"Who guarantees to me that, once my troops, are out of your infernal country, you will not forthwith resume your armed excursions and attacks against the Frankish forces that are bivouacked on this side of your borders?"
"The other provinces are Gallic like ourselves. Our duty bids us to provoke them, and to aid them to break the yoke of the Frankish kings. But the thoughtful people among us are of the opinion that the hour for revolt has not yet come. For the last four centuries the Catholic priests have moulded the minds of the people to slavery. Alas, centuries will pass before they re-awaken from their present stupor. You admit that it is dangerous for you to be compelled to keep a portion of your best troops tied up in Brittany. Recall your army. I give you my word as a Breton, and I am, moreover, authorized to make the pledge in the name of our tribes, that, so long as you live, we shall not go out of our frontiers."
"By the King of the Heavens! The joke is rather too harsh. Do you take me for a fool? Do I not know that, if I grant you a truce by withdrawing my troops, you will take advantage of it to prepare anew for war after my death? But we shall always know how to suppress your uprisings."
"Yes, we shall certainly take up arms if your sons fail to respect our liberties."
"And you really expect me—me, the vanquisher, to consent to a shameful truce? To consent to withdraw my forcesfrom a country that it has cost me so much trouble to overcome?"
"Very well; leave, then, your army in Brittany, but depend upon it that, within a year or two, new insurrections will break out."
"Insane old man! How dare you hold such language to me when you, your grandson, and four other Breton chiefs are my hostages! Oh! I swear by the everlasting God, your head will drop at the first sign of an insurrection. Do not lean too heavily upon the good nature of the old Charles. The terrible example I made of the four thousand prisoners whom I took from the revolted Saxons should be proof enough to you that I recoil before no act of necessity. Only the dead are not to be feared."
"The Breton chiefs who remained on the way by reason of their wounds, and who will speedily join me and my grandson at Aix-la-Chapelle, would, no more than my grandson and myself, have accepted the post of hostages had the same been without danger. Whatever the fate may be that awaits us, we shall not falter in our duty. We are here in the very center of your Empire, and well in condition to judge of the opportuneness for an uprising. From this very place we will give the signal for a fresh war, the moment we think the time is favorable."
"By the King of the Heavens! This audacity has gone far enough!" cried the Emperor, pale with rage. "To dare tell me that these traitors, according to what they may see and spy near my court, will themselves send to Brittany the order to revolt! Oh, I swear by God, from to-morrow, from this very evening, both you and your grandson will be cast into a dungeon so dark that you will need lynx's eyes to findout what goes on around here. By the cap of St. Martin! Such insolence is enough to turn one into a ferocious beast. Not another word, old man! Here we are at the pavilion. I shall now join my daughters. The sight of them will console me for your ingratitude!"
Uttering these last words with mingled rage and sorrow, the Emperor put his horse to the gallop in order to reach all the quicker the hunting pavilion, where he expected to meet his daughters, and satisfy his growing hunger. The seigneurs in Charles' suite were about to follow their master's example and quicken the steps of their mounts, when the Emperor, suddenly turning around, cried out to them, with an imperious voice:
"No one shall follow me. I want to be alone with my daughters! You shall await my orders near the pavilion."
The Emperor rode rapidly forward toward the hunting pavilion. The seigneurs of his suite received the angry order of their master with silent obedience, and, reining in their horses, proceeded at a slower gait towards the rendezvous. Lost among them, Amael rode along, steeped in thought, revolving the recent conversation he had with Charles, and at the same time more and more a prey to anxiety at the prolonged absence of Vortigern. The Emperor's courtiers shivered under their robes of silk and drabbled feathers, and silently grumbled at the whim of their Emperor, whereby the looked-for time was retarded when they might warm themselves at the fire of the pavilion, and revive their spirits with supper. Arrived in the close neighborhood of the pavilion, they alighted from their horses. They had been conversing together about a quarter of an hour, when Amael, who had also alighted and leaned pensively against one of the nearby gigantic trees of the forest, noticed Octave hastening in his direction and calling out to him:
"Amael, I was looking for you—come quick!"
The aged Breton tied his horse to the tree and followed Octave. When both had walked a little distance away from the group of the Frankish seigneurs, the young Roman proceeded:
"I feel mortally uneasy on the score of Vortigern. Your grandson having been carried away by his horse early in the hunt, Thetralde and Hildrude, two of the Emperor's daughters, followed him on the spot. What may have happened? I can not guess. I am told positively that Hildrude, who seemed greatly irritated, rode back to Aix-la-Chapelle with two other sisters and all the concubines of the Emperor who had come to the chase. Thetralde must have remained alone behind with Vortigern in some part of the forest."
"Finish your account."
"I know from experience how easy-going are the morals of this court. Thetralde has taken notice of your grandson. She is fifteen, has been brought up amidst her sisters, who have as many paramours as their own father has mistresses. Despite himself, Vortigern has made a lively impression upon the heart of Thetralde. The two are children. They have vanished together, and must have been lost together, seeing that three of the Emperor's daughters have returned to the palace and the other two are at the pavilion. Only Thetralde is not to be found. If she lost her way in the company of Vortigern—I would this morning have been of the opinion that it was to be hoped—"
"Heaven and earth!" broke in the aged Breton, growing pale. "How dare you joke on such a matter!"
"This morning I would have considered the adventure highly amusing. This evening it seems to me redoubtable. A minute ago, angered at something or other, the Emperor clapped both his spurs to his horse's flanks, ordered that none should follow him, and rushed towards the pavilion. Rothaide and Bertha, daughters of Charles, notified of their father's approach by the clatter of his horse, and believing that hiswhole suite was with him, sped away to the upper chambers of the pavilion—Bertha with Enghilbert, the handsome Abbot of St. Riquier, Rothaide with Audoin, one of the Emperor's officers."
"And then?"
"The Emperor arrives all alone and dismounts. 'Where are my daughters?' he calls out impatiently to the Grand Nomenclator of his table who happens to be superintending the preparations for the supper. The Grand Nomenclator answers in great embarrassment: 'August Emperor, allow me to go and announce your arrival to the Princesses; they have withdrawn to the upper chambers in order to take some rest while waiting for supper.' 'I shall go myself and see them,' replies Charles, saying which, he clambers up the stairs. Old Vulcan surprising Venus and Mars at their amorous escapade, could not have been more furious than was the august Emperor when he surprised his daughters in the arms of their gallants. The Grand Nomenclator having remained near the door of the staircase soon heard an infernal racket in the chambers above. The irate Charles was plying his hunting whip right and left over the two amorous couples. A profound silence ensued thereupon. The Emperor having the habit of not noising such things about came down again, calm in appearance, but pale with rage, and—"
Octave's narrative was at this point suddenly interrupted by tumultuous cries that proceeded from the pavilion. Slaves were seen rushing out of the building with lighted torches in their hands, and immediately the shrill voice of Charles himself was heard calling out:
"To horse! My daughter Thetralde has lost her way in the forest! She has not returned to the palace—and she isnot here in the pavilion. Take the torches—and to horse! To horse!"
"Amael, in the name of your grandson's welfare," whispered Octave precipitately in the Breton's ear, "follow me at a distance. There is just one chance left to us of saving Vortigern from the Emperor's rage." Saying this, the young Roman disappeared among the seigneurs of the court who were hastening towards their horses, while Charles, whose rage, restrained for a moment, now exploded with renewed fierceness, screeched at them:
"Look at them, gaping open-mouthed, like a herd of startled sheep! Let each one take a torch and follow one of the avenues of the forest, all the while calling out to my daughter as loud as he can. Halloa there—let someone take up a torch and ride ahead of me!"
At these words, Octave seized a torch and approached the Emperor, while other seigneurs rode rapidly off in several directions in search of the lost Thetralde. The meaning of the hurried recommendation that Octave had addressed to him a minute before flashed at this moment clear through Amael's mind. Mounting his horse at the same time that Charles and the young Roman who bore the torch did theirs, he allowed the two to take somewhat the lead of him, and then followed them at a distance, guided by the torch that Octave held aloft.
As Octave later narrated to him, the Emperor alternated between fits of rage, provoked by the freshest proof of the libertinage to which his daughters were addicted, and uneasiness at the disappearance of Thetralde. These several sentiments were given vent to by broken words that fromtime to time reached the ears of the young Roman who preceded Charles by only a few paces.
"My poor child!—where can she be?—Perhaps dying of cold and fear—at the bottom of some thicket, perhaps!" murmured the Emperor. Presently he would call out at the top of his voice: "Thetralde! Thetralde! Oh, she does not hear me! King of the Heavens, have pity upon me. So young—so delicate—a chilly night like this is enough to kill her. Oh, my unhappy old age, that this child might have served to console—she would not have resembled her sisters! Her fifteen year forehead was never crimsoned with an evil thought. Oh, dead! Dead, perhaps! No, no—youth is full of pranks! Besides, these daughters, all of whom I have brought up like boys, are all accustomed to fatigue. They accompany me during my long journeys. But yet, the night is so dark—and it is so chilly!" Whereupon the Emperor would again call out: "Thetralde!" and suddenly reining in his horse and listening, the Emperor of the Franks broke the silence with the sudden question: "Did you not hear a sound like the neighing of a horse?"
"I did, august Prince," answered the young Roman.
"Listen! Listen again!"
Octave kept silent. Soon again the sound of distant neighing broke upon the stillness of the forest.
"No doubt any longer. Despairing of finding her way, my daughter must have tied her palfrey to a tree!" exclaimed the Emperor, his heart bounding with hope. Calling out to Octave, he ordered: "Gallop! Gallop faster!" and himself increasing his own speed to the utmost cried out uninterruptedly: "Thetralde! Thetralde! Thetralde, my daughter!"
Amael, who followed Charles at a goodly distance, keepinghimself well in the shadow, also fell into a gallop the moment he noticed the torchlight that guided him suddenly move with increased swiftness into the darkness. The Emperor and Octave were close upon the spot where, before entering the woodcutter's hut, Vortigern and Thetralde had tied their mounts. The glimmer of the torch fell upon and lighted the white body of Thetralde's palfrey, throwing into the shade Vortigern's horse that was tied a few steps further away. The Emperor recognized his daughter's favorite mount, and cried out:
"Thetralde's palfrey!" and immediately thereupon perceiving the hut itself by the light of the torch borne by Octave, he added: "Oh, King of the Heavens! Thanks be to you!" The Emperor quickly dismounted and walking precipitately towards the hut which lay about twenty paces from the path, he called back to Octave: "Walk faster! My daughter is there. Precede me!"
Gifted with an eye even more piercing than Charles', Octave had recognized with a shudder the horse of Vortigern close to Thetralde's palfrey. Foreseeing the outburst of fury that the Emperor was about to fall into at the spectacle that Octave surmised awaited his aged eyes, the Roman resorted to an extreme measure. Affecting to stumble, he dropped the torch in the hope of extinguishing it at his feet, as if by accident. But Charles quickly stooped down, as quickly raised it and rushed forward towards the entrance of the hut. Trembling with fear, the young Roman followed closely behind the Emperor. Charles suddenly stood still as if petrified at the threshold of the hut, whose interior was now brilliantly lighted by the torch in the Emperor's hand. Having also dismounted, Amael was enabled, without his steps beingheard by Charles, to draw nearer, and stood close to him at the very moment that, struck with stupor, the Emperor of the Franks stopped, motionless.
Profoundly asleep, and stretched out upon the floor with his unsheathed sword beside him, Vortigern barred the entrance to the hut. In order to enter it, an intruder would have been compelled to walk over his body that lay across the threshold. In the depth of the retreat, stretched on a bed of moss and carefully wrapped in the lad's tunic, Thetralde enjoyed a slumber as profound as her guardian at the entrance. The girl's head and face, charming in their candor, rested on one of her arms that lay folded beneath. So deep was the sleep of the two, that neither the young girl nor Vortigern was at first awakened by the glare of the torch.
Thick drops of perspiration rolled down from the forehead of the Emperor of the Franks. The stupor that first seized him at finding his daughter in a solitary hut in the company of the young Breton, was soon followed by an expression of undefinable agony. Presently the cruel doubts concerning the chastity of his youngest daughter made room for hope when he noticed the serenity of the slumber of the two children. The Emperor gathered additional comfort from the precaution that Vortigern had taken in laying himself athwart the entrance, obedient, no doubt, to a thought of respectful and chivalrous solicitude.
Thetralde was the first to open her eyes. The glare of the torch fell upon her face. She half raised her head; still half asleep, carried her hand to her eyes, and sat up. In a second, seeing her father before her, she uttered a cry of such sincere joy, her charming features expressed a happiness so utterly free from all embarrassment, that, bounding to her father'sneck, she was pressed by Charles to his heart with delirious rapture:
"Oh!" the Emperor exclaimed, "I fear naught, her forehead is free from shame."
The words of the enraptured father reached the ears of Amael, who had remained motionless behind the Emperor, whose life was soon in no slight danger, seeing that, in her first and spontaneous outburst of joy to fall on her father's neck, Thetralde had struck Vortigern with her feet as she bounded forward. The young Breton, thus awakened with a start, his eyes dazzled by the glare of the torch, and his mind still clouded with sleep, grasped his sword and jumped up. At the sight of the two men at the entrance of the hut, one of them tightly holding Thetralde in his arms, the lad imagined that violence was being attempted upon her. He seized Charles by the throat with one hand and, raising his sword in the other, cried: "I will kill you!" Immediately, however, recognizing the father of Thetralde, Vortigern dropped his weapon, rubbed his eyes, and exclaimed:
"The Emperor of the Franks!"
"Himself, my lad!" replied the Emperor in a cheerful voice, while he again kissed the forehead and head of his daughter with almost frantic delight. "The vigor of your clutch proves to me that ill would he have fared who should have entertained any evil designs against my little girl!"
"We are your enemies, and still you received my grandfather and myself with kindness," answered the young Breton ingenuously and without lowering his eyes before the penetrating looks that Charles shot at him. "I have watched over your daughter—as I should have watched over my own sister."
Vortigern emphasized the words 'my own sister' in such a manner that Amael, fully sharing the confidence of Charles, whispered at the latter's ear:
"I have no doubt of the purity of these children."
"And you here?" exclaimed the Emperor astonished. "Be welcome, my esteemed guest!"
"You looked for your daughter—I also set out in search of my grandson."
"And I have found her, the dear child!" exclaimed Charles with ineffable tenderness, again and again kissing the forehead of Thetralde. "Oh, how I do love her—more than ever before!" And holding the girl close to his breast the Emperor moved toward the interior of the hut, and threw himself down upon the moss-bench, broken with fatigue. There he seated Thetralde upon his knees, and contemplating her with looks of unspeakable happiness, said: "Come now, my little one, tell me all about your adventure. How did you lose track of the hunt? How did you resign yourself to spend the night in this hut?"
"Father," answered the girl, lowering her eyes and hiding her face on Charles' breast, "let me collect my thoughts—I want to tell you all that happened, absolutely everything, without concealing aught."
After a short interval that followed Thetralde's answer, Vortigern drew near Amael, who tenderly pressed him to his heart, while, standing at a little distance, the torch in his hand lighting the scene, the young Roman, it must be admitted, looked more astonished than enthusiastic at the continence of Vortigern.
"Father," Thetralde resumed, raising her head and attaching her candid looks upon the Emperor of the Franks, "Imust tell you everything. Not so? Everything—absolutely everything?"
"Yes, my little darling, without omitting anything." But after a second's reflection, Charles said to Octave: "Plant that torch in the ground, and watch our horses with this young lad."
The Roman bowed and obeyed; accompanied by Amael's grandson he stepped out of the hut.
"What, father, you send Vortigern out?" remarked Thetralde in an accent of sweet reproach. "I would on the contrary, have wished him to remain near us, in order to confirm or complete my story, my dear father."
"All you tell me, my dear daughter, I shall believe. Speak, speak without fear before me and the grandfather of the worthy lad."
"Yesterday," Thetralde began, "I was on the balcony of the palace when Vortigern rode into the courtyard. Learning that he came hither as a prisoner, so young, and wounded, besides, I immediately took an interest in him. When shortly after, he came near being thrown from his horse, perhaps even killed, I was so frightened that I uttered a cry of dread. But when Hildrude and myself saw that he proved himself an intrepid horseman, we threw our nose-gays to him."
"You both told me how you admired the skilfulness of the lad's horsemanship, but you said nothing about the throwing of your bouquets. Well, let us proceed—continue."
"I certainly was very happy at your return home, good father. Yet, I must confess to you, it seems to me that my thoughts turned as much on Vortigern as on yourself. All night my sister and I talked about the young Breton, abouthis gracefulness, about his comely face that was at once sweet and bold—"
"That is all very well—that is all very well. Let us skip all that, my daughter. Let us drop the details concerning the lad's looks."
"Then you object, father, to my telling you all? He made a deep impression upon us."
"Let us come to the episode of the chase."
"It was dawn before I fell asleep, but only to dream about Vortigern. We saw him again at church. When I was not contemplating his bold and sweet face, I was praying for the safety of his soul. After mass, when I learned that there was to be a hunting party, my only fear was that he might not be one of the party. Judge, then, of my joy, father, when I saw him in your retinue. Suddenly his horse took fright and carried him off! Before I could reflect I plied the whip upon my palfrey to join him. Hildrude followed and tried to pass me. That irritated me. I struck her horse on the head. The animal bolted and carried her off in another direction. I was alone when I overtook Vortigern. The mist, then the rain and thereupon the night fell upon us. We noticed this woodcutter's hut and a brasier that was almost extinct. We then said to each other: 'It is impossible to find our way back, let us spend the night here.' Happily we noticed some chestnuts that had dropped on the ground from the trees. We gathered them, roasted them under the cinders—but we forgot to eat them—"
"Because, I suppose, you were both tired, no doubt—and, in order to take rest, you lay down on this moss-bench, and the lad across the threshold?"
"Oh, no, no, my father! Before falling asleep we chatteda good deal, we disputed a good deal. It was due to our discussion that Vortigern and myself forgot all about the chestnuts. Thereupon sleep overtook us and we stretched ourselves to rest."
"But what was the subject, my child, of the discussion between you and the lad?"
"Alack! I had wicked thoughts—those thoughts were combatted by Vortigern with all his might. It was upon that that our dispute ran. But I must admit that, after all, he was right. You will never believe me. I wanted to flee from Aix-la-Chapelle and go to Brittany with Vortigern—to marry him."
"To leave me—my daughter—abandon your father—me, who love you so much?"
"Those were the very arguments of Vortigern. 'Thetralde, dost thou think well,' he said to me, 'to leave thy father who loves thee? Wouldst thou have the regrettable courage to cause him so deep a grief? And as to myself, whom, as well as my grandfather, he has treated with kindness, should I be thy accomplice? No! No! Moreover, I am here a prisoner on parole. To flee would be to disgrace myself. My mother would refuse to see me.' 'Thy mother loves thee too much not to pardon thee,' I said to Vortigern; 'my father also will pardon me; he is so good! Did he not show himself indulgent towards my sisters, who have their lovers as he has his mistresses? To love can neither hurt nor injure others. Once married, we shall return to my father. Happy at seeing us again, he will forget everything else, and we shall live near him as do Eginhard and my sister Imma.' But Vortigern, ever inflexible, returned incessantly upon his word as a prisoner and the grief that his flight would cause his motherand grandfather. His warm tears mingled with mine as he consoled and chide me for the child that I was. Finally, after our dispute had lasted a long while, and we had wept a good deal, he said to me: 'Thetralde, it is now late; thou surely must feel fatigued; thou shouldst lie down on this bed of moss; I shall lay myself across the entrance with my bare sword at my side, to defend thee, if need be.' I did begin to feel sleepy; Vortigern covered me with his tunic; I fell asleep and was dreaming about him when I was awakened by you, my father."
The Emperor of the Franks listened to the naïve recital with a mixture of tenderness, apprehension and grief. At its close he heaved a sigh of profound relief that seemed to issue from the silent reflection: "What a danger did not my daughter escape!" This thought soon dominated all the others that crowded to his mind. Charles again embraced Thetralde effusively, and said:
"Dear child, your candor charms me. It makes me forget that even for a moment you could entertain the thought of running away from your father, which would have been a mean thing to do."
"Oh! Vortigern made me renounce the wicked project. And, now, as a reward to him, you will be good, you will marry us, will you not, father?"
"We shall talk later about that. For the present we must think of regaining the pavilion, where you will rest awhile. We shall depart to Aix-la-Chapelle. Stay here a moment I have a few words to exchange with this good old man."
Charles stepped out of the hut with Amael, and as soon as they were a few paces away, he turned towards the aged Bretonwith a radiant face on which, however, deep concern was depicted:
"Your grandson is a loyal lad; yours is a family of worthy and brave people. You saved my grandfather's life; your grandson has respected the honor of my daughter. I know but too well the dangers that lie, at the age of these children, in the wake of the first impulse of love. Had Vortigern yielded, he would have had to pay for it with his life. I am happy and by far prefer to praise than to punish."
"Charles, when a few hours ago I expressed to you my uneasiness concerning Vortigern's absence, you answered me: 'Good! He will have run across some pretty woodcutter's daughter. Love is meet for his years. You do not mean to make a monk of the lad?' What, now, if he had treated your daughter like a woodcutter's child?"
"By the King of the Heavens! Vortigern would not have left the hut alive!"
"Accordingly, it is permissible to dishonor the daughter of a slave, and yet shall the dishonor of the daughter of an emperor be punished with death? Both are the children of God, alike in His eyes. Why the difference in your mind?"
"Old man, these words are senseless!"
"You pretend to be a Christian, and you treat us as pagans! My grandson has conducted himself like an honest man; that is all. Honor is dear to us Gauls of old Armorica, whose device is:Never did Breton commit treason.Will you render me a favor? I shall be eternally grateful to you."
"Speak! What do you wish of Charles?"
"A short while ago you seemed struck with the beauty of a poor slave girl. You mean to make her one of your concubines. Be magnanimous towards the unhappy creature; donot corrupt her; render their freedom to her and her family; give those people the means to live industriously and honorably."
"It shall be so, by the faith of Charles; I promise you. Besides, I consent to withdraw my troops from your country, provided you pledge to me your faith as a Breton that, during my life, you will not make any incursions beyond your own frontiers. Give me your hand, Amael—your loyal hand in sign of acceptance."
"Here it is, Charles," promptly answered Amael, grasping the hand proffered by the Emperor. "Let it be the hand of a traitor, and that it fall under the axe if our people break the promise! We shall live at peace with you. If your descendants respect our liberties, we shall live at peace with them."
"Amael, it is sworn!"
"Charles, it is accepted and sworn!"
"Instead of returning to Aix-la-Chapelle, you and your grandson shall spend the night in the pavilion of the forest. To-morrow, at early daybreak, I shall have your baggage forwarded to you, together with an escort, charged to accompany you as far as the frontiers of Armorica. You shall depart without delay."
"Your directions will be followed to the letter."
"I shall now return to the pavilion alone with my daughter. I shall tell my courtiers that I found her in the hut. Alack! the calumnies of the court are cruel. People will not believe in the innocence of Thetralde, and if, besides, they should learn that she spent a part of the night with your grandson in that obscure retreat, they will take for granted all that they now impute to her sisters. Oh! My father's heartbleeds strangely. I have loved my daughters too much. I have been too indulgent towards them! And then also, my continuous wars beyond my own kingdom, together with the affairs of state, have prevented me from watching over my children. And yet, during my absence, I always left them in the charge of priests. Neither were they left idle; they embroidered chasubles for the bishops! But, it seems that our Lord God, who has ever and otherwise stood at my side, has willed it so, that I be struck in my family. His will be done! I am an unhappy father!" Charles thereupon called to the Roman:
"Octave, nobody—do you understand me, nobody—must know that my daughter spent a part of the night in this hut with that young man. Evil tongues do not spare even the chastest and most admirable souls. The secret of this night is known only by me, my daughter, and these two Bretons. I am as certain of their discretion as of my own and Thetralde's. You are lost if but a word of this adventure circulates at court. It is from you alone that it can have proceeded. If, on the contrary, you help me to keep the secret, you may rely upon increasing favors from me."
"August Emperor, I shall carry that secret with me into my grave."
"I rely upon it. Fetch me my horse and my daughter's. You are to accompany us to the hunting pavilion, and thence to Aix-la-Chapelle. I will place you in command of the escort that I give these two hostages to return to their own country. I shall furnish you with an order to the commander of my army in Brittany. You will start to-morrow, early, with the escort to the pavilion of the forest, and you will thence depart for Armorica."
Octave bowed, and the Emperor proceeded, addressing Amael:
"The moon has risen. It sheds sufficient light upon the route. Jump upon your horse, with your grandson. Follow this avenue of trees until you reach a clearing. Wait there. You will shortly be sent for. I shall despatch my messengers to take you to the pavilion, where you are to stay until your departure early to-morrow morning. And now, Adieu!"
Amael returned to his grandson, whom he found in a deep study, seated on the stump of a tree that bordered the route. The lad was silently weeping with his face hidden in his hands, and heard not the steps of his grandfather approaching him.
"Come, my boy," said Amael to him in a mild and grave voice. "Let us to horse, and depart."
"Depart!" exclaimed Vortigern, with a tremor, rising impetuously to his feet and wiping with his hand the tears that moistened his face.
"Yes, my boy! To-morrow we start for Brittany, where you will see again your mother and sister. The nobility of your conduct has borne its fruit. We are free. Charles recalls his troops from Brittany."
* * * * * * *
Shortly after our return home from Aix-la-Chapelle, my grandfather, Amael, wrote the above narrative, which I have faithfully joined to the preceding ones of our family. Myself, Vortigern, buried my grandfather not long after at the ripe age of one hundred and five years, shortly after my own marriage with the loving Josseline. Charles the Great died at Aix-la-Chapelle in the year 814.
In the year 818, seven years after Amael and his grandson Vortigern left the court of Charles, the Emperor of the Franks, to return to their home in Brittany, three riders, accompanied by a footman, were one evening painfully climbing one of the steep hills of the ridge of the Black Mountains, that raise their rugged ribs to the southwest of Armorica. When, having reached the top of the rocky pile over which the path wound its way, the travelers looked below, they saw at their feet a long chain of plains and hillocks, some covered with rye and wheat ready for the harvesters, others running northward like vast carpets of heather. Here and yonder, vast moors also were perceived stretching out as far as the eye could follow. A few straggling villages, reached by an avenue of trees, raised the roofs of their houses in the midst of impassible bogs that served for natural defences. The panorama was enlivened by herds of black sheep that browsed over the ruddy heath or the green valleys, watered by innumerable running streams. Among the green were also seen steers and cows, and especially a large number of horses of the Breton stock, strong for the plow, fiery in war.
The three riders, preceded by the footman, now proceeded to descend the further slope of the rugged hill. One of the three, clad in ecclesiastical robes, was Witchaire, consideredone of the richest abbots of Gaul. The vast lands of his almost royal abbey bordered on the frontiers of Armorica. His two companions, on horseback like himself, were monks belonging to his dependency, and both wore the garb of the religious Order of St. Benoit. The two monks rode behind the abbot at a little distance, leading between them a packsaddle mule loaded with the baggage of their superior, a man of short stature, sharp eye, and a smile that was at times pious, at other times cunning. The mountain guide, a robust, thick-set man in the vigor of life, wore the antique costume of the Breton Gauls—wide breeches of cloth held at the waist by a leather belt, a jacket of wool, and, hanging from his shoulders on the same side with his wallet, a cloak of goat-skin, although the season was summer. His hair, only partly covered with a woolen cap, fell over his shoulders. From time to time he leaned upon hispen-bas, a long staff made of holly and terminating in a crook.
The burning August sun, now at its hottest, darted its rays upon the guide, the two monks and Abbot Witchaire. Reining in his horse, the latter said to the guide:
"The heat is suffocating; these granite rocks radiate it upon us as hot as if they issued from a furnace; our mounts are exhausted. I decry yonder, at our feet, a thick forest; could you not lead us to it? We could then take rest in the shade."
Karouer, the guide, shook his head, and answered, pointing with hispen-basin the direction of the dense woods: "To reach them we would have to make a leap of two hundred feet, or a circuit of nearly three leagues over the mountains. Which shall it be?"
"Let us, then, pursue our route, my trusty guide. But tellus how long will it take us to arrive in the valley of Lokfern?"
"Look yonder, below, away below, close to the horizon. Do you see the last of those bluish crests? That is the Menez-c'Hom, the highest peak of the Black Mountains. The other peak towards the west, and lying somewhat nearer, is Lach-Renan. It is between those two peaks that lies the valley of Lokfern, where Morvan, the husbandman and Chief of Brittany lives."
"Are you certain that he will be at his farm-house?"
"A husbandman always returns to his farm-house after sunset. We shall find him there."
"Do you know Morvan personally?"
"I am of his tribe. I fought under him at the time of our last struggles against the Franks, when Charles, the Emperor, lived."
"Is this Morvan married, do you know?"
"His wife Noblede is the worthy spouse of Morvan. She is of the stock of Joel. That says everything. We honor and venerate her."
"Who is that Joel, whom you mentioned?"
"One of the worthiest men, whose memory Armorica has preserved green. His daughter, Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, offered her own life in sacrifice for the safety of Gaul when the Romans invaded these parts."
"I have been told that your people apprehend an invasion of the Franks in Brittany, and that you are making ready for a declaration of war from Louis the Pious, son of the great Charles."
"Have you seen any preparations for war since you crossed our frontier?"
"I have seen the husbandmen in the fields, the shepherdsleading their flocks, the cities open and tranquil. But it is known that in your country, woodmen, husbandmen, shepherds and town folks transform themselves into soldiers at a moment's notice."
"Yes, when our country is threatened with invasion."
"And do you apprehend such an invasion?"
Karouer looked at the abbot fixedly, smiled sarcastically, made no answer, whistled, and presently broke out into a Breton song, mechanically whirling hispen-basas he strode rapidly forward in the lead of the three monks.
Night drew on. Karouer and the dignitaries whom he guided, having been all day on the march, were now approaching one of the highest points on the mountain path that they had been following, when, struck by an unexpected spectacle, Witchaire suddenly reined in his horse.
The sight that took the abbot by surprise was, indeed, startling. A flame, hardly distinguishable by reason of its great distance, and yet perceptible on the horizon, whose outlines the dusk had not yet wholly blotted out, had barely arrested his attention, when, almost instantaneously, similar tongues of fire gradually shot up from the distant tops of the long chain of the Black Mountains. The fires gained in brilliancy and size in the measure that they broke out nearer and nearer to the spot where the abbot stood. Suddenly, only twenty paces away from him, the startled prelate perceived a bluish gleam through a dense smoke. The gleam speedily changed into a brilliant flame, that, shooting upwards toward the starry sky, spread a light so bright that the abbot, his monks, his guide, the rocks round about and a good portion of the crag of the mountain stood illumined as if at noon. A few minutes later similar bonfires continued tobe kindled from hill to hill, tracing back, as it seemed, the route that the travelers had left behind, and losing themselves in the distance in the evening haze. The abbot remained mute with stupefaction. Karouer emitted three times a gutteral and loud cry resembling that of a night bird. A similar cry, proceeding from behind the plateau of rocks where the nearest bonfire was burning, responded to the signal from Karouer.
"What fires are these that are springing up from hill-top to hill-top?" the abbot inquired with intense curiosity the moment he recovered from his astonishment. "It must be some signal."
"At this moment," answered Karouer, "similar fires are burning from all the hill-tops of Armorica, from the mountains of Arres to the Black Mountains and the ocean."
"But to what purpose?"
As was his wont, Karouer made no answer to such pointed interrogatories, but striking up some Breton song, quickened his steps, while he whirled hispen-basin the air.
The home of Morvan, the husbandman, who was chosen Chief of the Chiefs of Brittany, was located about the middle of the valley of Lokfern, and nestled among the last spurs of the Black Mountains. A strong system of palisades, constructed of tough trunks of oak fastened together by means of stout cross-beams, and raised on the near side of deep ditches, defended the approaches of the farm-house. Outside of the fortified enclosure, a forest of centenarian oaks extended to the north and east; to the south, green meadows sloped gently towards the windings of a swift running river that was bordered with beeches and alders.
The house of Morvan, its contiguous barns, kennels and stables, had the rough exterior of the Gallic structures of olden days. A sort of rustic porch shaded the main entrance to the house. Under this porch, and enjoying the close of the delightful summer day, were Noblede, the spouse of Morvan, and Josseline, the young wife of Vortigern. The latter, a radiant woman of smiling beauty, was suckling her latest born, with her other two children, Ewrag and Rosneven, respectively four and five years of age, at her side. Caswallan, a Christian druid, an aged man of venerable appearance, whose beard vied in whiteness with his long robe, smiled tenderly upon little Ewrag, whom he held on his knees. Noblede,Morvan's wife and sister of Vortigern, now about thirty years of age, was a woman of rare comeliness, although her features bore the stamp of a rooted sadness. Ten years a wife, Noblede had not yet tasted the sweets of motherhood. Her grave aspect and her high stature recalled those matrons, who, in the days of Gaul's independence, sat loyally by the side of their husbands at the supreme councils of the nation.[C]Noblede and Josseline were spinning, while the other women and daughters of Morvan's household busied themselves with the preparations for the evening meal, or in the other domestic occupations, such as replenishing with forage the stalls that the cattle were to find ready upon their return from the fields. The Christian druid Caswallan, with Ewrag, the second child of the blonde Josseline, on his knees, had just finished making the boy recite his lesson in religion under the following symbolic forms:
"White child of the druid, answer me, what shall I tell you?"
"Tell me the parts of the number three," the child would answer, "make them known to me, that I may learn them to-day."
"There are three parts of the world—three beginnings and three ends to man as to the oak—three celestial kingdoms, fruits of gold, brilliant flowers and little children who laugh. These three kingdoms, where the fruits of gold, the brilliant flowers and the children who laugh are found, my little Ewrag, are the worlds in which those, who in this world haveperformed pure and celestial acts, will be successively born again and will continue to live with ever increasing happiness. Now, what must we be in order to perform such acts?"
"We must be wise, good and just," the child would reply. "Furthermore death must not be feared, because we are born again and again, from world to world with an ever renewed body. We must love Brittany like a tender mother—and bravely defend her against her enemies."
"Yes, my child," broke in Noblede, drawing her brother's child to herself. "Always remember those sacred words: 'To love and defend Brittany';" and Morvan's wife tenderly embraced Ewrag.
"Mother! mother!" cried up little Rosneven, joyfully clapping his hands and rushing out of the porch followed by his brother Ewrag: "Here is father!"
Caswallan, Noblede and Josseline rose at the gladsome cries of the child and walked out towards two large wagons heavily laden with golden sheaves, and drawn by a yoke of oxen.
Morvan and Vortigern were seated in front of one of the wagons surrounded by a considerable number of men and lads belonging to the household, or to the tribe of the Chief of the Chiefs, carrying in their hands the sickles, the forks and the rakes used by the harvesters. At a little distance behind them came the shepherds with their flocks whose bells were heard clinking from the distance. Morvan, in the vigor of life, robust and thick-set, like most of the inhabitants of the Black Mountains, wore their rustic garb—wide breeches of coarse white material, and a linen shirt that exposed his sunburnt chest and neck. His long hair, auburn like his thick beard, framed his manly face. His forehead washigh; his eyes intrepid and piercing. As to Vortigern, the maturer gravity of manhood, of husband and father, had succeeded the flower of youth. His looks were expressive of sweet delight at the sight of the two boys who had ran out to meet him. He jumped down from the wagon and embraced them affectionately while he looked for his wife and sister, who, accompanied by Caswallan, were not long in joining him.
"Dear wife, the harvest will be plentiful," said Morvan to Noblede, and pointing to the overloaded wagons, he added: "Have you ever seen more beautiful wheat, or more golden sheaves? Look at them and wonder!"
"Morvan," put in Josseline, "you are this year harvesting earlier than customary. We, of the region of Karnak would leave our wheat to ripen on the stalk fully two weeks longer. Not so, Vortigern?"
"No, my sweet Josseline," answered her husband, "I shall follow Morvan's example. We shall return home to-morrow, so as to start taking in the harvest as soon as possible."
"I am going to furnish you with still more matter for astonishment," Morvan proceeded. "Instead of leaving the sheaves in the barn that the grain may ripen, this wheat that you see there, and that was cropped only to-day, will be threshed this very night. Vortigern and myself will not be the only ones to ply the flails on the threshing-floor of the barn. So, then, Noblede, let us have supper early, and then to work!"
"What, Morvan!" exclaimed Josseline, "after this tiring day's work, spent in gathering in the crop, do you and Vortigern mean to spend the night at work, and threshing, at that?"
"It will be a cheerful night, my Josseline," put in Vortigern."While we shall be threshing the wheat, you will sing us some songs, Caswallan will recite to us some old legend, and we shall stave in a barrel of hydromel to cheer the laborers who have come to join us. Work goes hand in hand with pleasure."
"Vortigern," the Christian druid said, smiling, "do you, perchance, think that my arms are so much enfeebled by old age that I could no longer wield a flail? I mean to help you at work."
"And we?" put in Josseline, laughing merrily, "we, the daughters and wives of the field-laborers, did we, perchance, lose the skill of carrying the wheat to the threshing-floor, or of bagging the grain?"
"And we?" Ewrag and his brother Rosneven cried in turn, "could not we also carry a stalk, six stalks, twenty stalks?"
"Oh! you are brave boys, my little ones," exclaimed Vortigern, embracing his children, while Morvan said to his wife:
"Noblede, do not forget to have the guest's chamber in order and supplied with food."
"Do you expect any guests, Morvan?" inquired Josseline, with great curiosity. "They will be welcome; they will assist us at the threshing to-night."
"My beloved Josseline," answered the Chief of the Chiefs, smiling, "the guests whom I expect eat the choicest of wheat, but never take the trouble of either sowing or harvesting. They belong to a class of people who live on the fat of the land."
"The guest's chamber is always ready," replied Noblede; "the floor is strewn with fresh leaves. Alack! No one occupied it since it was last occupied by Amael."
"Worthy grandfather!" exclaimed Vortigern with a sigh.
"He came to us only to languish a few weeks and pass away."
"May his memory be blessed, as was his life," said Josseline. "I knew him only a very short while, but I loved and venerated him like my father."
The family of Morvan, together with the rest of his tribe who cultivated his lands in common with himself, men, women and children, about thirty in all, presently sat down to a long table, placed in a large hall that served at once for kitchen, refectory and a place of assembly during the long nights of the winter. From the walls hung weapons of war and of the hunt, fishing nets, bridles and horse saddles. Although it was midsummer, such was the coolness of that region of woods and mountains, that the heat of the hearth, before which the meats for the supper were broiled, felt decidedly comfortable to the harvesters. Its flamboyant light mingled with that cast by the torches of resinous wood, that were fastened in iron clamps along the four walls. After the industrious group had finished their repast, Morvan was the first to rise.
"And now, my boys, to work! The night is clear, we shall thresh the wheat on the outside floor. Two or three torches planted between the stones on the edge of the well will give us light until the moon rises. We shall be through with our task by one o'clock in the morning, we shall sleep until daybreak, and we shall then return to the fields and finish taking in the crop."
The torches, placed at Morvan's orders around the edge of the well, cast their bright light upon a portion of the yard and buildings that were within the fortified enclosure. Several men, the women and the children, took a hand in unloading the wagons, while those who were to do the threshing,Morvan, Vortigern and the old Caswallan among them, stood waiting for the grain to be brought to them, their flails in their hands, having for the sake of comfort, stripped themselves of all their superfluous clothing and keeping only their breeches and shirts on. The first bundles of grain were placed in the center of the floor, whereupon the rapid rhythm of the flails, vigorously wielded by robust and experienced arms, resounded through the air. Apprehending a speedy war, the Bretons were hastening to take in their crops and place them under cover in order to save them from the ravages of the enemy, as well as to deprive these of food. The grains were to be concealed in underground caves covered with earth. Morvan, whose forehead began to be moistened with perspiration, said, while rapidly handling the flail:
"Caswallan, you promised us a song. Take a little rest and sing. It will inspire us in our work."
The Christian druid sang "Lez-Breiz," an old national song that ever sounded sweet on the ears of the Bretons. It began thus:
"Old Caswallan," said one of the laborers when the druid had finished the long and inspiring strain that warmed the blood of his hearers with martial ardor, "let the accursedFranks come again, and we shall say, like Lez-Breiz: 'With the aid of our two arms, let us make them jump again to-day'—"
A furious barking of the shepherd dogs, that for some little time had been emitting low and intermittent growls, interrupted at this moment the remarks of the laborers, and all turned their eyes towards the gate of the enclosure, whither the dogs had precipitated themselves furiously.
The strangers whose approach the dogs announced were Abbot Witchaire, his two monks and his guide Karouer. Preceded by the guide, who pacified the alarm of the watchful animals, the clerical cavalcade rode into the enclosure, while Karouer informed the abbot:
"This is the house of Morvan. We have arrived at our destination. You may now dismount."
"What are those torches yonder for?" asked the prelate descending from his horse, the reins of which he threw over to one of his monks. "What is that muffled sound I hear?"
"It is the sound of the flails. Doubtlessly Morvan is threshing the grain that he has harvested. Come, I shall lead you to him."
Abbot Witchaire and his guide approached the group of laborers, upon whom the torches cast a clear light. Morvan, intently at work, and the noise of the flails deafening the sound of the steps and voices of the new arrivals, failed to hear them. Not until Karouer had tapped the Chief of the Chiefs upon the shoulder in order to draw the latter's attention to him, did Morvan turn to look. Recognizing Karouer, the Chief of the Chiefs stopped a moment and said:
"Oh! Is that you, Karouer? What tidings do you bring from our man?"
"I bring him to you in person," answered Karouer, pointing to his traveling companion. "He stands before you in flesh and bone."
"Are you the Abbot Witchaire?" asked Morvan, slightly out of breath with the heavy work that he had been performing; and crossing his robust arms over the handle of his flail, he added: "As I expected your visit, I have had supper prepared for you. Come to table."
"I prefer first to speak to you."
"Noblede," said Morvan, wiping the perspiration that inundated his forehead with the back of his hand, "a torch, my dear wife!" And turning to the abbot: "Follow me."
Taking up one of the torches that were stuck at the edge of the well, Noblede preceded her husband and Abbot Witchaire to the chamber that was reserved for guests. Two large beds stood ready, as also a big table furnished with cold meats, milk, bread and fruit. After placing the torch into one of the iron clamps fastened in the wall, Noblede was about to withdraw when Morvan said to her in a significant tone:
"Dear wife, come and kiss me good night when the threshing is done."
A look from Noblede informed her husband that he was understood, and she stepped out of the guest's chamber where Morvan remained alone with Abbot Witchaire. The abbot immediately addressed the Chief of the Chiefs:
"Morvan, I greet you. I am the bearer to you of a message from the King of the Franks, Louis the Pious, son of Charles the Great."
"And what is that message?"
"It is couched in but few words:—The Bretons occupy aprovince of the Empire of the King of the Franks, and refuse to pay him tribute in homage to his sovereignty. Besides, the Breton clergy, generally infected with a leaven of old druidic idolatry, denies the supremacy of the Archbishop of Tours. Such are the consequences of that regrettable heresy, of which Lambert, Count of Nantes, wrote to King Louis the Pious as follows: 'The Breton nation is proud and indomitable; all that there is Christian about them is the name; as to the Christian faith, its cult and works, they would be searched for in vain in Brittany.' Wishing to put an end to a rebellion so outrageous both to the Catholic Church and the royal authority, King Louis the Pious orders the Breton people to pay the tribute that they owe to the sovereignty of the Frankish Empire, and to submit themselves to the apostolic decisions of the Archbishop of Tours. In case of failure to comply, King Louis the Pious will, by means of his invincible arms, ruin the country and compel the obedience of the Breton people."
"Abbot Witchaire," Morvan answered after a few moments' reflection, "Amael, the grandfather of Vortigern, my wife's brother, entered into an agreement with the Emperor Charles to the effect that, provided we held ourselves within our own borders, there never would be any war between us and the Franks. We kept our promise, so did Charles. His son, whom you call 'The Pious,' has not troubled us until now. If to-day he demands tribute from us, he violates the provisions of the compact."
"Louis the Pious is King by divine right, sovereign master of Gaul. Brittany is part of Gaul, consequently Brittany belongs to him and must pay him tribute."
"We will pay tribute to no king. As to what regards theclergy, I have this to say to you: Before their arrival in Brittany the country never was invaded. Since a century ago, all that has changed. It was to be expected. Whoever sees the black robe of a priest, soon sees the glint of a Frank's sword."
"You speak truly. The Catholic priest is everywhere the precursor of royalty."
"We now have but too many of these precursors. Despite their continuous quarrels with the Archbishop of Tours, the good priests are rare, the bad ones numerous. At the time of the last war, several of your churchmen acted as guides to the Franks, while others seduced some of our tribes into treason by making them believe that to resist your kings was to incur the anger of heaven. Despite such acts of treason, we defended our liberty then; we will defend it again both against the machinations of the clergy and the swords of the Franks."
"Morvan, you look like a sensible man. Is it proposed to enslave you? No! To dispossess you of your lands? No! What is it that Louis the Pious demands? Merely that you pay him tribute in homage to his sovereignty. Nothing more!"
"That is too much—and it is iniquitous!"
"Consider the frightful misfortunes to which Brittany will expose herself if she refuses to acknowledge the sovereignty of Louis the Pious. Can you prefer to see your fields laid waste, your crops destroyed, your cattle led away, your own house torn down, your fellows reduced to slavery—can you prefer that to the voluntary payment of a few gold sous contributed by you into the treasury of the King of the Franks?"
"I certainly would prefer to pay even twenty gold sous, rather than be ruined."
"It is not merely your own earthly possessions that are at stake. You have a wife, a family, friends. Would you, out of vain pride, expose so many beings, dear to your heart, to the horrible dangers of war, of a war of extermination, of a war without mercy, all the more when, as you must admit, you can no longer find in the Breton people the indomitable spirit that once was its distinctive feature?"
"No," answered Morvan with a somber and pensive mien, his elbows resting on his knees and his forehead hidden in his hands; "no, the Breton people are no longer what they once were."
"To my mind, the change is one of the triumphs of the Catholic Church. In your eyes it is an evil. But, if evil it be, it is a fact, and you are bound to recognize it. Brittany, once invincible, has been several times invaded by the Franks during the last century. What has happened before will happen again. And yet, notwithstanding the mistrust that you entertain of your own powers of resistance, notwithstanding the certainty of succumbing, could you still wish to engage in the struggle in lieu of paying a tribute that curtails in nothing, either your own liberty or that of your people?"
Shaken by the insidious arguments of the priest, Morvan remained silent for a moment; after a short struggle with himself, he asked: "How high will be the tribute that your King demands?"
Witchaire thrilled with joy at Morvan's question. He concluded the Breton had decided in favor of base submission. At that juncture Noblede entered the apartment to give her husband the good-night kiss. At sight of her the Breton blushed. He allowed his wife to approach him without affectionately advancing to meet her, as was his wont. TheBreton woman almost guessed the cause of the embarrassed manner of Morvan, and of the triumphant looks of the Frankish abbot. Concealing her grief, the woman walked to her husband, who remained seated, and kissed his hand. A tremor shook the Breton chief's frame; his will, shaken for a moment, regained its own command; he leaped up and passionately clasped his wife to his breast. Happy and proud at feeling the throbbing of her own heart answered by her husband's, the Gallic woman cried, casting a look of contempt at the priest:
"Whence comes this stranger? What does he want? Is he a messenger of peace or of war? Race of priests, race of vipers."
"This monk is sent by the King of the Franks," answered the Breton chief; "I do not yet know whether he brings peace or war."
Noblede looked at her husband with increasing astonishment, when the abbot, considering the moment favorable to obtain the desired answer from Morvan, said:
"I am to return immediately. What answer shall I carry to Louis the Pious?"
"You cannot resume your journey without taking some rest," Noblede hastened to observe, while, with her eyes, she interrogated her husband, who seemed to have relapsed into incertitude. "It will be time enough to depart early in the morning. Remain here over night to recover your strength."
"No, no!" exclaimed the abbot with impatience, fearing the influence of the Gallic woman upon her husband. "I return immediately. Shall I take to Louis the Pious words of peace or of war? I must have a categoric answer."
The Breton chief, however, rose from his seat, and walking towards the door of the apartment answered Witchaire:
"I shall use the few remaining hours of the night to think the matter over; to-morrow you will have my answer." Saying this, and despite the insistence of the abbot upon an immediate answer, Morvan left the guest's room, accompanied by Noblede.
A few minutes later, Morvan, his wife, Vortigern and Caswallan, assembled at a secluded spot, under the spreading branches of a tall oak tree not far from the house, to consider the subject of Abbot Witchaire's errand to Brittany.
"What does this messenger of the King of the Franks want?" asked Vortigern of Morvan.
"If we consent to pay tribute to Louis the Pious and to recognize him as our sovereign, we shall escape an implacable war. I know not what answer to make. I hesitate before the prospect of the disasters that will attend a new struggle—the massacres, the fires."
"Hesitate! Yield to threats!"
"Brother," answered Morvan with deep sadness, "the Breton people are no longer what they once were."
"You are right!" put in Caswallan. "The breath of the Catholic Church, so deadly to the freedom of the people, has passed over this unhappy country also. The patriotism of a large number of our tribes has cooled. But, on the other hand, should you consent to submit to a shameful peace, then Brittany will be peopled with slaves before a century shall have rolled away."
"Brother," added Vortigern, "would you yield to threats, instead of reviving the spirit of Brittany in a sacred war against the foreigner? That would be to debase ourselvesforever! To-day we would pay tribute to the king of the Franks, in order to avoid a war; to-morrow we would have to yield to him one-half of our patrimony, in order that he may allow us to retain the rest; after that we would have to submit to slavery with all its degradation and wretchedness, in order to be allowed to preserve our lives. The chain will have been riveted to our limbs, and our children will have to drag it during all the centuries to come!"
"Unhappy Brittany!" exclaimed Noblede. "Have we fallen so low as to begin to measure the length of our chains? Look at these three brave, wise and tried men, wasting their time in discussing the insolence of a Frankish king! There is but one word you can answer with—WAR! Oh, degenerate Gauls! Eight centuries ago, Caesar, the greatest captain of the world, and at the head of a formidable army, also sent messengers to summon Brittany to pay him tribute. The Roman messengers were answered with a beating, and chased with contempt out of the city of Vannes. That same evening, Hena, our ancestress, offered her blood to Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul, and the cry of war resounded from one end of the country to the other! Albinik the sailor, together with his wife Meroë, performed a journey of more than twenty leagues across the most fertile regions of Gaul, but then burnt down by a conflagration that the people themselves had kindled. Caesar saw before him only a waste of smouldering ruins, and on the day of the battle of Vannes our whole family—women and young girls, children and old men—fought or died like heroes! Oh! These ancestors of ours worried their heads little about the 'dangers of battle'! To live free or die—such was their simple faith, and theysealed it with their blood, and winged their flight to those unknown worlds where they continue to live!"
Noblede was addressing Morvan, Vortigern and Caswallan in these terms, when the abbot, who had left his apartment and inquired after Morvan from the people about the house, approached the oak under which the Breton family was in council. Although the moon was shining in all her splendor, the first glimmerings of the dawn, always early in the end of August, already began to crimson the horizon.
"Morvan," said Abbot Witchaire, "day is about to dawn. I can wait no longer. What is your answer to the messenger of Louis the Pious?"
"Priest, my answer will not burden your memory:Return and tell the king that we will pay him tribute—in iron."
"You want war! Very well, you shall have it without mercy or pity!" cried the abbot furiously, and leaping on his horse which the monks held ready for him he added, turning again to the Chief of the Chiefs: "Brittany will be laid waste with fire and sword! Not a house will be left standing! The last day of this people has arrived!"
As the priest uttered these words, his gestures seemed to call down curses and anathemas upon the Breton chief. Angrily putting the spurs to his horse and followed by the two monks, the prelate rode rapidly away.
The abbot had hardly been a quarter of an hour on the road, when he heard the gallop of an approaching horse behind him. Turning, he saw a rider coming towards him at full speed. It was Vortigern. The abbot drew in his reins, yielding to a last ray of hope. "May your coming be propitious.Morvan regrets, I hope, the insensate resolution that he took?"
"Morvan regrets that in your hurry you and your two monks should have departed without a guide. You might easily lose your way in our mountains. I am to accompany you as far as the city of Guenhek. There I shall furnish you with a safe guide for the rest of the journey; he will take you to our frontiers."
"Young man, you are, I am told, the brother of Morvan's wife. I conjure you, in the name of the safety of Brittany, to endeavor to change the insensate and fatal resolution of this man who happens to be the chief of your nation."
"Monk, the fires lighted last night on our mountains, and which, no doubt, you must have seen, were the signals of alarm, given to our tribes to prepare for war. Your King wants war—let his will be done. But, now, answer me a question. You come from the court at Aix-la-Chapelle. Could you tell me what has become of the daughters of the Emperor Charles?"
The abbot cast a look of surprise at Vortigern: "What is it to you what may have become of the Emperor's daughters?"
"It is now about eight years ago that I accompanied my grandfather to Aix-la-Chapelle. I there saw the daughters of Charles. That is the reason for my curiosity concerning them."
"The daughters of Charles have been consigned to nunneries by order of their brother, Louis the Pious,"[D]was thesententious answer of Witchaire. "May they, by dint of repentance, merit the pardon of heaven for their past and abominable libertinage."
"And Thetralde, the youngest of Charles' daughters, did she share the fate of her sisters?"
"Thetralde died long ago."
"She died!" exclaimed Vortigern, unable to conceal his emotion. "Poor child! So beautiful—and to die so young!"
"She, at least, never gave Charles cause to blush."
"And what was the cause of the death of that child? Could you tell me?"
"It is not known. Up to her fifteenth year she enjoyed a nourishing health. Suddenly she began to languish, grew ill, and barely in her sixteenth year, her light went out, in the arms of her father, who never ceased weeping for her. But this is quite enough about the daughters of Charles the Great. Once more, will you or will you not, endeavor to cause Morvan to abandon a resolution that can have for its only effect the ruin of this country? You are silent—do you refuse?"
Absorbed in the thoughts that the fate of the ill-starred Thetralde had started in his mind, Vortigern remained mute and melancholy. His thoughts flew to the young girl who died so young, and the touching remembrance of whom had long remained alive with him. Impatient at the prolonged silence of the Breton, the abbot put his hand on Vortigern's shoulder, and repeated his question:
"I ask you, yes or no, will you endeavor to cause Morvan to renounce his insensate resolution?"
"Your King wants war; he shall have war."
And Vortigern, relapsing into his own meditations, rode silently beside Witchaire until the two reached the city of Guenhek. There Vortigern entrusted the guidance of the abbot to an experienced guide, and while the messenger of Louis the Pious proceeded towards the frontier of Brittany, the brother of Noblede hastened back and rejoined his wife Josseline at the house of Morvan.