"Glory to the judgment of the Lord!" cried the leudes in chorus, struck with admiration. "Glory to Christ!"
"Did I not tell you so?" remarked the count complacently. "The two thieves were both in the plot to steal my silver dish. The ears of both shall be cropped to-morrow, and they shall be both put on the rack until they reveal the place where they hid the dish—"
"Hold your tongue, count!" cried Justin roaring with pain and rage. "The only thieves and plunderers around are yourself and your men. Had I stolen the dish, I would only have robbed a thief—but I did not take it—as truly as I here renounce the infamous religion that wrongly finds me guilty!"
"Wretch! Blasphemer of our holy religion! I order in the name of God—"
"Hold your tongue, too, priest—you shall no longer dupe me.Your alleged religion is but a lie and a fraud; it bears false witness against the innocent. Oh, how I suffer—how I suffer!"
"Your sufferings are but foretastes of the tortures that you will undergo in hell, where you will burn everlastingly, you sacrilegious thief! Oh, seigneur count, if this impious and audacious wretch continues to blaspheme, we shall not be able to conjure away the misfortunes that he will draw upon your house."
Terrified at the sacrilegious utterances of the Gallic slave; pale, trembling and shuddering at the thought that, attracted by the dreadful blasphemies of the condemned man, the devil might suddenly appear in person, take possession of the malefactor and carry him straight to hell, Neroweg thundered to the blacksmith at the stove:
"Are the tongs still in the brasier and red-hot?"
"Yes, seigneur, to command."
"The accursed fellow shall no longer blaspheme and place my burg in danger of being visited by the devil. Let the sacrilegious criminal be seized, and his tongue be burned out with the red-hot tongs. Tell me, clerk, do you believe the Lord will be pacified if I inflict that punishment upon the slave?"
"I believe, seigneur count, that there is no punishment too terrible for this accursed man who has renounced his religion, and called its holy priests impostors."
"Clerk, shall I have him quartered in order to be all the surer that the devils will be conjured away from my burg?"
"The first punishment that you mentioned will suffice—the accursed man will have been punished in the member that sinned—his criminal and blasphemous tongue; it will thereafter utter no more blasphemies."
The tongue of the Gallic slave was burned and pulled out with red-hot tongs. The count went back to the banquet hall with his leudes, and there proceeded to drink himself drunk before retiring to his wife in the women's apartment.
THE SPECTRE OF WISIGARDE.
While her lord and master, Neroweg, together with his leudes, was drinking himself to the point of intoxication in the banquet hall, Godegisele, the count's fifth wife, sat in her chamber amidst her female slaves and diligently plied her distaff by the light of a copper lamp. Although still young, Godegisele was of delicate health and frail. Her complexion was waxen; her long pale-blonde hair was braided in two strands and fell from under herobbon—the name given by the Franks to a sort of skull-cap woven of gold and silver thread—over her shoulders, that were bare like her arms. The advanced stage of pregnancy in which she was imparted to her sweet sad features an expression of suffering. Godegisele wore the costume of the Frankish women of high condition—a long decolleté robe with open and flowing sleeves, and held by a scarf around her now unshapely waist. Her arms were ornamented with gold bracelets, studded with precious stones, while a sea-eel necklace that derived its name from the fish, which, when captured, twists itself around the arm in such a manner that its head touches the tip of its tail—wound its golden, ruby-dotted coil around her neck. One thing there was about Godegisele's robe that rendered it incongruous. Its wearer was frail, slender and short, but the rich robe seemed to have been made for a large and robust woman. About a score of young wretchedly clad female slaves sat around Godegisele upon the leaves that the floor was strewn with, while the count's wife occupied an armed stool over which a silver embroidered carpet was thrown. Several of the girl slaves were handsome. Some worked at theirdistaffs like their mistress, others were engaged at their needles; occasionally they exchanged a few words in a low voice and in the Gallic tongue, which their mistress, being herself of Frankish extraction, understood poorly. One of them, named Morise, a young and handsome girl with raven-black hair who was sold to a noble Frank when ten years of age, spoke the language of the conquerors fluently, on account of which Godegisele conversed with her in preference. At this moment the count's wife dropped her distaff which she held across her knees and said to the slave in a tremulous voice:
"And so, Morise, you saw her assassinated?"
"Yes, madam, I witnessed the sad scene. On that day she wore that same green robe with silver flowers that you have on, she also had on the handsome necklace and bracelets that I see on your arms and neck."
Godegisele shuddered and could not withhold a fearful glance from her bracelets and robe, the latter of which was twice too large for her.
"And—for what reason did he kill her, Morise? What was it that angered him?"
"He had drunk more than usual on that evening—he entered here, where we now are, unsteady of foot. It was winter—there was a fire in the hearth. His wife Wisigarde sat at a corner of the chimney. The seigneur count then had among us a washerwoman, named Martine, for his favorite. He said to Martine: 'Come, come, confounded wench—let's to bed—and you, Wisigarde,' he added addressing his wife, 'take a lamp and light us.' "
"That, certainly, was a great shame upon Wisigarde."
"All the more, madam, seeing she was of a proud temper and impetuous nature. She often whipped and bit us, and she quarrelled a good deal with the seigneur count."
"What, Morise! Did she dare quarrel with him?"
"Oh, she feared nothing—nothing! When she was in a rage, she roared and ground her teeth like a lioness."
"What a terrible woman!"
"Well, madam, that evening, instead of yielding to the whim of the seigneur count, and taking the lamp to light him to his bed, Wisigarde began scolding them both—the count and Martine."
"She certainly invited death! My blood freezes in my veins at the thought of it."
"Thereupon, madam, I saw, as clearly as I see you now, the count's eyes grow bloodshot and froth rise to his lips. He threw himself upon his wife, struck her in the face with his fist, and then, giving her a kick in the stomach, threw her to the ground. She was in as towering a rage as himself, and did not cease hurling invectives at him; she even tried to bite him, when, after he had thrown her upon the ground, he planted both his knees upon her chest. Finally, he held her throat so tight in both his large hands that her face became violet and she was strangled. After she lay dead, he went to bed with Martine."
"Morise, I fear me the same fate for myself, some day. That terrible count will yet kill me."
And shuddering over her whole frame, Godegisele dropped her head upon her bosom, and her distaff fell down at her feet.
"Oh, madam, you should not be so alarmed. As long, at any rate, as you will be pregnant, you will have nothing to fear—the seigneur count will not want to kill at one blow both his wife and child."
"But after I shall have given birth to that child—I shall then be killed like Wisigarde!"
"That will depend, madam, upon the humor of the seigneur count. He may prefer to cast you off and return you to your parents, as he did the other wives whom he did not kill."
"Oh, Morise! Would to heaven that monseigneur the count would return me to my family! What a misfortune to me itwas that Neroweg should have seen me when he visited Mayence! What a misfortune that the wisp of straw which he threw at my breast when he took me to wife was not a sharp-pointed dagger! I would have at least died amidst my own family."
"What wisp of straw was that, madam?"
"Do you not know that it is the custom with us, that when a Frank weds a free girl, he takes her right hand, and with his left throws a wisp of straw into her bosom?"
"No, madam, I did not know that."
"It is the custom in Germany. Alas, Morise, I repeat it, would that that wisp of straw had been a dagger! I would have died without undergoing my present agony. And now that I know about the murder of Wisigarde, my life will be but one long and cruel agony."
"But, madam, you should have refused to wed the count, seeing he inspired you with such horror."
"I dared not, Morise. Oh, he will surely kill me! Woe is me! He will kill me!"
"Why think you, madam, that he will commit such a crime again? You never as much as whisper a word, whatever he may do or say. He abuses us, the female slaves, seeing he is master, and you never complain; you never set foot outside of the women's apartments, except for a short walk along the fosse of the burg. Why, madam, I ask you, do you apprehend that your husband will kill you?"
"When he is intoxicated he does not reason."
"That is true—there is always that danger."
"But that danger is continuous; he is every day intoxicated. Oh, why did I come to this distant region of Gaul, where I feel an utter stranger!"
And after a long interval of sad revery:
"Morise—my good Morise!"
"Madam, I am at your orders."
"You, all of you slaves, do not hate me, do you?"
"No, madam; you are not wicked like Wisigarde—you never whip and bite us."
"Morise, listen to me."
"Madam, I listen. But why are you silent? And your cheeks, otherwise so pale, growing incarnate—"
"It is because I dare not tell you. But listen, you are—you are—one of monseigneur the count's favorites."
"I have no choice—if not willingly, I must submit by force. Despite my repugnance for him, I prefer to share his bed whenever he orders me, than to be striped by his whip, or be sent out to turn the wheel of the mill; and by quietly submitting, I am employed in household work; that is easier than to be employed at the hard labor of the fields—it is a choice of evils—this is the lesser, and the food is not as poor."
"I know—I know. I do not blame you, Morise. But answer me without lying: when you are with the count, you do not, do you, seek to irritate him against me? Alas, we know of slaves who have in that way caused the death of their mistresses, and who thereupon became their seigneur's wife."
"I have such an aversion for him, madam, that I swear I never open my mouth but to say 'yes' or 'no' in answer to any question that he may put to me. Moreover, since he is always intoxicated at night when he calls me in, he hardly speaks. You see I have neither the chance nor the wish of speaking to him against you."
"Is that really true, Morise? Really?"
"Yes, yes, madam."
"I would like to make you some little present, but monseigneur never lets me have any money. He keeps all his money under lock and key in his coffers, and for onlymorgen-gab, the morning present that it is customary in our country for the husband to make to his wife, the count has given me the robes and jewels of his fourth wife, Wisigarde. Every day he demandsof me that I show them to him, and he counts them. I have nothing to offer you, Morise, nothing but my friendship, if you promise me not to irritate monseigneur against me."
"My heart would have to be very wicked, if I were to anger monseigneur against you."
"Ah, Morise! How I would like to be in your place!"
"You, a count's wife—you would prefer to be a slave! Impossible!"
"He will not kill you."
"Bah! He would as soon kill me as any one else, if the fancy took him—but you, madam, have in the meantime, beautiful dresses, rich jewels, slaves to serve you—and besides, you are free."
"I do not step out of the burg."
"Because you do not wish to. Wisigarde rode on horseback and hunted. You should have seen her on her black palfrey, with her purple robe, and her falcon on her finger! At any rate, though she be dead, she never wasted time grieving—while you, madam, do nothing else than work at your distaff, or gaze at the sky from your window, or weep—what a life! What a sad existence!"
"Alas, it is because I am always thinking of my own country, of my parents, so far away—so far away from this country of Gaul, where I am an utter stranger."
"Wisigarde did not trouble herself about such matters—she drank deeply, and ate almost as much as the count."
"He always told me and my father that she died of an accident. And so you assure me, Morise, that it is there—on that spot—that he killed her?"
"Yes, madam, he threw her down with a kick—she fell near that beam—and then—"
"What ails you, Morise—why do you tremble?"
"Madam, madam, do you not hear?"
"What? Everything is quiet."
"There is someone walking in seigneur the count's room—I hear the seats pushed about."
"Oh, it is he—it is my husband!"
"Yes, madam, it is his step."
"Oh, I am afraid—remain near me!"
It was Neroweg. His latest libations had thrown him into a state of almost complete intoxication. He stepped into his wife's apartment with a drunken man's unsteady foot. At the sight of their master, all the slaves rose timidly. As to Godegisele, she was in such a tremor that she was hardly able to rise from her stool. The count stopped for a moment at the threshold, leaned one hand against the door-case, and, with his body swaying backward and forward, let his eyes travel over the scared slaves with a besotted and semi-libidinous look. After repeated hiccoughs he called out to his wife's confidant:
"Morise—come—come, confounded wench!"
And looking at Godegisele he added:
"You look pale—you seem troubled—my dove. Why so pale?"
The poor creature's mind doubtlessly ran upon the circumstances of the fateful night when her husband strangled his fourth wife, shortly after having used these very words towards his then favorite slave: 'Come, come, confounded wench!' Neroweg's words threw his wife into greater perturbation and frightened her to a degree that all she was able to say was:
"Monseigneur! Monseigneur! Mercy!"
"What! What ails you? Answer!" shouted the count brutally. "Do you, perchance, object that I told Morise to come? Dare you cross me?"
"No! Oh, no! Is not monseigneur master in this place? Are not his female slaves at his orders? And am not I, Godegisele, myself, his humble servant?"
And the unhappy woman, wholly losing her head in her terror, as she imagined herself on the point of being strangledlike Wisigarde, who owed her death to her refusal to light her husband and his night's companion to the conjugal bed, hastened to stammer:
"On the contrary—if monseigneur wishes, I shall light him to his bed with this lamp."
"Oh, madam!" Morise whispered to her mistress. "What an unfortunate inspiration is that! It is to recall to the count's memory the murder of his other wife."
Indeed, at the last words of Godegisele a shudder ran through Neroweg; he brusquely stepped towards her; seized her threateningly by the arm and bellowed in a maudlin voice:
"Why do you propose to light me to bed with a lamp?"
"Mercy, monseigneur! Do not kill me!"—and she dropped upon her knees. "Oh, do not kill me, your servant, as you killed Wisigarde."
The count suddenly grew as pale as his wife, and, stricken with a terror that stimulated his inebriety, he cried:
"She knows that I strangled Wisigarde! She is uttering the same words that Wisigarde uttered when I killed her! This is the work of some evil spirit! Wisigarde herself or her spectre will perhaps appear this night before my bed and torment me! It is a warning from heaven—or from hell. The devil must be conjured away!"
And turning to Morise:
"Run quick for the clerk! He shall pray at my side during the night—he shall not leave me. The spectre of Wisigarde will not dare to approach me with a priest at my side."
The count's terror increased amain while Morise ran out for the clerk, and Godegisele, more dead than alive with fear, clung on her knees to the beam as she felt her strength wholly leaving her. The count noticed not her distress, but also dropping on his knees smote his chest and cried:
"Lord, God! Have mercy upon a miserable sinner! I paid for my brother's death, I paid for the death of my wife Wisigarde,I shall pay still more to keep Wisigarde from haunting me! I shall to-morrow start the building of the chapel in the fastness of Allange; I shall have the villa of Bishop Cautin rebuilt! Lord! Good Lord God! Have mercy upon a miserable sinner! Deliver me from the devil and from the spectre of Wisigarde!"
And the fervent and devout believer, besotted with terror and intoxication, furiously smote his chest as, filled with frightful anxiety, he awaited the arrival of the clerk.
Such was the humanity, generousness, enlightenment of the race of the conquerors of old Gaul! What a tender attachment to their wives! What a respect for the sweet bonds of the family and for the sanctity of the domestic hearth! Oh, our mothers! Virile matrons, so venerated by our ancestors! Proud Gallic women of yore, who sat beside your husbands at the solemn councils of the state, where peace and war were decided upon! Wives beloved, valiant and strong in arms! Holy virgins! Women emperors! O, Margarid, Hena, Meroë, Loyse, Genevieve, Ellen, Sampso, Victoria the Great—rejoice! Rejoice that you have quitted this world for the mysterious worlds where we shall live forever! Rejoice at the strongness of your hearts! What indignation, what shame, what a grief to your souls at the sight of your sisters—although of a different race from your own and hostile—at the sight of women—the wives of kings, seigneurs and warriors—treated, the wicked and the good alike, with such contempt and ferocity by their barbarous husbands!
Such are those Franks whom the bishops invited to the quarry of Gaul! Such are the conquerors whom the priests of Christ fondle, caress, flatter and bless!
THE LION OF POITIERS.
Seigneur count! Seigneur count Neroweg! Wake up! Instead of having spent the night, as you expected, in the arms of one of your female slaves, out of fear for the devil you spent it on your knees, close to your clerk, and repeating in a maudlin and besotted voice the prayers that the holy man mumbled, half asleep, into your ears. After having eaten and drunk his fill he would have by far preferred his own bed to your company. Finally reassured by the first peep of day—a time that bars out the demons—you fell asleep on your couch, furnished with bear-skins, the trophies of the chase. Seigneur count Neroweg, awake! One of the five sons of your good King Clotaire, to-day the sole master of Gaul—all the other sons and grandsons of the pious Clovis, who rests in consecrated ground in the basilica of the venerated apostles at Paris, having died—one of the five sons of that King Clotaire, Chram by name, a bastard son—but what does that matter!—and governor of Auvergne in his father's name, Chram is approaching! He comes, a signal favor, with his three favorites, a goodly number of leudes in the train of hisantrustions, as the royal favorites proudly style themselves. Awake, Neroweg! Awake, seigneur count! There is Chram, coming to pay you a visit. Brilliant and numerous is the cavalcade of his suite. The three dear friends of Chram, still dearer friends of pillage, of murder and of rape, accompany the royal personage, do you not hear? Their names are Imnachair, Spatachair, and the "Lion of Poitiers," the renegade Gaul, who, like so many others of his stripe, rallied to the conquering Franks.The "Lion of Poitiers" earned his name by reason of his carnivorous taste for rapine and flesh dripping blood.
Seigneur count! Seigneur count Neroweg! Will you not wake up? Wake up also your wife Godegisele, who spent the night dreaming of strangled wives. Be up and doing. Let Godegisele array herself in the most resplendent jewels of your fourth wife Wisigarde! Hurry, hurry, seigneur count! Let Godegisele don her most attractive raiment! She may be to the taste of Chram or of his favorites. He is a gracious king, an accommodating king. There is none more so. Is a woman, whether free or slave, pleasing to the eye of any friend of his, he forthwith equips his favorite with aroyal diploma, by virtue of which he takes the woman that he covets.
Quick, quick, seigneur count! Order your leudes to take horse and your foot soldiers to put on their gala armors, and yourself, seigneur count, head your band, cased in your parade armor and carrying on your side the magnificent gold-hilted Spanish sword, which you stole on the occasion of the plundering of the land of the Visigoths, the "damned Arians" and "accursed heretics," upon whom the Catholic bishops let you loose with the fagot in one hand, the sword in the other, exactly as you let loose your pack of hounds upon the wild beasts of the forest! Be quick, be quick, leap upon your roan horse harnessed in its saddle and bridle of red leather, with bit and stirrups of silver! Quick! Ride out at a gallop to meet your glorious Prince Chram; ride out at the head of your horsemen and footmen! Already your royal guest and his suite, whose approach one of their forerunners has announced, are only at a little distance from your burg. Seigneur count, hasten to greet him and lead him into your seigniorial residence! You hardly expected to hear such auspicious tidings; moreover your good friend and protector, Bishop Cautin accompanies Prince Chram.
"A curse upon the arrival of this Chram," said Neroweg. "However short the stay of him and his men at my burg, theywill drink up my wine, eat up all my provisions, and who knows but also pilfer some of my gold and silver vases. Neither I nor my companions have any love for these court leudes, who always have the air of looking down upon us because they quarter in palaces and cities."
Thus spoke count Neroweg as, followed by his warriors, he rode out to meet Prince Chram, whom he found, together with his suite, within two bows' shot of the fosse that girded the burg.
What a beautiful, noble, glorious, luminous sight is that of a longhaired prince, especially when his hair consists of a long tangled mop, that scissors have never touched, such being one of the distinctive attributes of the royal Frankish family. Unfortunately, although still young, Prince Chram, being worn by drunkenness and all manner of enervating excesses, was almost wholly bald. Only from his neck and temples did a few long and straggling locks of light hair tumble down upon his chest and arched back. His long dalmatica of purple fabric, slit on the side at the height of his knees, half hid the shoulders and crupper of his black horse. Bandelets of gilt leather criss-crossed his tight-fitting hose from his ankles up to his knees. His spurred shoes rested upon gilt stirrups; his long gold-hilted sword was sheathed in white cloth and hung from a superbly ornamented belt. In lieu of a whip, he carried a cane of precious wood with a head of chiseled gold, upon which, when the worn-out debauchee walked, he leaned heavily. Prince Chram's face was villainous. On his right Bishop Cautin rode as proudly as a man of war. From time to time the prelate cast an uneasy glance at Chram, because, though he sufficiently detested Chram, he was well aware that Chram detested him still more. At the Prince's right rode the "Lion of Poitiers," the hardened criminal who, together with Imnachair and Spatachair, both of whom rode close behind him in the second rank, constituted a trinity of perdition ample enough to damn Chram, had not Chram been damned in his very mother's womb, as thepriests express it. Insolence and profligacy, haughty disdain and cruelty were so profoundly graven on the features of the "Lion of Poitiers," the renegade Gaul, that even a hundred years after his death it should not have been difficult still to trace upon the bones of his face the words "profligacy, insolence and cruelty."
After the Frankish fashion these three seigneurs wore rich short-sleeved tunics over their jackets, tight-fitting hose, and gaiters of cured leather with the fleece on the outside. Behind Chram and his three friends rode his seneschal, the count of his stables, the mayor of his palace, his butler, and other officers of the first rank, because the Prince kept a royal establishment. A little distance behind these distinguished personages came his bodyguard which consisted of leudes and other warriors armed cap-a-pie. Their tufted casques, their polished and brilliant cuirasses and greaves glittered in the sun. Their spirited horses pranced under their rich caparisons. The streamers at the head of their lances fluttered on the breeze, while their painted and gilded bucklers dangled from the pommels of their saddles. As showy and imposing as was the appearance of the princely suite, so miserably shabby and grotesque was the aspect presented by the leudes of the count. A considerable number of his suite wore incomplete and rough, dented armor; others, the possessors of cuirasses, had their heads covered with woolen caps; the swords, no less ill-kept than the cuirasses, were mostly orphaned of their sheaths, and in several instances the implement of war was held to its rider's belt by cords, while the shaft of more than one lance was crooked, and was still as rough as when first taken from the brush. Most of the horses of the count's leudes matched their riders in their appearance. It was not yet the hour for the slaves to proceed to the fields, and a goodly number of Neroweg's companions, in default of battle steeds, sat astride of draft and plow horses bridled with ropes. By the faith of a Vagre, it was a joyful sight to watch the wildand envious looks that the leudes of the count cast at the suite of Chram, and the insolent and mocking looks that the princely retinue threw upon the count's ramshackle troop. Behind the Prince's men, came the pages, the servants and the slaves who were on foot and led the ox-teams and dray-horses that drew heavy laden carts which the inhabitants of the regions crossed by the Prince and his suite were honored with the privilege of filling up gratuitously.
Count Neroweg advanced alone on horseback towards his royal guest, who, reining in his mount, said to Neroweg:
"Count, on my way from Clermont to Poitiers, I thought I would stop at your burg."
"Your glory is welcome on my domain. It is partly made up of salic lands; these I hold of my father, who held them both of his sword and the bounty of your grandfather, Clovis. It is your right to lodge, when journeying, at the houses of the counts and beneficiaries of the King, and to them it is a pleasure to extend to you hospitality."
"Count," insolently put in the Lion of Poitiers, "is your wife young and handsome? Is she worth the trouble of courting?"
"My favorite," observed Chram, making a sign to the renegade Gaul that he moderate his language, "who asks to know whether your wife is young and handsome, my favorite, the Lion of Poitiers, loves to joke, by nature."
"I shall then answer the Lion of Poitiers that neither he nor you will be able to decide whether my wife is young and handsome or old and ugly; she is with child and unwell, and will not leave her apartments."
"If your wife is with child," replied the Lion of Poitiers, "who may the father be?"
"Count, do not mind his raillery. I told you, my friend is a joker by nature."
"Chram, I shall not take offence at the jokes of your favorite. Let us proceed to the burg."
"Lead the way, count, we shall follow."
The joint cavalcades started for the burg, and the conversation proceeded.
"Count, admit to our royal master Chram that, in concealing your wife, you keep your treasure under lock and key for fear of its being stolen from you."
"My favorite, Spatachair, who holds that language to you, Neroweg, is also of a humorous disposition."
"Prince, meseems you select very gay, and perhaps too bold a set of friends."
"Neroweg, you hide your wife from us—it is your right. We shall hunt her up in her nest—that is our right. There is no lock or key safe against a good thief. The hunt is up."
"Chram, this is another of your humorous friends, I suppose?"
"Yes, count, the most humorous of all—the boldest—his name is Imnachair."
"And my name is Neroweg; I shall ask seigneur Imnachair what will the thief do when he has found the nest and the dove?"
"Neroweg, your wife will tell you all about it, after we shall have discovered the belle—we shall put our hands on that treasure as surely as I am the Lion of Poitiers."
"And I," cried Neroweg, "as surely as I am the King's count in this country of Auvergne, shall kill like a dog or a prowling fox whomever would attempt the role of a lion in my house!"
"Oh, oh, count, you hold bold language! Is it the brilliant army which you lead at your heels that makes you so audacious?" queried the Prince's favorite, nodding towards Neroweg's ramshackle leudes. "If that band is up to its looks, we are lost!"
Two or three of the count's leudes who had been drawingnearer, and heard the insolent jokes of Chram's favorite grumbled aloud in angry accents:
"We do not like to see Neroweg bantered!"
"A count's leudes are matches for royal leudes!"
"The polish of the steel does not make its temper."
One of Chram's men turned towards his companions, and laughing, pointed at the count's people with the tip of his lance while sarcastically alluding to their rustic appearance:
"Are these plow-slaves disguised as warriors, or warriors disguised as plow-slaves?"
The royal cortege answered the sally with a loud outburst of laughter. The two sides were beginning to cast defiant looks at each other when Bishop Cautin cried:
"My dear sons in Christ, I, your bishop and spiritual father, recommend to you coolness and good will. A truce with unseasonable jokes!"
"Count," said Chram to Neroweg flippantly, "mistrust this profligate and hypocritical bishop. Do not bestow upon him alone the privilege of singing your wife's praises—holy man though he be, he would as leave sing the praises of Venus, the goddess of the pagans!"
"Chram, I am the servant of the son of our glorious King Clotaire; but as bishop I am entitled to your respect."
"You are right; nowadays you bishops have become almost as powerful, and above all as rich as ourselves, the Kings."
"Chram, you mention the power and the wealth of the bishops of Gaul. You seem to forget that our power is of the Lord, and our riches are the goods of the poor!"
"By the slack skin of all the purses that you have rifled, you fat weasel who suck the yellow of the eggs and leave only the shell to the sots, for once you have told the truth. Aye, your riches are the goods of the poor, but you have bagged these goods for yourself."
"Glorious Prince, I have accompanied you to the burg ofmy son in Christ, Count Neroweg, in order to fulfill the act of high justice that you know of, but not in order to allow our holy Catholic and apostolic religion to be impudently made sport of in my person!"
"And I maintain that your power and riches increase by the day. I have two daughters; who knows but they will yet see the royal power shrink in even measure as the grasping usurpations of the bishops, with whom we shared our conquest, gain ground—a parcel of bishops whom we enriched, to whom we have been the men at arms, and who are ungrateful towards their benefactors!"
"Men at arms to us, men of peace? You err, O, Prince! Our only arms are sermons and exhortations."
"And when the people laugh at your sermons, as the Visigoths did, the Arians of Provence and Languedoc, then you send us to extirpate their heresy with fire and sword! Those are your real arms!"
"Glory to God! In those wars against the heretics, the Frankish Kings took an immense booty, they caused the orthodox faith to triumph, and snatched the souls of men from the everlasting flames by leading them back to the bosom of the holy Church."
He who might have assisted at the recent supper at the episcopal villa, where the bishop had Neroweg for his guest, would not have recognized Cautin. The holy man, being then intete-a-tetewith the count, a stupid, brutal and blind believer, cared not to clothe himself in the dignity of language. But now, in the presence of Chram, a brazen jester whom he detested, he felt the need to impose, both with language and bearing, respect and fear, if not upon the Prince himself and his favorites, the latter of whom were as impudent as himself, then at least upon their suite, who were infinitely less intelligent and proportionally devout. There was another grave apprehension that weighed upon Cautin's mind. He was in great fear thatthe audacious example of Chram and his friends might shake the naïve and fruitful credulity of Neroweg, from which Cautin drew much profit by the cultivation and exploitation of the devil. From the corner of his eye the bishop saw the count give a sly ear to the insolent jests of Chram, which seemed at once to please and frighten him. The Prince doubtlessly was wondering whether Neroweg was blockish enough to believe in the miraculous powers of the bishop, and to pay as dearly as he was reputed to do for the absolutions of the prelate. Cautin, being a man of extraordinary ability, saw his opportunity to strike a master blow. Being in the habit of closely watching the weather and of observing the premonitions of the storms that are so sudden and of frequent occurrence in mountainous countries, he, as well as so many other priests, utilized his weather-wisdom to frighten the simple-minded. The prelate had for some little time noticed a black cloud, which, barely visible at first over the crest of a peak in the distant horizon, was bound soon to spread over the sky and darken the sun, which, at the moment, was shining brilliantly. Accordingly, at the first fresh insolent jest on the part of Chram at the impositions practiced by the clergy, the prelate answered, measuring the length of his words with the progress made by the spreading storm-cloud:
"It is not for an unworthy servant of God, for a humble earth worm like me, to defend the Church of the Eternal; the Lord has His own power and miracles with which to convince the incredulous, His celestial punishments with which to chastise the impious. Woe, I say, unto the man who dares now, in the face of that sun that shines at this moment with such vivid luster over our heads," the bishop proceeded with ever louder voice; "woe, I say, and malediction unto him who, in the face of the Almighty, Who sees, hears, judges and punishes us; malediction upon him who dares insult His divinity in the sacred person of His bishops! Is there any present, Prince or seigneur, who dares outrage divine majesty?"
"There is here the Lion of Poitiers, who makes you this answer: Cautin, bishop of Clermont, I shall break my switch over your back if you do not quit speaking with such insolence."
By the faith of a Vagre! The Lion of Poitiers, the renegade Gaul, had some occasional good quality. But his bold words caused most of those who heard them to shudder; the royal suite as well as the leudes of the count looked scandalized. To these faithful it seemed a monstrous thing to break a switch over the back of a bishop, even if, as in the instance of Cautin, he was guilty of burying a human being alive in the sepulchre of a corpse.[A]A profound stupor succeeded upon the threat made by the Lion of Poitiers. Even Chram himself looked shocked at the audacity of his favorite. Cautin took in the scene at a glance. Simulating a saintly horror and turning full towards the Lion of Poitiers, who defiantly swung his switch, the prelate cried, raising his hands heavenward:
"Unhappy, impious man, have pity upon yourself! The Lord has heard your blasphemy. Behold how the skies darken—the sun hides its face—behold the precursors of celestial wrath! Down on your knees, my dear sons! Down on your knees! Your father in God bids you! Pray the Eternal to appease His wrath, kindled by the frightful blasphemy!"
[A] Bishop Gregory of Tours. Histoire des Franks, IV. 12.
And Cautin precipitately descended from his horse. But he did not kneel. Standing erect with his hands outstretched to heaven, in the posture of a priest officiating at the altar, he seemed to be communing with some invisible being as if conjuring away the celestial wrath.
At the bishop's voice, Chram's servants and slaves, all of whom were terrified by the seemingly sudden storm, threw themselves upon their knees; most of the Prince's cortege likewise leaped down from their horses and knelt, in no less consternation than the slaves and servants at the sight of the sun's face suddenly darkened when the Lion of Poitiers threatened thebishop with his switch. Neroweg, who was one of the first on his knees, unctuously smote his chest; Chram, however, together with his favorites and a few others of his familiars, kept their saddles, hesitating out of pride to follow the bishop's orders. With an imperious gesture and threatening accent the latter cried:
"Down on your knees, O King! The King is no more than the slave in the eye of the Almighty. Both King and slave must bow down to earth in order to appease the wrath of the Eternal. Down on your knees, O King! Down on your knees, both you and your favorites!"
"Dare you issue orders to me?" cried Chram pale with rage at the sight of the abject submission of his men to the bishop's orders. "Who is master here, you or I, insolent priest?"
A thunder clap that reverberated in the hollows of the mountain closed the mouth of Chram, and served the knavery of Cautin to perfection. Louder and more imperiously than before the prelate repeated:
"Down on your knees! Hear you not the thunder of heaven, the rumbling voice of the Almighty? Will you draw down a shower of fire upon the heads of us all? O, Lord, have pity upon us! Remove the cataracts of burning lava, that, in Your wrath at the impious, You are about to shower down upon them, and, perhaps, upon us also, miserable sinners that we all are! Even the purest of heart can not claim to be irreproachable before Your majesty, O, Lord!"
Several fresh claps of thunder, preceded by blinding flashes of lightning, carried the fright of Chram's suite to the highest pitch. The Prince himself did not remain wholly unaffected, despite his innate incredulity, audacity and superb insolence. His pride nevertheless still revolted at the idea of yielding to the bishop's orders, and murmurs, at first subdued, but speedily breaking out in open threats, rose from all parts of his suite, cortege and retinue.
"Down on your knees, our Prince—on your knees!"
"Insignificant as we are, we do not wish to burn in the fire of heaven for the sake of your and your favorite's impiousness!"
"Down on your knees, our Prince! Down on your knees! Obey the orders of the holy bishop—it is the Lord who speaks to us through his mouth!"
"Down on your knees, King! Down on your knees!"
Chram was forced to yield. He feared to irritate his followers beyond the point of safety; above all, he feared setting a public example of rebellion against the bishops, who were such useful props to the conquerors. Grumbling and blaspheming between his teeth, Chram finally and slowly alighted from his horse and motioned his two favorites Imnachair and Spatachair, both of whom took the hint, to do as he did, and drop down upon their knees.
Left alone on horseback, and looking down upon the prostrate crowd, the Lion of Poitiers braved the increasingly loud clatter of the thunder peals with intrepid front and a sardonic smile upon his lips.
"Down on your knees!" cried several voices in towering anger. "Down on your knees, Lion of Poitiers!"
"Our King Chram has knelt down, and the impious man, the cause of all the trouble through his sacrilegious threats, he alone refuses obedience!"
"The blasphemer will draw a deluge of fire upon our heads!"
"My sons, my dear sons!" cried Cautin, who was the only one on foot, as the Lion of Poitiers was the only one on horseback. "Let us prepare for death! A single grain of darnel will suffice to rot a muid of wheat—a single hardened sinner will, perhaps, cause the death of us all, however innocent we be. Let us resign ourselves to our fate, my dear sons—may the will of God be done—He will, perhaps, open to us the doors of paradise!"
The terrified crowd began to utter increasingly angry criesat the Lion of Poitiers. Neroweg, in whose bosom still rankled the insulting jests of the insolent royal favorite, half rose, drew his sword and cried:
"Death to the impious wretch! His blood will appease the wrath of the Eternal!"
"Yes! Yes! Death!" came from a crowd of furious voices, so loud that the rattle of the thunder failed to drown the human explosion.
Overhead the sky looked like one sheet of flame; the flashes of lightning succeeded one another rapidly, vivid, blinding. The bravest trembled; Prince Chram himself began to regret his jests and sneers at the bishop. Seeing that the Lion of Poitiers remained unperturbed, and that he answered Neroweg's threats and the furious outcries of the crowd with a look of disdain, the Prince said to his favorite:
"Come down from your horse and kneel beside us—if you refuse, I shall let them cut you to pieces—never have I witnessed such a storm. You were wrong in threatening the bishop with your switch; I myself regret having used offensive language towards him—the fire of heaven may from one moment to the other drop down upon us."
The Lion of Poitiers crimsoned with rage, but realizing the fate that further resistance on his part would draw upon him, he yielded. Grinding his teeth, he followed the orders of Chram, alighted from his horse, and after a further instant of hesitation, dropped upon his knees and shook his fist at Cautin. The bishop, who had remained erect, towering above the cowering crowd at his feet, answered the gesture of the Lion of Poitiers with a look of triumph that he cast upon Chram and his favorites; he regaled his eyes by letting them wander over the Prince, his favorites, the assembled leudes, the servants and slaves—all bowed down to the earth with fear and respect before him. Relishing his signal victory he said to himself:
"Yes, we triumph! Yes, royal stripling, the bishop ismightier than you. There you are at my feet with your forehead in the dust."
The bishop then knelt down himself and cried out aloud in a penetrating voice:
"Glory to Thee, O Lord! Glory to Thee! The impious rebel, seized with holy terror bows down his haughty forehead. The devouring lion has become the most timid lamb before Thy divine majesty. Calm Thy just wrath, O Lord! Have mercy upon us all, here upon our knees before Thee! Dissipate the darkness that obscures the firmament! Remove the fiery clouds that the obduracy of a sinner drew over our heads! Deign, O Almighty Lord to give a public manifestation that the voice of Thy unworthy servant has reached Thy throne!"
The prelate said many more admirable things, now measuring and grading his utterances of grace and mercy according as the storm receded and subsided, just as, at its approach, he modulated his threatening words. The skilful man closed his conjuration to the roll of the receding thunder—"the last rumblings," he said "of the Eternal's angered voice," finally appeased by his prayers. Soon thereupon the sky cleared; the clouds dispersed, the sun shone anew in all its pristine splendor; and the royal cortege, now again as serene as the sky, resumed their tramp towards the burg of Neroweg singing at the top of their voices:
"Glory, eternal glory to the Lord!"
"Glory, glory, our blessed bishop!"
"Hosanna!Gloria in excelsis Deo!"
"The Lord miraculously turned from us the angry fire of heaven!"
"The impious man bowed down his rebellious head!"
"Glory! Glory to the Lord!"
IN THE TREASURE CHAMBER.
While the slaves of Chram were busy leading the horses to the stables, and placing the loaded carts and the saddles under the shelter of a broad shed that served for cover to large stocks of hay, the royal leudes ate and drank with the appetite and thirst of men who were on the road since early morn. Having, together with his three favorites, done honor to the count's repast, Chram said to Neroweg:
"Take me to a place where we can talk privately. You surely have some secret chamber where you keep your treasure—let us closet ourselves there."
Neroweg seemed in no haste to comply. Doubtlessly he was not over-anxious to introduce the son of his King into the secret retreat. Noticing the count's hesitation, Chram proceeded to say:
"If there is another apartment in your burg that is more secluded than your treasure chamber, it will suit me better. Your wife's chamber, perhaps? Let us go there."
"No—no. Come to my treasure chamber. But first wait till I have issued the necessary orders so that your people may not want for anything and the horses be properly tended."
Saying this Neroweg took one of his leudes aside and whispered to him:
"Ansowald, you and Bertefred will arm yourselves well and remain near the door of the apartment into which I am to go with Chram. Hold yourselves in readiness to run in at my first call."
"What do you fear, seigneur count?"
"The family of Clovis has a strong liking for other people's goods. Although my coffers are under triple locks and ribbed with iron, I like to feel that you and Bertefred are ready at the door with your hands on your swords."
"We shall do as you bid us."
"Order Rigomer and Bertechram to hold themselves equally well armed at the door of the women's apartment. Let them strike without mercy whomsoever should attempt to introduce himself into Godegisele's chamber. Let them immediately give the alarm. I mistrust the Lion of Poitiers. Neither do I take the other two favorites of Chram to be less pagan or less dissolute than the wild lion himself. I hold them capable of anything—just as their royal master. Did you count the number of armed men in Chram's suite?"
"He brought in only one-half of his leudes—hisantrustions, as the haughty crew style themselves. They look down with contempt upon us because they are pursuivants of a King."
"Shortly ago as they were at table," put in Bertechram, "they affected to eat with disgust and they examined the bottom of the pots as if to make sure that they were clean. They do not cease sneering at our earthen and tin wares—especially at our kitchen utensils."
"I know—I know—they want to drive me to exhibit my gold and silver wares, many a piece of which they will purloin. But I am on my guard."
"Neroweg, blood may yet flow before evening if the insolent fellows do not desist from their impertinencies. Our patience is near the end of its tether."
"Fortunately, however, we, your faithful leudes, together with the footmen and the slaves whom we can safely arm, are as numerous as the men who compose the escort of Chram."
"Come, come, my good companions; do not heat yourselves, my friends. If any quarrels should break out at table, disheswill be broken, and they will have to be replaced. We must bear that in mind."
"Neroweg, honor is before dishes—even if the dish be of gold or silver."
"Certainly, but it is unnecessary to provoke a quarrel. Keep yourselves on your guard, and see to it that watch is kept at the door of the women's apartment—hand on sword."
"It will be done as you order."
A moment later Prince Chram and the count found themselves alone in the latter's treasure room. They were engaged in an important and serious conference.
"Count, how much are the treasures worth that are locked in these coffers?"
"Oh, they do not contain much—they are large on the principle that it is always well to be provided with a large pot and a big coffer, as we say in Germany, but they are almost empty."
"So much the worse, count. I wished to double, triple and even quadruple the value of their contents."
"Are you jesting?"
"Count, I desire to increase your power and wealth beyond even your hopes. I swear as much by the indivisible Trinity."
"I then believe you. After this morning's miracle, you would not dare to risk drawing upon my house the fire of heaven, by taking so redoubtable an oath in vain. But what is your reason for wishing to add so greatly to my power and wealth?"
"Because I have a personal interest in so doing."
"You convince me."
"Would you like to have domains as vast as those of a King's son?"
"I surely would."
"Would you like to have, instead of those half empty coffers, a hundred others bursting with gold, precious stones, vases, goblets, bowls, armors and costly fabrics?"
"Certainly I would."
"Would you, instead of being count of a city in Auvergne, govern a whole province—in short, be as rich and powerful as you could wish?"
"By the indivisible Trinity, are you serious? Explain yourself; I drink in your words."
"I swear to you by the Almighty God."
"Do you also swear by the great St. Martin, my patron saint?"
"I swear it also by the great St. Martin that my tender is serious."
"Well, then, to the point. What is your project?"
"At this hour my father Clotaire is outside of Gaul warring against the Saxons. I propose to profit by his absence and make myself King in the place of my father. Several counts and dukes of the neighborhood have entered into the conspiracy. Will you be with or against me?"
"And what about your brothers, Charibert, Gontran, Chilperic and Sigebert? Will they leave your father's kingdom to you alone?"
"I shall have all my brothers killed."
"Clovis, your grandfather, as well as his sons, all rid themselves of their nearest relatives in the same fashion. You would be proceeding according to the traditions of your house."
"Answer, count; will you pledge yourself by a sacred oath to combat on my side at the head of your men? If you will, then, by an equal oath, I shall pledge myself to make you duke of whatever province you may choose, and to relinquish to you the goods, treasures, slaves and domains of the richest seigneurs who may have sided with my father against me."
"What you demand of me, if I understand you rightly, is that I pledge myself, in my own name and the name of my leudes and pursuivants, toobey your mouth, as we express it in Germany?"
"Yes, that is my demand."
"But what fate do you reserve for your father?"
"His own bodyguard came near cutting him to pieces just before the war with the Saxons. Are you aware of that?"
"Such a rumor did reach us."
"Well, then, my plan is to have my brothers killed; to declare that my father died in the war with the Saxons; and then to pronounce myself King of Gaul in his place."
"But when he returns from Saxony with his army, what will you do then?"
"I shall take the field against him at the head of my leudes, and I shall kill him—just as he killed his nephews."
"I am thinking of what may happen to me. If in the war with your father you go down, and I am found mixed up in the affair—it will go ill with me. I would then be stripped as a traitor of all the lands that I hold inbenefice, only my salic lands would be left to me."
"Do you expect to win in a game without taking any risks?"
"I would much prefer that! But listen, Chram. Let the counts and dukes of Poitou, Limousin and Anjou take your side against your father, then I and my leudes willobey your mouth. But I shall not openly declare myself in your favor until the others shall have first taken up arms openly."
"You wish to play a safe game."
"Yes, I wish to risk little and gain much—I sincerely admit it."
"Very well—then let us exchange pledges."
"Wait a moment, King; we shall swear upon a sacred relic."
"What are you doing? Why open that coffer? Leave the lid up so that I may see your treasures. By my royal hair, I never in my life have seen a more magnificent Bible case than this!" exclaimed Chram as Neroweg lifted the precious Bible case from the coffer. "It is all gold, rubies, pearls and carbuncles. From what pillage did you get that?"
"In a city of Touraine. The gospels within are all written out in gold letters."
"The case is superb. I am dazzled by it."
"King, we shall take our pledge upon these gospels."
"I consent. Well, then, upon these holy Gospels, I, Chram, son of Clotaire, swear by the indivisible Trinity and by the great St. Martin, and according to the formula consecrated in Germany, that, 'if you, Neroweg, count of the city of Clermont in Auvergne, yourself and your leudes, who once stood on the side of the King, my father, will now come over to the side of me, Chram, who propose to constitute myself King over you, and that if I do so constitute myself, I shall make you duke of some great province of your own choice, and shall give you the domains, houses, slaves and treasures of the richest of the seigneurs who may have stood by my father and against me. Amen.' "
"And I, Neroweg, count of the city of Clermont in Auvergne, swear on these Gospels, by the indivisible Trinity and the great St. Martin, that if the counts and dukes of Poitou, Limousin and Anjou, instead of continuing as heretofore on the side of your father, openly go over to your side, and in arms, for the purpose of establishing you, Chram, as King over them, then I together with my men, will do likewise in order that you may be established King over us. And may I be consigned to the eternal fires if I fail in my oath! Amen."
"And may I, Chram, be consigned to the eternal fires if I fail in my oath! It is sworn before God."
"It is sworn before the great St. Martin."
"And now, count, allow me to examine this magnificent Bible case. Count, I have never seen anyone comparable with you for the quickness with which you open and close a coffer. Our oath now binds us together, and I can speak to you plainly. The first thing that I now have to do is to rid myself of my four brothers, Gontran, Sigebert, Chilperic and Charibert."
"The glorious Clovis, your grandfather, always proceeded inthat fashion when he thought proper to join some new kingdom or other heritage to his possessions. He always killed first and seized afterwards. He then had no adversary to combat."
"My father Clotaire has also been of that opinion. He began by killing the children of his brother Clodomir, whereupon he seized their heritage."
"Others, like your uncle Theodorik, on the contrary, seized first, and then sought to kill—that was unskilful. A corpse is more easily plundered than a live body."
"Count, you are endowed with the wisdom of a Solomon; but I can not kill my brothers myself. Two of them are very strong men, while I am rather feeble and worn out. Moreover, they will not willingly furnish me with the opportunity. They mistrust me. I have fixed upon three determined men to commit the murders; they are men that I can reckon with. I need a fourth."
"Where shall we find him?"
"Here—in the country of Auvergne."
"In my burg?"
"Yes; perhaps in your own house."
"What!"
"Do you know the reason why Bishop Cautin has been anxious to accompany me to this place?"
"I do not."
"It is that the bishop is in great hurry to try, sentence and witness the execution of the Vagres and their accomplices who are held prisoners in theergastulaof this burg—above all because he wishes to witness the execution of the bishopess."
"I still do not understand you, Chram. The two criminals, together with the women who are their accomplices, are to be taken to Clermont, so soon as they shall have recovered from their wounds, to be tried there by thecuria."
"According to the reliable rumors that have reached us, the bishop fears, and not without good reason, that the populace ofClermont may rise in revolt in order to set the bandits free the moment they arrive in the city of Clermont. The names of the hermit laborer and Ronan the Vagre are dear to the race of slaves and vagabonds. It would be just like them to raise a riot and seek to set the bandits free—while here, at the burg, nothing of the sort need be feared."
"Such an uprising would be serious."
"I promised Bishop Cautin that, if you consent, then I, Chram, now King in Auvergne in my father's name, shall issue orders that the criminals be tried, sentenced and executed here at this burg, before your own justiciarymahl."
"If my good father Cautin thinks so, I shall accept his opinion. I am as desirous as himself to witness the execution of those bandits, and I would sooner give twenty gold sous than see them escape death, a thing that, as you say, might happen if they are taken to Clermont and the vile population of the city should rise in their favor. But what has this to do with the murder of your brothers?"
"Is Ronan the Vagre healed of his wounds? I understand he is. He has the reputation of being a resolute bandit."
"He is a demon—a prop of hell."
"Suppose that after that demon shall have been sentenced to some frightful death he were told: 'You shall have grace, you shall be set free, but upon condition that you kill a certain person—after the murder is committed you will receive twenty gold sous for your reward'—do you think he would refuse such an offer?"
"Chram, that devil of a Ronan and his band killed nine of my bravest leudes; they pillaged and set fire to the episcopal villa and the place is to be rebuilt at my expense. As sure as the great St. Martin is in paradise, the cursed Vagre shall not be set free, he shall not escape the death that his crimes deserve!"
"Who says otherwise?"
"You speak of granting him grace."
"But after he shall have committed the murder, then, instead of counting out twenty gold sous to the Vagre, twenty blows with an iron bar will be counted out on his back, after which he can be quartered or otherwise disposed of in short order. Ah, that seems to amuse you."
"I laugh because it reminds me of the swindling baldrics and necklaces with which your grandfather Clovis one day rewarded his accomplices after they dispatched the two Ragnacaires. The Vagre will return in order to receive the twenty gold sous promised to him, instead of which a hundred blows will be bestowed upon him with an iron bar."
"Determined men are rare. If the Vagre carries his part of the affair to a successful issue, then my four brothers will be dead before the week is over—their death insures the success of my projects. It is to your interest as well as mine that we avail ourselves of the Vagre. So it is understood that you will spare his life."
"But what about the bishop, who has come to enjoy the sight of the bandit's death? He will not consent to let the fellow free."
"Cautin will console himself over the Vagre's escape by seeing the bishopess roast, and the hermit-laborer hang."
"But suppose the Vagre promises to commit the murder but fails in carrying out his part of the bargain?"
"And the twenty gold sous that he will surely expect to receive after the murder is committed?"
"You are right—his cupidity will drive him to the deed and insure his return. But how is his flight to be connived at?"
"You can convene yourmahlwithin two hours. The culprits can be tried and sentenced at one session."
"Yes, that can all be done."
"To-day the trial and sentence—to-morrow the execution. Between now and to-morrow we have the night left. You will have the Vagre led out of theergastulaafter dark, and taken toSpatachair, one of my favorites. Leave the rest to me. To-morrow we shall say to the bishop: 'The Vagre has fled'—why do you laugh, Count Neroweg?"
"At that Vagre who will be thinking that he is to gain twenty gold sous, and who will receive instead a hundred blows with an iron bar, and then be quartered."
"As you see, count, your vengeance will lose nothing by the arrangement, while it will insure the success of our plans. Unless I could speedily find a fourth determined man, as the Vagre, there would always be a brother left who might lay claim to my father's kingdom. Answer, are we agreed upon the Vagre's flight?"
"Yes, yes—we are agreed."
"Accordingly yourmahlis to be convened within two hours in order to proceed to the trial."
"Within two hours it will be in session."
"Adieu, Neroweg, count of the city of Clermont—but duke to be of Touraine, and one of the richest and most powerful seigneurs, made such by the friendship of Chram, King of all Gaul, after the death of his father and all his brothers! Adieu!"
THE BEAR OF MONT-DORE.
The sun is sinking behind the western mountain range. Night is approaching. A man, grey of hair and beard and of about fifty-eight to sixty years of age, but still as alert and vigorous as at the springtide of life, clad in a Gallic blouse, a wallet over his shoulder, a fur cap on his head, and travel-stained shoes, issues from the forest. He is on the road that leads to the burg of Count Neroweg. The appearance of the grey-bearded man suggests a mountebank, one of the class that travels from city to city and village to village exhibiting trained animals. On his back he carries a cage with a monkey and, held to a long iron chain, he leads a large-sized bear, that, however, seems to be a peaceful traveling companion. He follows his master with as much docility as a dog. The mountebank stops for a moment at an elevated part of the mountainous road from where the plain and the hill on which the burg is built can be seen. Two slaves with shaven heads, and bending under the weight of a heavy load which they carry suspended from an oar the ends of which rest on their shoulders, appear in view. They are proceeding along a path, which, a few paces ahead of him, runs into the road on which the mountebank is walking. He hastens his steps in order to fall in with the slaves, but these, frightened at the sight of the bear wabbling behind his master, suddenly stop short.
"Friends, you need not fear; my bear is not wicked; he is quite tame."
He thereupon called to his bear as he pulled in the animal's chain, and said:
"Come to me, Mont-Dore!"
The bear promptly obeyed the call, drew near and modestly sat down on his haunches; he then raised his head submissively up to his master, who, as he stood before the animal, half hid him from the slaves. Feeling reassured, the latter resumed their way and, out of prudence, walked a few paces ahead of the mountebank at what they considered a safe distance from the bear.
"Friends, what large residence is that which I see yonder, girt by a fosse?"
"It is the burg of our master, Count Neroweg."
"Is he at the burg to-day?"
"He is in royal company."
"In royal company?"
"Chram, the son of the King of the Franks, arrived there this morning with his bodyguard; we come from the pond where we caught this mess of fish for to-night's supper."
"As true as my beard is grey that is a good windfall for a poor man like me. I shall be able to amuse the noble seigneurs exhibiting my bear and monkey to them. Do you believe, my children, that I shall be allowed admission to the burg?"
"Oh, we do not know. Strangers are not usually allowed to cross the fosse of the burg, without special permission from the seigneur count. The draw-bridge is guarded by day, and raised at night.
"Nevertheless, last winter, I know, another exhibitor of trained animals visited the burg, and the seigneur count was greatly entertained with their performances. He may not refuse to tender a similar entertainment to his royal guest."
"Perhaps not. If he does, then the evening's entertainment will help to while away the time of the seigneurs until to-morrow morning's spectacle."
"What spectacle is that to be, my friends?"
"The four people who were sentenced to-day will be executed—Ronan the Vagre, the hermit-laborer, a renegade monkwho joined the Vagrery; a little female slave, their accomplice; and the bishopess, an accursed witch; they say she once was the wife of our blessed bishop Cautin."
"Oh, have they been capturing Vagres in this region, my friends? And so they were all sentenced to-day?"
"Themahlassembled at noon. The King's son and our holy bishop were present. Ronan the Vagre and the hermit-laborer were first put to the torture."
"Then they must have denied that they had run the Vagrery, did they?"
"No. Ronan, the accursed bandit, on the contrary, boasted that he was a Vagre."
"Why, then, the torture?"
"That is just what the son of the King said. He thought that the torture had no purpose with Ronan. He opposed it strongly."
"But our holy bishop," explained the other slave, "declared that a truth extracted by torture was doubly certain, it being in the nature of a judgment of God. Thereupon no one raised any further objection, and matters took their course."
"At the bishop's orders," resumed the first slave, "the feet of the Vagre and of the hermit-laborer were dipped into boiling oil—they confessed a second time."
"And thereupon they were both carried back to theergastula, because they could not walk."
"And to-morrow they will be taken out for execution. It is said that the manner of their death will be frightful—but it never could be frightful enough to atone for the crimes that Ronan the Vagre—"
"And what crimes did he commit, my friends?"
"Did not the sacrilegious wretch, at the head of his band, pillage and burn down the episcopal villa of our holy bishop?"
"How, my friends, do you mean to say that Ronan the Vagre,the impious wretch, dared to commit such a crime? And what about the women, were they also put to the torture?"
"The little slave is still near death's door of a wound that she inflicted upon herself in an attempt to commit suicide. She made the attempt in a fit of despair when she saw that the Vagres were cut to pieces."
"As to the witch of a bishopess, they were preparing to apply the torture to her, when our holy bishop interposed, saying: 'We must be careful not to weaken the witch; she may succumb to the pain; it is better that she remain as strong as possible, in order that she escape not one of the torments of to-morrow's execution.' "