Container Platform?�����������������������������������������21
What Does Being “Cloud-Native” Mean?�������������������������������������������������������22
What Is Serverless?���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������23
Why Use Docker and Kubernetes?����������������������������������������������������������������24
Comparing Key Container Technologies��������������������������������������������������������������25
What Are the Alternatives to Docker?������������������������������������������������������������25
What Are the Alternatives to Kubernetes?�����������������������������������������������������26
How Are Kubernetes and Docker Related?����������������������������������������������������27
How Is Kubernetes Different from Docker Swarm?���������������������������������������27
How Is Kubernetes Different from Red Hat OpenShift,
Google Kubernetes Engine, and Others?�������������������������������������������������������28
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������28
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Exploring the Variety of Random
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returned, but a second summons soon roused Father George from
his slumbers, and brought him to the door.
The grey dawn was now beginning to break, and as soon as the
priest beheld the face of his young ward, he exclaimed, "Not to-
night, Ferdinand, not to-night.--Night do I call it? Heaven help us! it
is morning. See you not the sun coming up there? To-morrow night,
my boy, as soon as all in the castle are asleep, come down, and
bring the lady with you. I pray this Baron of Eppenfeld may keep the
Counts before his tower for a day or two."
"I doubt that such will be the case, good Father," answered
Ferdinand, "for there is a postern open, and they have tidings of it."
"That is unlucky," said the priest, "but speed you on to the castle,
and hide well your purpose from every eye. Let no one see you
thoughtful or agitated, and go early to rest, as if you were tired with
the labours of the days past. Away, Ferdinand, away."
The young man waved his hand and rode on, and in a few
minutes his horse was in front of the great gates. Beckoning to one
of the sentinels on the walls, he told him to go down and wake the
warder to let him in. But the man came down himself, and unbarred
the gates, while Ferdinand, dismounting, led his horse across the
draw-bridge.
"I will tell you all another time, Henry," replied the young
gentleman. "I am tired now, and hungry, to say sooth. Who is in the
castle?"
"Why, the Count went forth some time ago," replied the man,
"and left nought but a guard of twenty men, with the women, and
Count Frederick's priest, and him they call Martin of Dillberg."
Ferdinand muttered something to himself which the soldier did
not hear, and then led on his horse towards the stable. None of the
grooms were up; but every young gentleman in those days was well
accustomed to tend his own horse, and, though it must be
confessed, the escaped captive did what was necessary for his poor
charger as rapidly as possible, yet he did not neglect him. As soon as
this duty was accomplished, he hurried back into the castle; and had
any one been watching him, it might have been observed that his
step became more light and noiseless as he ascended the great
stairs, and passed along the corridor, which stretched across one
entire side of the principal mass of the building. At the door next but
one to that of the Count of Ehrenstein, he paused for several
moments, and looked up with an anxious and hesitating look, as if
he doubted whether he should go in. But the morning light was by
this time shining clear through the casements; he heard the sound
of persons moving below, and for Adelaide's sake he forbore, and
walked on towards the narrow staircase which led to his own
chamber. Ere he had taken ten steps, however, a sound, as slight as
the whisper of the summer wind, caused him to stop and turn his
head; and he saw the face of Bertha looking out from her mistress's
apartments. Instantly going back as noiselessly as possible, he
whispered, "Is your lady waking? Can I come in?"
"Not unless you are mad," answered Bertha. "She has been up all
night, and I too, God wot--though I have slept comfortably in the
corner. But thank Heaven you are safe and well, for her little foolish
heart would break easy enough if anything were to happen to your
unworthiness. But what news? When did you return?"
"I am but this instant back," answered the lover, "I have been
captive at Eppenfeld, and only freed by good Franz Creussen. Tell
her that I have seen Father George, however, and that he says--
mark well, Bertha--to-morrow night, as soon as all is quiet in the
castle. She will soon understand."
"Oh, I understand, too," answered Bertha, "for I have seen Father
George as well as you--forced to go down to do your errands. Well,
poor souls, as there is no other to help you, I must. But now tell me
how is all this to be arranged?"
"I will come, I will come," replied Ferdinand, "as soon as every
one is asleep."
"Be cautious, be cautious, rash young man," said the girl, and
instantly drawing back, closed the door.
For one brief moment, soon after the messenger had departed,
Adelaide and her lover were alone together; and ere their tormentor
was upon them again, she had time to say, "Bertha has told me all,
dear Ferdinand, I shall be ready."
Not long after, she retired to her own apartments for the night;
and her lover remained in the hall with Martin of Dillberg and Count
Frederick's chaplain, trying to weary them out, till nearly eleven
o'clock at night. Then declaring that he was tired with all that he had
done during the preceding day,--which was true enough,--he
withdrew to his own chamber, and there sat meditating over the
happiness of the coming hour. The moments seemed sadly long; it
appeared as if the sounds of voices speaking and closing doors
would never end; but at length the noises ceased, one after the
other; and after waiting half an hour without hearing anything stir
within the walls, with a beating but happy heart, Ferdinand
approached his door, opened it, and listened.
CHAPTER XIX.
The whole castle of Eppenfeld slept as tranquilly for several hours
after Ferdinand of Altenburg had left it, as if no danger had
threatened its lord, and no troops were marching to attack it; and it
is very probable that the evasion of the young captive, and the
means of entrance which he had left open for the enemy, would not
have been discovered till chance or humanity led some one in the
place to send him food, had it not been for an accidental event
which happened during the night. We have seen that one of the
motives for preventing the young gentleman's return to his lord, was
to afford time for storing the castle with provisions; and various
parties had been sent out to scour the country for that purpose.
Some of the leaders went nearly drunk, and returned sober, and
some went sober and returned nearly drunk. Amongst the latter was
a personage who, accompanied by two companions, found his way
to a village where they enjoyed themselves for a couple of hours;
and then, finding it late, and no progress made in their foray, they
rode on to the side of a hill, where the villagers were accustomed to
feed their swine, and possessing themselves of the unruly beasts,
commenced the far more difficult enterprise of driving them to the
castle. Now the distance could scarcely be less than ten miles; and if
any one considers what it is for three men, not very sober, to drive
sixty swine such a distance, he will not be surprised that the task
occupied many hours. Nevertheless, on approaching the castle,
which they did by the lesser entrance at the back, the marauders
found their flock shorn of its fair proportions, and not more than
forty of the beasts which never chew the cud could be mustered,
notwithstanding all the counting which the three soldiers could
accomplish. One of the hogs had run one way, another another. One
had committed suicide by throwing itself into a stream, rather than
follow the course on which fate and circumstances were driving it;
another had been run through the body by one of the soldiers,
somewhat too eager in pursuit; others had rushed back between the
horses, and had effected their escape; while others again lay down
upon the road, and refused to move even when the lance galled
their sturdy chines.
Within a mile of Eppenfeld, however, the leader fancied that he
had got the remainder of the herd in security, for the road was
narrow, and led straight up to the lesser gate of the castle.
Unfortunately, however, the small foot-path communicating with the
postern, branched off on the right hand of the road about a hundred
yards' distance from the walls. Though it was night, and the whole
party, horse and foot, was tired, a brisk young porker, who seemed
to set fatigue at defiance, instantly perceived the way to the postern,
and as it was evidently a path which his drivers did not wish to
pursue, he darted towards it, with a sort of caracole, and a grunt of
intimation to his companions. The hint was not lost upon them, and
with one universal whine of delight, the whole herd were instantly
running along the path, and thence pursuing their way by the
narrow ledge of rock under the wall of the castle.
The pursuit of the first troop was evidently useless, and the two
men, turning after the second division, proceeded to close the door
to secure their prey, and then, for the first time, perceived that a
large portion of woodwork, between the iron bands which secured
the door, had been sawn away. To have found the postern open
would have been nothing very marvellous in their eyes, considering
the state of discipline in which they lived; but the work of the saw
was convincing proof to them that somebody had been sawing; and
driving the pigs before them into the court-yard, they at once
proceeded to inquire who the sawyer was.
The whole castle was speedily roused and in an uproar; and what
between the capture of the pigs, as they galloped about the wide
court-yard, the instant putting of them to death, in not the most
scientific manner, for want of food to keep them in a living and
unsalted state, and the various operations for rendering the postern
even more defensible than before, the active labours of the whole
garrison were not over when daylight broke upon the castle, and the
spears and pennons of the forces of Ehrenstein and Leiningen were
seen coming up the valley.
"Then we will give the lie to their expectations," cried the Baron
of Eppenfeld. "Ho! bring us some good stout beams here. We will
hang out a new sort of banner, such as they have never seen. Plant
one firmly in every tower, and then bring up the carcasses of the
pigs and oxen."
"By Heaven! I believe he has hanged the poor fellows who went
with our young friend Ferdinand," exclaimed Count Frederick, as the
pigs, being the lightest, were first swung up to the top of the beams.
"Let us to the postern with all speed," said old Karl of Mosbach;
"he may find us in the donjon ere dinner time to help him eat his
pork."
"Ah, ha!" cried the Baron, "they have had enough of the postern,
and they will soon have had enough of the castle. It is too hard a
stone for the teeth of these two poor Counts!"
But the worthy lord greatly miscalculated the character of one at
least of his adversaries. The Count of Ehrenstein, indeed, would very
willingly have accepted the liberation of his men as compensation for
all offences; but the Baron did not even think fit to give the slightest
sign of making that reparation; and Count Frederick was not a man
to suffer any difficulties to divert him in his efforts to wipe out what
he considered as both an insult and an injury. Shortly after the
return of the reconnoitring party to their companions, various
movements were observed amongst the assailants which somewhat
puzzled the people on the walls, and discouraged the more wary and
experienced. Three or four horsemen rode off in different directions
at full speed; and the rest of the forces, dividing into two parties,
posted themselves on the roads on either side of the castle, while
the two Counts, with some ten or twelve picked men, took up their
position under the shade of a large clump of beech trees, on the
side of the hill opposite to the postern, whence both of the principal
gates of Eppenfeld could be seen, and succour afforded to either of
the bodies of assailants in case a sortie should be made from the
walls. There dismounting from their horses, the two noblemen and
their followers stretched themselves on the grass, and seemed
calmly waiting for the result of the steps they had taken.
"Depend upon it, my good lord, they have sent to Neustadt for a
party of those dogged citizens," said Fritz, "or perhaps to Landau for
cannon."
"Nonsense and folly!" exclaimed the Baron, "they can never drag
cannon up here. Why, the great pierrier of Landau weighs a couple
of ton, and the little one a ton. They may bring a falconet, but that
will do no good; and as to the pigs of Neustadt, we will slaughter
them as they come, and send them home pickled to their fat wives."
"You had better send some one out, my lord," said Fritz, "to say
that you will give up the prisoners and the treasure. I would not
offer more at first; for, depend upon it, they'll demand more, and
you can but grant at last."
"But who can I send?" said the Baron. "If I choose one of our
own men, he will either get drunk amongst the enemy, or go over to
their party."
"He will be here in a couple of hours, I dare say," said the Baron;
but his enemies did not make him wait so long. At the end of an
hour, Fritz appeared with the messenger, who bore a scrap of written
paper in his hand.
Fritz gazed at it with the same hopeless look; but the messenger
relieved them from their difficulty by saying, "He read it over to me
twice; so I can tell you what it means. Let me look at the marks,
however, to bring it in my mind. Thus it runs: 'Count Frederick of
Leiningen,'--ay, that's his name there 'and the Count of Ehrenstein to
the Baron of Eppenfeld.' He requires the immediate surrender of the
castle, the restoration of the treasure taken from the Venetian
merchants, compensation from the goods of the Baron for the wrong
done and the trouble given. 'Upon these conditions his life shall be
spared; but the castle shall be levelled with the ground, and never
rebuilt.'"
"You shall go--you shall go," replied Fritz, "for you will have a
message to take back;" and then drawing the Baron aside for a
moment or two, he spoke to him eagerly in a whisper.
"By the eleven thousand virgins thou art right," cried the Lord of
Eppenfeld at length; "so shall it be. Go back, rascal," he continued,
addressing the messenger, "and tell Count Frederick that he shall rot
before Eppenfeld, and I will eat the stones thereof, before I take
such conditions. Tell him I care not for his bombards; the walls are
proof against them, and he will find this hold a harder morsel than
he thinks. That for Count Frederick!--But now mark me--seek out
your own lord privately, and say to him that I love him better than
his comrade, that I served him well in former times, and that if he
will withdraw his people, and leave me to deal with Count Frederick
alone, he shall have the treasure; but if not, I will send a message
by nine of the clock to-morrow morning to him and his friend, just to
remind him of how I did serve him many years ago. Mark me well,
say every word just as I say it;" and he repeated the whole with
great accuracy.
How long he remained thus Fritz did not know; but the first thing
that woke him was a tremendous explosion just below. The whole
castle shook; some of the loose stones fell from the watch-tower
above, and well it was for Fritz, at that moment, that he had his
steel morion on his head. He was hardly roused, however, his whole
senses were in confusion and disarray, when loud shouts and cries
from the court rose up, and conveyed him better intelligence of the
event which had taken place than even the explosion; there were
sounds of blows, and clashing steel, and of heavy axes falling upon
wood-work, and exclamations of "Place taken! Place taken! Yield or
die!" with many a similar speech, which showed clearly enough that
the garrison was not alone in Eppenfeld.
The want of brute courage, however, was not the defect of Fritz's
character, and the next instant he dashed down, sword in hand, to
the court, collecting one or two of his comrades as he went, and
exclaiming, "It is now for life! they will give no quarter! fight like
devils! we may yet drive them back!" But the scene that presented
itself in the court might have proved to any one willing to be
convinced, that, fight how they would, the garrison of Eppenfeld had
no chance of successful resistance. The gate had been partly blown
in by the bombard, which had been quietly drawn close up to the
walls, and was every moment presenting a wider aperture under the
blows of the axe; an overpowering number of adverse soldiery was
already in the court; others were rushing in through the gap in the
gate; torches could be seen coming up the slope, and displaying a
stream of human heads cased in iron pouring on. Everything proved
that defence was hopeless, but the Baron of Eppenfeld was already
below, and with fierce efforts, aided by some thirty of his men, was
striving to drive back the assailants and recover possession of the
gateway. Fritz and those who were with him hurried on to his
assistance, and soon were hand to hand with the enemy. Their
arrival gave some new vigour to the resistance, and the men of
Leiningen and the citizens who were joined with them, gave way a
little; but fresh numbers poured in behind; the Baron went down
with a thundering blow upon his steel cap; and Fritz received a
wound in the throat which covered his cuirass with gore.
With great difficulty the Lord of Eppenfeld was raised in the press,
and borne somewhat back; but as soon as he could stand he rushed
upon the enemy again, and aimed his blows around with the fury of
despair. His men gradually gave way, however, a number fell never
to rise again; but beaten back, step by step, they were, at length,
forced against the wall of the donjon, with nothing but the narrow
doorway behind them left as a means of escape. The man who was
nearest it felt his courage yield, turned, and ran towards the postern
on the east. Some cried, "I yield, I yield! good quarter, good
quarter!" Others fled after the first, and the Baron of Eppenfeld,
seeing that all was lost, looked round with glaring eyes, doubtful
whether he should seek safety in flight by the postern into the open
country, or die in arms where he stood.
At that very moment, however, a loud voice cried, "Take him alive!
take him alive! The man with the wivern on his head!" and half a
dozen of the soldiers of Leiningen rushed towards him. One instantly
went down under a blow of his sword, but before it could fall again
upon the head of another, the rest were upon him, and the weapon
was wrenched from his grasp.
A scene of wild confusion followed, which cannot be adequately
described. There was chasing through passages and chambers,
hunting out fugitives in remote places, driving them along the walls,
seeking them in vaults and towers; and many a deep groan and
shrill cry of the death agony attested that all the barbarous cruelties
of a storming were perpetrated in the halls of Eppenfeld. Some were
taken alive, but a greater number escaped by the postern into the
country. There, however, they were almost instantly captured; for
the bands of the Count of Ehrenstein had been left to keep guard
without, and only two or three of the fugitives found their way to the
woods.
The man named Fritz was next called for, and while the Count's
followers were seeking for him, one of Count Frederick's knights
brought him the keys of the treasure room, and a roll of papers.
Several minutes elapsed before Fritz could be found, and just as he
was discovered at length, lying severely wounded amongst the dead
in the court, the Count of Ehrenstein, entered the castle with some
of his attendants, and after inquiring where Count Frederick was,
made his way to the hall, which he seemed to know well.
"He might as well have died," said the Count of Ehrenstein, with a
cloudy brow; "we shall be troubled to know what to do with him."
"From one of your own people; Count," replied the wounded man.
"I know not his name; but the Baron can tell you."
His noble companion did not seem very well satisfied with his
answer, but bent his eyes moodily on the ground; while the man
Fritz took up the conversation, in a sullen tone, saying, "I hope you
will not question me farther, my lord the Count; for I am faint from
loss of blood, and it is high time that you should either have me
tended, or end me at once."
"Nay, Heaven forfend, Herr Fritz!" exclaimed Count Frederick; "we
shall want you hereafter, since you say it was one of my men who
helped you to your rich booty. Take him away, and try and stanch
the bleeding of his wounds. Give him some wine, if they have not
drunk it all; and then bring me water, that I may wash my hands.
Nay, why so grave, my noble fellow-soldier?" he continued, turning
to the Count of Ehrenstein; "but it is true you have lived long in
peace, and are not so much accustomed as myself to see scenes of
slaughter and destruction; and yet we must leave no part of the
work here undone. I will not quit Eppenfeld while there is one beam
of timber spanning from wall to wall. Nevertheless, it is not needful
that you should stay."
"And the Baron?" asked his friend, with a hesitating look. "He
goes with you, of course," replied Count Frederick; "only keep him
safe, for he is a wily fox."
"No need,--no need," answered Count Frederick. "I have men and
means enough."
"Well, then, I will go and prepare for departure," said the Count
of Ehrenstein, "and will give you a victor's banquet when you arrive."
The whole castle of Ehrenstein was still as the grave. There are
times when distant murmurs of busy life, when the hum of insects in
the air, when the scarce heard voice of the distant nightingale, when
the whisper of a passing breeze, that speaks as if but to make the
stillness felt, seem to increase the sensation of the silence. But there
is a deeper, deader silence than that, when all is so profoundly
tranquil that it seems as if no sound would ever wake again, when
death itself seems powerful over all; and the absence of all activity
makes us feel as if our own being was the only living principle left
existent upon earth. But it brings with it no idea of annihilation. It
seems but the utter exclusion of all mortal things, as if the animation
of clay were over, and the noiseless reign of spirit were begun. The
soul, no longer jostled by the life of flesh, seems to walk forth at
large, and to have freer communication with things as immaterial as
itself. The essence within us feels as if a thick and misty veil were
withdrawn, and things unseen in the dull glare of the animal day
were apparent to the kindred spirit in the hour of temporary death.
But this is only felt when entire silence pervades all things; when
there is no voice of bird or insect, no whispered breeze, no distant
sound of those that watch at night; when all is still, and, to the
ignorance of individual being, it seems that the one who feels is the
only one who lives. Then is the hour of expectation; for if, according
to the old philosophy, nature abhors a vacuum, the void she most
abhors is the absence of all action. The heart of every living thing is
ever asking, "What next?" and the deepest conviction implanted in
the mind of man is, that want of activity is extinction. Even sleep
itself has its sensation and its dream; and to him who wakes while
all the rest are buried in forgetfulness, there is a constant looking for
something assimilating in solemnity with the hour, and the darkness,
and the silence, to break the unnatural lack of busy life that seems
around. Oh! how fancy then wanders through the wide unoccupied
extent, and seeks for something active like itself, and, debarred all
communion with beings of earth, ventures into the unsubstantial
world, and perchance finds a responding voice to answer her cry for
companionship.
Such are at least questions with all but the most purely worldly
even in a most purely worldly age; but, in the times I write of,
doubts on such subjects were precluded by faith and by tradition.
Activity, indeed, and thought, occupied continually by matters the
least spiritual, banished reflections upon such subjects during the
great part of each man's time. But reflection was needless where
conviction was ever present; and if speculation indulged itself in
times of solitude and silence, it was only in regard to what our
relations could be with the immaterial world, not whether there were
any relations at all.
Ferdinand's heart beat quick, but it was not with the thought of all
the strange and fearful sights he had seen in the place which he was
now about to revisit--though he did think of them; it was not with
that vague mysterious awe inspired by any near approach in mind to
things beyond this world of warm and sunny life. He was going, for
the first time, at night and in darkness, to the chamber of her he
loved, to guide her through strange scenes, alone and unwatched
for many an hour to come, upon an errand of which he knew
nothing but that it was promised a happy end; and his whole frame
thrilled with the emotions so sweet, so joyful, that are only known to
early, pure, and ardent love.
With the unlighted lamp in his hand, he approached the door, and
quietly raised the latch. All was silent in the little anteroom, but
there was a light burning there, and Bertha sitting sleeping soundly
in a chair, with some woman's work fallen at her feet. Ferdinand did
not wake her; for Adelaide had told him to come when it was
needful, even to her own chamber; and, approaching the door of
that room, he opened it quietly, and went in. Adelaide slept not, for
in her heart, too, were busy emotions that defy slumber. As she saw
him, she sprang to meet him, with all the joy and confidence of love;
but yet it was with a glow in her cheek, and a slight agitated
trembling of her limbs, which she could not overcome, though she