"I know the saying: 'He is intractable as an Armorican.' "
"My father often used the saying."
"But what induced him to leave that peaceful province, that still enjoys the boon of freedom, thanks to the indomitable bravery that continues to uphold the druid faith, which the evangelical morality of the young master of Nazareth has regenerated?"
"My father was about seventeen years of age when one day his family extended hospitality to a peddler during a stormy night. The peddler's trade took him all over Gaul; he knew and he told them of the country's trials; he also spoke of the life of adventure led by the Bagauders. My father was tired of the life of the fields; his heart was warm, and from his cradle he had drunk in the hatred for the Franks. Struck by the peddler's account, he considered the opportunity good for waging war upon the barbarians by joining the Bagauders. He left the paternal roof and joined the peddler by appointment about a league away. After a few days' march the two reached Anjou and met a troop of Bagauders. Young, robust and daring, my father was an acceptable recruit. He joined the band, and—long live the Bagaudy! Raiding from province to province, he came as far as Auvergne, which he never left. The country was favorable for his pursuit—forests, mountains,rocks, caverns, torrents, extinct volcanos! It is the paradise of the Bagaudy, the promised land of the Vagrery!"
"How came you to be separated from your father?"
"It was about three years ago—agents of the king, they were calledantrustions, collected the revenues of the royal domain. They were numerous, well armed, and traveled only by day. We were waiting for the end of their reaping to gather in our harvest. One night they halted at Sifour, a little unprotected village. The opportunity tempted my father. We sallied forth believing that we would take the Franks by surprise. They were on their guard. After a bloody encounter we had to flee before the Frankish lances that followed us in hot pursuit. I was separated from my father during that midnight affray. Was he killed or was he merely wounded and taken prisoner I do not know. All my efforts to ascertain his fate have been vain. Since then my companions elected me their chief. You wanted to know my history—I have told it to you. You now know it."
"You have told me more than you think for. Your father's name was Karadeucq."
"How do you know that?"
"The name of your father's father was Jocelyn. If he still lives in Britanny with his elder son Kervan and his daughter Roselyk, he must be inhabiting a house near the sacred stones of Karnak—"
"Who told you—"
"One of your ancestors was named Joel; he was the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. Hena, the saint sung about in the druid chant, was the daughter of Joel, whose family traces its origin back to the Gallic brenn, whom the Romans called Brennus, and who, nearly eight hundred years ago, made them pay ransom for Rome."
"Who are you that you know the history of my family so accurately?"
"That chant of the slaves in revolt against the Romans—'Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!'—was sung by one of your ancestors named Sylvest, who was cast to the wild beasts in the circus of Orange. And I imagine that your father taught you another thrilling chant, one sung two hundred and odd years ago, on the occasion of one of the great battles fought on the Rhine against the Franks, and won by Victorin, the son of Victoria, the Mother of the Camps—"
"You are right—often did my father sing that chant to me. It began this wise:
" 'This morning we said: How many are there of these barbarous hordes? How many are there of these Franks?' "
"And it closed this wise," replied the monk:
" 'This evening we say: How many were there of these barbarous hordes? This evening we say: How many were there of these Franks?' "
"Schanvoch, another of your ancestors, a brave soldier and foster-brother of Victoria the Great, sang that song—"
"Yes, Gaul, on that day proud, free and triumphant, had just driven the barbarians from both banks of the Rhine, while, to-day—but let us drop that topic, monk; if those days were glorious, the present ones seem to me all the more horrible. Oh! blameworthy was the credulity of our fathers, martyrs to this new religion—"
"Our fathers could not choose but place faith in the words of the first apostles, who preached to them love for their fellow men, the pardon of sins, the deliverance of the slaves, in the name of the young master of Nazareth, whom your ancestress Genevieve saw crucified in Jerusalem—"
"My ancestress Genevieve? You seem to be informed on every particular detail concerning my family. Only my father could have instructed you on such matters—you must have known him! Answer me!"
"Yes, I knew your father. Did you never notice, after youentered the heart of Auvergne, that from time to time your father absented himself for several days?"
"Yes, he did—I never knew the reason."
"Your father, each such time, went to visit a poor female slave near Tulle. She was bound to the glebe of the bishop of that city. That female slave, it is now at least thirty years ago, one day found your father Karadeucq, who was then the chief of the Bagauders, wounded and in a dying condition in a hedge along the road. She took pity upon him; she helped him to drag himself to the hut which she inhabited with her mother. Your father was then about twenty years of age—the young female slave was of about the age of that child who is asleep near us. The two loved each other. Shortly after he was well again, your father was one day discovered in the slave's hut by the bishop's superintendent. The man considered Karadeucq a good prize and sought to take him as a slave to Tulle. Your father resisted, beat the agent, and fled and rejoined the Bagauders. The young slave became a mother—she gave birth to a son—"
"I then have a brother!"
"The son of a female slave is born a slave and belongs to his mother's master. When the boy, whom your father named Loysik in remembrance of his Breton extraction, was four or five years old, the bishop of Tulle, who had noticed in the child certain precocious qualities, had him taken to the episcopal college, where he was brought up with several other young slaves who were all to become clerks of the Church. From time to time Karadeucq went at night to visit the mother of his son at Tulle. The boy being always notified in advance by his mother, always found some means of repairing to his mother's hut on such occasions. There the father and the son held long conversations concerning the men and things of the olden days of Gaul when the country was glorious and free. Your father preserved as a family tradition an ardent and sacred love forGaul. He strove to cause his son's heart to beat proudly at the grand recollections of the past, to exasperate him against the Franks, and some day to take him along to run the Vagrery with him. But Loysik, who was of a quiet and rather retiring disposition, feared such an adventurous life. Years passed. Had your brother so desired, he could have won honors and riches, as so many others did, by consecrating himself to the Church. But shortly before being ordained a priest, he had the opportunity of gaining so close a view of the clerical hypocrisy, cupidity and profligacy, that he declined to enter priesthood and he cursed the sacrilegious alliance of the Gallic clergy with the conquerors. He left the episcopal house and went to the frontier of Provence, where he joined the hermit-laborers. He was previously acquainted with one of their set, who had stopped for several weeks at the episcopal alms-house for his cure."
"Did the hermit-laborers establish a colony?"
"Several of them gathered in a secluded spot to cultivate the lands that had been laid waste and were abandoned since the conquest. They were plain and good men, faithful to the recollections of old Gaul and to the precepts of the gospels. Those monks lived in celibacy, but took no vows. They remained lay, and had no clerical character. It is only since recent years that most of those monks have begun entering the Church. But having become priests, they are daily losing the popular esteem that they once enjoyed, and the independence of character that rendered them so redoubtable to the bishops. At the time that I am speaking of, the life of those hermit-laborers was peaceful and industrious. They lived like brothers, obedient to the precepts of Jesus; they cultivated their lands in common; and they jointly and forcibly defended them whenever some band of Franks, on the way from some burg to another, took it into their heads, out of sheer wantonness, to injure the fields or crops of the monks—"
"I must say that I love those hermits, who are at once husbandmenand soldiers, who are faithful to the precepts of Jesus, to the love for old Gaul, and to horror for the Franks. You say that those monks fought well—were they armed?"
"They had arms—and better than arms. See here," said the hermit drawing from under his robe a species of short sword or long poniard with an iron hilt; "observe this weapon carefully. Its strength does not lie in its blade but in the words engraven on the hilt."
"I see," said Ronan, "on one of the sides of the guard, the wordghilde, and on the other side two Gallic words—friendship—community. I suppose these are the device of the hermit-laborers? But what does the wordghildemean? That is not a Gallic word. It is unknown to me."
"It is a Saxon word."
"Oh! It is a word from the language of the pirates who come down from the seas of the North, skirt the coasts, and often ascend the Loire in order to plunder the bordering lands. They are fearful marauders, but intrepid seamen! Think of their coming over sea from distant shores, in mere canoes, that are so frail and light that, at a pinch, they are carried on their backs. It is said that they have ascended the Loire more than once as far as Tours."
"And it is true. And thus Gaul is to-day the prey of barbarians from within and from without. She is at the mercy of the Franks and the Saxons!"
"But how can that Saxon wordghilde, engraven on the iron impart strength to the weapon, as you tell me?"
"I shall explain the secret to you. One of the monk-laborers lived on the border of the Loire before he joined us. Being carried away by the pirates at one of their raids in Touraine, when he was still in his early infancy, he was brought up in their country. During his sojourn among them, he noticed that those men of the North drew immense strength from certain associations in which each owed solidarity to all, and allto each—solidarity in fraternity, in assistance, in goods, in arms and in life. These associations are generally believed to have sprung up from Christian fraternity; the fact is that they were in practice in those Northern regions many a century before the birth of Jesus, and they were calledghildes. Later the prisoner of the pirates succeeded in making his escape, reentered Gaul, joined us hermit-laborers—"
"Why do you break off?"
"An oath that I have taken forbids me to say more—"
"I shall respect your secret. But the confidence, with which I seem to inspire you, you also inspire in me. My brother, you said to me, was of the number of the hermit-laborers with whom you are associated. You must have known him intimately. Only he could have furnished you with the details concerning the family of Joel which he doubtlessly received from his own father. Why do you look at me so fixedly? Your silence disconcerts and moves me—your eyes are filling with tears—"
"Ronan, your brother was born thirty years ago—that is my age. Your brother's name is Loysik—that is my name."
"Loysik! My brother!"
"It is I. Did you not surmise as much?"
"Joy of heavens! You are my brother!"
Long did the hermit and the Vagre remain in close embrace. After the first ebullition of their tender joy, Ronan said to Loysik:
"And whatever became of our father?"
"I know not his fate—but let us trust in the goodness of God—let us not despair of some day finding him again—"
"And was it your brother's instinct that led you to accompany us?"
"I did not suspect you of being my brother until I noticed the degree to which you were moved by the chant of Hena. When you told me she was one of your ancestresses, I no longer entertained any doubt but that we were either brothers or closerelatives. The account of your life proved to me that we were brothers."
"But why, then, did you follow us in Vagrery?"
"Did you not hear my answer to Bishop Cautin: 'It is not the well but the sick who stand in need of the physician?' "
"Would you blame me for being a Vagre, and would you blame our father for having been a Bagauder?"
"No less than you, Ronan, do I hold slavery and conquest in horror, seeing that Gaul, formerly powerful and teeming with happiness, is covered with ruins and brambles since the Frankish invasion. Proprietors, colonists, husbandmen have all fled before the barbarians who reduce them to slavery, or cause them to die of hunger by reason of the frightful floods of famine that have followed in the wake of the invading army. Driven by despair large numbers of those unhappy people run the Vagrery like yourself. Only slaves are seen here and there cultivating the lands of the Church and of the seigneurs, and the poor wretches bend under the weight of toil; not infrequently die of hunger or of maltreatment. The cities, once so rich, so flourishing by their commerce, are to-day ruined, almost depopulated, but being at least defended by their walls, they offer some measure of security to their inhabitants; and yet, the ceaseless civil wars between the sons of Clovis at times deliver even these places to the torch of the incendiary, to pillage and to massacre. During the fitful lulls of these feuds, the inhabitants hardly dare to leave their walls; the roads, infested with armed bands, render communication and traffic impossible. But too often the horrors of famine have decimated the population of whole cities. Alas! Such is the sad plight of our country."
"Aye, that is what the Frankish conquest has done for Gaul. She can no longer be free—let her disappear from the world burying the conquerors and the conquered alike under her ruins!"
"Brother, is not this Gaul that you lay waste with as muchinveterateness as the conquerors themselves, is she not our dearly beloved country, our mother? Is it for us, her children, to join hands with the barbarians in whelming her with sorrows and trials? Like yourself, I wish to labor for the overthrow of barbarism; like yourself I wish to put an end to the craven besottedness of the oppressed; but I wish to destroy barbarism with civilization, ignorance with enlightenment, poverty with labor, slavery with the sense of national worth—a sense, alas! now almost wholly uprooted, and yet once so powerful, in the days of our fathers, when our venerated druids aroused the peoples to arms against the Romans. Holy insurrections!"
"Tracked by the bishops, our last druids have died upon the scaffold!"
"But the druid faith is not dead! No—no! The forms of religions pass, but their divine principle remains for all time. Revived, stimulated and regenerated by the gentle morality of Jesus, the druid faith is born anew in our breasts. It has preserved its belief in the immortality of the soul of men, in their successive re-incarnation in the starry world, to the end that by fresh trials and sufferings the wicked may become good, and the just still more perfect. Aye, humanity, whether visible or invisible, must rise from sphere to sphere in its eternal effort, in its continuous progress, towards infinite perfection. Such is our faith, the faith of us Christian druids, who practice the evangelical doctrine in all that it contains of tenderness, mercifulness, and the love of freedom—"
At this point Loysik was suddenly interrupted by a voice that proceeded from a bush near the oak tree, shouting:
"Relapsed! Sacrilegious wretch! Worshiper of Mammon! Hermit of the devil! Prop of Beelzebub! You shall be burned for a heretic!"
It was the voice of Bishop Cautin. And almost at the same instant, from afar, from the side where the Vagres were finishingtheir night of wassail, these other cries were heard through the stillness of the approaching dawn:
"On guard! On guard! The leudes of Count Neroweg are approaching! The count himself is at their head!"
"On guard! The leudes of Count Neroweg are approaching! To arms! To arms!"
Awakened from her restful sleep by the tumult and hearing the cries of the Vagres, little Odille screamed with terror as she threw herself on the neck of Ronan:
"Count Neroweg! Save me!"
"Fear not, poor child!"
And addressing Loysik, Ronan added:
"Brother, fate sends to us a descendant of that family of Neroweg, whom our ancestor Schanvoch fought two centuries ago on the borders of the Rhine. I wish to kill that barbarian, rid Gaul of him, and protect our own family from the peril of his descendants—"
"Kill me!" murmured Odille, falling on her knees before the Vagre and clasping her hands. "I prefer to die at your hands rather than to fall back into the hands of the count—"
Touched by the girl's despair and of course unable to foresee the issue of the pending combat, Ronan remained pensive for a moment. He looked around. His eyes fell upon a spreading branch of the oak tree near which they stood. He leaped up, seized it, and bending it down said to his brother:
"Loysik, sit Odille on this branch; when it straightens up again it will carry the poor child up; she will then be able to reach the thicker foliage, and keep herself concealed until the end of the combat. I shall forthwith assemble the Vagres. Courage, little Odille, I shall return after the battle—"
And he ran towards his companions, while the slave, whom Loysik had placed upon the branch, disappeared in the midst of the thick foliage waving her hands at Ronan.
Dawn was lighting the forest. The tops of the trees werecrimsoned with the first fires of the orb of day. The Vagres, who just announced the approach of Count Neroweg and his leudes, had taken a path across the thicket that was impracticable for the horses of the Franks, a good deal shorter than the road that these were obliged to take in order to arrive at the clearing where the Vagres had halted for the night. The larger number of the Vagres being in their cups and exhausted with singing and dancing, were asleep on the lawn. Awakened with a start by the cries of the outposts, they rushed to their arms. The slaves, the colonists, the women, the ruined proprietors, who joined the Vagres on the previous day were differently affected at the tidings of the approach of the leudes. Some trembled from head to foot; others fled into the thickest of the forest; still others, a goodly number, preserved their courage, and hastily sought for means of the defense. In default of better weapons they supplied themselves with heavy knotted staves that they cut from the trees. The Vagres themselves numbered about a dozen excellent archers, others were armed with axes, iron maces, pikes, swords and scythes with the blades turned outward. At the first cry of alarm, the brave fellows gathered around Ronan and the hermit. Should battle be engaged with the leudes? Was it better to flee before them and await a better opportunity for an offensive stroke? Only few were for flight; the majority favored immediate battle.
While the council of war was being held two other pickets rushed to the clearing. They had concealed themselves in the underwood, and had been able to count with approximate accuracy the number of leudes whom the count led. There were barely a score on horseback; they were well armed; but fully a hundred foot soldiers followed these and were armed with pikes and clubs. Some were Franks, others were from the city of Clermont, whom the count requisitioned in the name of the King for the pursuit of the Vagres. Several of Bishop Cautin's slaves, who, out of fear of hell fire, did not wish to run theVagrery after the burning of the episcopal villa, swelled the foot soldiers of Count Neroweg. Ronan's troop numbered at most a score of men.
The council of war decided to engage in a general battle.
THE MIRACLE OF ST. CAUTIN.
It is half an hour since the approach of Count Neroweg and his leudes was announced by the pickets. The Vagres have disappeared. There remains in the clearing where they feasted during the night naught but the remains and evidences of their sumptuous banquet on the lawn—empty wine pouches, gold and silver goblets strewn over the grassy and trampled ground; not far away stand the wagons that were brought from the episcopal villa, and further off the carcasses of the oxen lying near the still smouldering bake-oven. The silence in the forest is profound. Presently, one of the slaves of the villa, one of the pious guides of the leudes, emerges from the thicket that surrounds the clearing. He steps forward diffidently, listens and looks around as if apprehensive of an ambuscade. At the sight of the evidences of the feast that lie strewn about, he seems astonished and quickly turns around. Doubtlessly his first impulse is to return to the troop which he precedes, but as his eyes fall that instant upon the gold and silver vases that lie upon the grass, he stops, turns back, runs to the booty, snatches up a gold chalice and as quickly hides it under his rags. He thereupon lifts up his voice and calls to the leudes.
A distant and steadily approaching noise is heard in the woods. The bushes break down before the chests and under the iron hoofs of the horses. Voices call and answer. Finally Count Neroweg breaks through the thicket. He is on horseback and closely followed by several leudes. Most of his troop, as well as the footmen, being less impetuous than himself, follow at safer distance through the hedges on the way to join their master. Neroweg had expected to fall unperceived upon the Vagres. There was, however, not a soul in sight except the slave who now ran towards him crying:
"Seigneur, the impious Vagres who sacked the villa of our holy bishop have fled into the forest."
Neroweg raised his long sword and with one blow cut off the slave's head:
"Dog! You deceived me! You were in conspiracy with the Vagres!"
The slave's lifeless body sank to the ground, and the hidden gold chalice rolled over the grass.
"That gold vase is mine!" cried the count pointing at the chalice with his sword to one of his men who followed him on foot. "Karl, put that into your bag—"
These thieves always had close to their heels several men with bags ready for booty. But just as Karl was about to follow his master's orders, the latter's eyes fell upon the other articles of gold and silver that were taken from the episcopal villa and which now glistened attractively in the filtering rays of the rising sun. Neroweg put the spurs to his horse, and bounding forward cried:
"Those treasures are mine! Fill up your bag, Karl. Call Rigomer and have him fill his bag with all that it can contain!"
"The booty is not all for you alone, we have our share!" cried the leudes who now entered upon the clearing. "All these treasures must be divided alike—we are your equals!"
"We are equals in battle—equals also in the dividing of the booty—it is but fair—"
"Do you forget that at the pillage of Soissons even the great Clovis himself did not dare to dispute a gold vase with one of his warriors?"
"These treasures are ours as much as yours—we shall divide on the spot—"
The count did not dare resist the demands of his leudes. Although these warriors ever recognized him as their chief, they likewise ever treated him as their equal. Several of the plunderers now alighted from their horses and cast covetous glances at the chalices, their covers and other articles of the Church, together with the goblets, dishes, bowls and many other gold and silver utensils. Carried away by their greed, the leudes precipitated themselves upon the treasures, pushing and shoving one another, and were in the act of reaching out their hands to snatch up the precious goods, when a loud voice, that seemed to descend from the heavens above, thundered down upon them:
"Hands off, sacrilegious men! God hears you! God sees you! If you dare to reach out impious hands at the goods of the Church you will be damned forever!"
At the sound of the voice that seemed to come from heaven Neroweg grew pale, trembled at every limb, dropped from his horse and fell upon his knees. Several of the leudes followed his example and humbly prostrated themselves. They were terror-stricken!
"All on your knees, pagans that you are!" proceeded the voice in still more threatening accents. "All down on your knees! Accursed pillagers of the Church!"
The last of the leudes who still remained on their feet dropped distractedly on their knees, and with them the rest of the troop that followed on foot and were now upon the scene. The affrighted crowd bowed their heads to earth and smote their chests murmuring:
"A miracle! A miracle! It is the voice of the Lord!"
"And now, ye miserable sinners," the voice from above proceeded to thunder in tones increasingly wrathful, "now that you have bowed down to earth before the eye of the Lord and have attested your fear of His wrath, rise and hasten to help His servant who—"
The voice suddenly stopped short; the branches of a tall oak, near which Neroweg and his leudes lay upon their knees, bent and cracked under the weight of a heavy body that was rolling down, and thus broke its fall as it landed upon the ground, but so near to the count that the latter narrowly escaped being crushed by it. This additional phenomenon added to the terror of Neroweg and his leudes; the whole troop threw themselves down flat upon their faces and murmured in their fright:
"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Have mercy upon us! Oh Lord, turn Your wrath from us!"
And what was it that actually tumbled down from the tree? It was Bishop Cautin, and his was the voice that had sounded from on high. Just before the arrival of the Franks, Ronan had pricked the holy man with the point of his sword, and forced him to clamber up the tree before him and keep himself there like a fat dormouse. Ronan accompanied the holy man up the tree, and with the point of his sword drove him to speak in the name of the Lord. Ronan's purpose was served so long as the holy man limited himself to throwing Neroweg and his leudes into consternation, but as soon as the bishop evinced an inclination to call them to his aid, the Vagre seized him. The sudden move choked off Cautin's sentence before he finished, the rotund and heavy bishop slipped, and tumbling down from branch to branch fell almost upon the back of the count. But the man of God was a wily customer. Although dazed for a moment by his fall, he quickly profited by the terror in which the Franks and the slaves were thrown as they lay face down, flat uponthe earth. He steadied himself upon his legs, and rubbed his sore limbs, and puffing his cheeks he shouted:
"Miserable sinners! Adore your holy bishop who redescends from heaven upon the wings of the Lord's archangels!"
"A miracle!" again cried the crowd with even intenser unction, and smiting their chests with redoubled fervor. "A miracle!"
"Holy Bishop Cautin, who descends from heaven—protect us!"
"Is it your voice I hear, holy father?" queried Neroweg in a subdued voice without daring to raise his face from the ground or looking up. "Is it your own voice, holy bishop, or is it a snare that Satan spreads for us?"
"It is myself—your bishop—to doubt it is sacrilege!"
"Whence come you, good father?"
"I descend from heaven. After the sack of the episcopal villa, and seeing me carried away a captive by the Vagres—be they forever accursed!—the Lord sent His exterminating angels to my aid. They were clad in armor of hyacinthe, and armed with flaming swords. They snatched me from the hands of the Philistines, took me on their azure wings, and carried me to heaven—"
"A miracle!" cried the entranced crowd in chorus. "A miracle!"
"Our holy bishop has seen the face of the Lord! Hosanna!"
"St. Cautin," cried up Neroweg, "you will protect me, dear patron saint, my dear father in Christ! Will you not bless your son?"
"Yes, I will bless you—provided always you prostrate yourself before the bishop of the Lord, and you enrich the Church!"
"I shall have a chapel built in your honor on this very spot, holy bishop, in order to glorify this miracle—"
"That is far from enough—no, that is not enough. Listen, count, listen attentively:
"Neroweg and his leudes fled like cowards from the episcopal villa when it was attacked by the Vagres.
"I order that the count relinquish one quarter of his goods to me, the bishop of Clermont; I order that he rebuild the episcopal villa, which he allowed the Vagres to set on fire, and that he richly ornament it.
"I furthermore order that Count Neroweg pursue the Vagres without let, that he capture and put them to death—all of them, but especially their chief and a relapsed hermit, a renegade, an idolater who accompanies the accursed men.
"Finally, I order that the count burn to death, over a slow fire, a certain Moabite woman, a witch, an infernal wench, who once was bound to me by the bonds of holy matrimony.
"Let Count Neroweg carry out these, my orders; only at that price shall his sins be remitted, and on the day of his death I shall admit him into paradise.
"That is the message that the Lord entrusted me to bear to you. Amen!"
Neroweg and a few of the leudes rose upon their knees open-mouthed. As they did so they perceived two bearded Vagres with their bows between their teeth crawling like serpents along a large branch in order to reach a spot from which, skilful archers that they were, they could take deliberate aim at their foes and nail them to the sod.
"Treason!" cried the count jumping to his feet and pointing to the tree. "Treason! The Vagres are there, hidden in the tree branches!"
Hardly had the count said these words when a volley of arrows flew from the tree-top and riddled his troop. Finding themselves discovered, the daring Vagres hesitated not one instant to engage in battle. So accurate was the aim of the archers that every arrow found its quiver in the flesh of a foe.
"This is for you, Neroweg!" cried Ronan from the branchon which he was perched. "This is for you, the descendant of the Terrible Eagle! There goes the Vagre's arrow!"
Unfortunately the arrow's head was flattened out against the iron casque of the count. The other Vagres who, until now had remained hidden in the bushes, rushed forward with loud yells and intrepidly attacked the troop of Neroweg. The combat became general.
Who were the vanquishers in that combat? The Vagres or the Franks?
Malediction! After a stubborn struggle, almost all the Vagres were slain. A few who escaped the sword and others who were too severely wounded to flee remained prisoners in the hands of Neroweg. Ronan, the Vagre, was among the latter. The superiority of arms prevailed over mere courage.
And Loysik? And little Odille? And the bishopess?
All prisoners—yes, they were all taken to the burg of the Frankish count, while Bishop Cautin, carrying with him his gold and silver vases, regained Clermont followed by a pious crowd of slaves who cried on his passage:
"Glory to our holy bishop! Glory to the blessed Cautin! Hosanna!"
THE BURG OF NEROWEG
LEUDES AT HOME.
The burg of Count Neroweg is situated in the center of a space once occupied by a fortified Roman camp. The structure is reared on a highland plateau that dominates a vast forest at its feet. Between the forest and the burg lies a wide expanse of meadow lands, watered by a swift-running river. Beyond the forest, far away, the horizon is bounded by the volcanic mountain peaks of Auvergne. The seigniorial residence that shelters the count and his leudes is built after the Germanic fashion: in lieu of walls stout beams carefully planed and fastened together, rest upon a broad stone foundation. At intervals, and with the view of steadying the one-foot thick beams, buttresses of masonry rise from the stone foundation up to the roof, which, in turn, is constructed of oaken shingles and boards, one foot square, laid over each other. The roofing is both light and proof against the rain. The building is a long square, a wide wooden portico ornaments its front entrance, and it is supported on either wing by other structures similarly put together. These are thatched and are devoted to the purposes of kitchen, storerooms, washhouses, weaving and spinning, shoe-making, tailoring, and all the other needs of a household. In these wings are also situated the kennels, the stables, the perches for the falcons, the pig-sty, the cattle-sheds, the wine-presses, the brewery, and large outhouses filled with fodder for horses and cattle. In the main, or seigniorial building are also the women's apartments reserved for Godegisele, the fifth wife of the count, whose second and third wives still live. There Godegiselespends her days in sadness; she rarely leaves her apartments and plies her distaff in the midst of her female slaves, who attend to the several duties of the needle and the spindle or loom. A frame chapel, in which a clerk, a messmate at the burg, officiates, is connected with the women's apartment, the latter being essentially a lupanar, to which no man save the count himself is admitted. There, under the very eyes of his wife, every evening after drinking, the count picks out his bed-fellow for the night. The leudes distribute themselves promiscuously among the outside female slaves.
These vast structures, together with a garden and a spacious tree-girt yard intended for the military exercises of the leudes and of the foot soldiers, all of whom were freemen and Franks, are surrounded by a fosse and earthworks, the ancient vestiges of the Roman camp which dates from the conquest of Julius Caesar. The parapets are considerably impaired by the centuries, but they still present a good line of defense. Only one of the four entrances of the fortified enclosure—facing, as was the custom, north, south, east and west—has been preserved. It is the one facing south. On that side, a draw-bridge built of rough logs spans the fosse during the day, in order to afford a passage to man, wagons and horses. But, as a means of precaution—the count is diffident and suspicious—the bridge is drawn at night by its keeper. The deep fosse, boggy by reason of the waters that it has drained from time immemorial and that stagnated in its bed, has so thick a layer of mud at its bottom, that any one who should attempt to cross the slough would be completely engulfed. At a little distance from the yard and far removed from the main building, but still within the fortified space, stands anergastula, built, like all Roman structures, of imperishable bricks. Theergastulais a sort of deep cave, intended during the Roman conquest as a lock-up for the slaves who were employed in field labor and in the building of roads. Ronan, Loysik the hermit-laborer, the handsome bishopess, littleOdille and several other Vagres, all who had not died of their wounds since their capture, have for the last month been imprisoned in theergastula, the jail of the burg, being thrown there immediately after the combat in the passage of Allange, where most of the Vagres lost their lives. The rest fled into the woods.
Certainly the position of the burg, the noble Frank's den, was well chosen. The old Roman fortifications place the residence above the danger of a sudden attack. On the other hand, is the seigneur count minded to hunt wild animals, the forest lies so near the burg that during the first nights of autumn the loving stags and does can be heard belling for one another's company; is he minded to hunt birds on the wing, the meadows that surround his home offer to the falcons any number of flocks of partridges, while further away large ponds serve as a retreat to the herons who, often in their aerial contests with the falcons, transfix the latter with their long sharp beaks; finally, is the seigneur count minded to fish, his numerous ponds teem with pike, carp and lampreys, while azure-backed trout and purple-finned perches furrow the limpid streams.
Oh, seigneur Count Neroweg! How sweet it is to you to thus enjoy the delights of this land that your kings conquered with their own and the swords of their leudes! You and your fellows, the new masters of this soil that our fathers' labors fecundated, live in idleness and sloth. To drink, eat, hunt, play at dice with your leudes, outrage our wives, sisters and daughters, and then attend church every week—such is the life of the Franks who now possess the vast domains that they plundered us of! Oh, Count Neroweg! How good it feels to inhabit that burg, built by Gallic slaves who were carried away from their own fields, homes and families, and who were made to carry on their backs, under the threat of the clubs of your warriors, the timber from the woods, the stones from the mountain, the sand from the river and the lime from the bowels ofthe earth—after which, streaming with sweat, broken with fatigue, dying with hunger, receiving for their only pittance a handful of beans, they lay down upon the damp ground, their heads barely sheltered with a roof of rushes! At early dawn the bites of dogs woke up the sluggards—aye, and those selfsame keepers with sharp fangs, and trained for their office by the Franks, accompanied the slaves when they were led to their work, hastened their heavy steps when they returned at night bending under their heavy loads, and, if ever driven by despair, the Gaul assayed flight, the intelligent mastiff quickly drove him with its teeth back to the human flock, just as the butcher's dog drives back to the fold a recalcitrant ox or ram.
And did those slaves all belong, perchance, to the class of laborers and artisans, strong, rough men, broken from infancy to hard labor? No, no! Among those captives, more than one had been accustomed to comforts, often to wealth, and were carried away from their cities or fields with wives, daughters and sons, either at the time of the Frankish conquest, or later during the civil wars between the sons of Clovis; the women were consigned to the lodgings of the female slaves, there to attend to the female work of the household and furnish the Franks with subjects for debauchery; the men were assigned to hard out-of-door work, to the building of houses, making of roads or tending the fields. Other slaves, once teachers, merchants and even poets, were captured on the roads as they traveled in troops from one city to another in pursuit of their respective occupations, imagining themselves safe against any attack in these days of war, pillage and general devastation.
Aye, slavery thus rendered the rich Gaul, who was ever accustomed to comforts, the brother in misery and sorrow of the poor Gaul who previously knew what arduous work was. Aye, the woman of white hands and delicate complexion was thrown together with the woman whose hands toil had roughened and whose complexion the sun had tanned—both were rendered byslavery sisters in dishonor and shame, and were cast weeping, or, if they resisted, bleeding into the bed of the Frankish seigneur, whom, on the Sunday following a Gallic priest would regularly give remission for his sins!
Oh, our fathers! Oh, our mothers! By all the sorrows that you underwent! Oh, our brothers and our sisters, by all the sorrows that you now undergo! Oh, our sons! Oh, our daughters! By the dregs of the cup of humiliation and disgrace that you are made to drain! Oh, you all, by the tears that drop from your eyes, by the laceration of your bodies—you will be avenged! You will be avenged upon these abhorred Franks!
But let us step into the burg of the seigneur. By the faith of a Vagre! By the sweat and the blood of our fathers that have moistened and crimsoned every beam, every stone of this structure—it is a comfortable, spacious and handsome building, this burg of the seigneur count! Twelve well rounded oaken beams support the portico; it leads directly into themahl, as these barbarous chiefs style the tribunal where they dispense their seigniorial justice—a vast, spacious hall, in the rear of which, and raised on a platform, is the seat of the count, and the benches of the leudes who assist him in the ceremony. There he holds hismahland judges the crimes committed on his domains. In a corner of the room a stove, a rack and pincers are seen—no justice without torture and execution. In yonder opposite corner and even with the floor is a wide tank full of water and deep enough for a man to drown in. Near the tank lie nine plow-shares. These are all instruments forjudicial trials; they are prescribed by theSalic Law, the law of the Franks, to which Gaul is now subject, seeing the land is in the power of Frankish conquerors.
And yonder door, made of solid oak, thick as a hand's palm, and covered with sheets of iron and enormous nails—that door is the door of the chamber in which the treasures of the noble seigneur are kept. Only he keeps the key. In that apartmentare the large boxes, likewise ribbed with iron, where he locks up his gold and silver sous, his precious stones, his costly vases, both sacred and profane, his necklaces, his bracelets, his gold-hilted parade sword, his handsome bridle with its silver bit and his elaborately silver-ornamented saddle with stirrups of the same metal—all stolen from this noble land of Gaul.
Let us enter the banquet hall. It is night. By my faith! Those are curious candelabras. They are made of flesh and bone. Ten slaves—all burnt by the sun, worn and barely clad in rags—are ranked five on one side, five on the other of the table. They stand motionless as statues and hold aloft large flaming torches of wax that barely serve to light the place. A double row of rounded oak trunks, a sort of rustic colonnade, divides the spacious hall into three compartments along its full length, reaching at one end the door of themahl, and at the other to the count's chamber, which, in turn communicates with the apartments of Godegisele and her women.
Between the two rows of pillars stands the table of the count and of the leudes, his peers. To the right and left, and on the other sides of the two rows of pillars, stand two other tables—one is reserved for the warriors of inferior rank, the other for the principal servants of the count: his seneschal, his equerry, his chamberlains, seeing that the seigneurs imitate closely the customs and style of the royal courts. In the four corners of the hall, the floor of which is, obedient to custom, strewn with green leaves in summer, and straw in winter, stand four large barrels, two of hydromel, one of beer, and one of herbed wine, Auvergne wine mixed with spices and absinthe—a beverage pressed by the slaves of the burg. Along the wainscoting hang the count's hunting trophies, together with his arms of war and the chase—heads of stags, does and wild goats, all garnished with their horns; wild boars' and wolves' heads with their fangs exposed. The flesh and skin have been removed from these trophies; nothing remains but the whitened bones. Boar-spears,pikes, hunting-knives and horns, fishing-nets, falcon coifs, implements of war, lances, francisques or double edged axes, swords, bucklers and shields painted in garish colors—all these are ranged along the walls. On the table lie spread sheep and wild boars roasted whole, mountains of ham and smoked venison, avalanches of cabbage in vinegar, the latter being a favorite dish with the Franks; chunks of beef, mutton and veal of the cattle fattened in the count's yards; small game, poultry, carps and pikes, the latter of which are of extraordinary size; vegetables, fruit and cheese raised and prepared on the fertile fields and farms of Auvergne; bowls and amphoras, incessantly replenished by butlers who run from the tables to the barrels and back again, are as speedily emptied by the Franks with the aid of wild bulls' horns that serve as their usual goblets. The horn used by Neroweg must have belonged to an animal of monstrous size. It is black and hooped from top to bottom in gold and silver. From time to time the seigneur makes a sign, whereupon several slaves standing at one end of the hall with drums and hunting horns, strike up an infernal music, which, however, is less discordant and deafening than the cries and laughter of the blockish Teutons, gorged gluttons, most of whom are at an advanced state of intoxication.
Who produced these wines, these mountains of venison, of fish, of beef, of pork, of mutton, of game, of poultry, of vegetables and fruit? Gaul! The country that is cultivated and rendered fruitful by a population of starvelings, whose representatives, wan with hunger and privation in the midst of such plenty, officiate as living torches to light the banquet. That heap of good things is produced by men and women who, huddled in mud and straw huts, are, at that very moment, and in utter exhaustion, partaking of a tasteless pittance.
Behold the Franks, gorged with food and wine; obscene jokes and challenges to drink and drink still more are bandied backward and forward; the hall is a roar of boisterous laughter; beyondall others the seigneur count is hilarious. At his side sits his clerk, who serves as his secretary and officiates in the oratory of the burg. According to the newly introduced custom that the Church authorized, the Frankish seigneurs are allowed to keep a priest and chapel in their houses. The clerk has been assigned to Neroweg by Cautin. When making the assignment, the wily prelate said to the stupid barbarian: "This clerk can neither grant you remission for the sins that you may commit, nor can he snatch you from the claws of Satan; only I have that power; but the constant presence of a priest at your side will render the attempts of the demon more difficult; that will afford you time, in urgent cases, to wait for my arrival without danger of your being carried off to hell."
The boisterous mirthfulness of the leudes is at its height. Neroweg wishes to speak. Three times he strikes on the table with the handle of hisscramasax, the name given by the barbarians to the knife used at table, and habitually worn at the warrior's belt. Silence, or some degree of silence ensues. The count is to speak. With both his elbows leaning upon the table, he strokes and restrokes his long, reddish, greasy and wine-soaked moustache between his thumb and index. The posture and gesture always announces with him some scheme of vicious cruelty. The leudes are aware of this and greet his words in advance with gross and confident laughter. Without saying a word, Neroweg points out to his peers one of the slaves who, motionless, has been holding up a torch at the banquet. The fellow is a poor old man, wrinkled and haggard; his hair and beard are white and long; for only clothing he wears a tattered blouse and hose which expose his skin, yellow and tanned like parchment; his hose do not reach his bony knees; his bare and lank legs, scarred by the brambles among which he is forced to work, seem hardly able to support him. Compelled, like the rest of his torch-bearing companions, to hold up the light with outstretched arm, and the whip of the Frankish overseer being everready to enforce the order with merciless cruelty, he felt his lean arm grow numb, weaken and tremble despite all he could do to prevent it.
After pointing at the slave, Neroweg turned to his leudes with cruel hilarity and said:
"Hi—hi—hi—we shall now have a good laugh. You old toothless dog, why do you not hold the candle straight?"
"Seigneur, I am very old—my arm grows tired despite myself."
"So, then, you are tired?"
"Alas! Yes, seigneur!"
"Yet you know that he who does not hold up his torch straight is regaled with fifty lashes!"
"Seigneur, my strength fails me!"
"Do you say so?"
"Yes, yes, seigneur—my fingers are numb—they can no longer hold the torch—it will soon fall down—"
"Poor old man—come, put out your torch."
"Thanks, thanks, seigneur!"
"Wait a moment. What are you doing?"
"I am going to blow out the torch—as you ordered me—"
"Oh, I did not mean it in that way."
And ever caressing his moustache, Neroweg cast ironical and cruel glances at his leudes.
"Seigneur, how will you have me extinguish my torch?"
"I wish you to put it out between your knees."
The Frankish leudes received the comical idea of the count with loud applause and wild yells and laughter. The old Gaul trembled from head to foot, looked imploringly at Neroweg, lowered his head and murmured:
"Seigneur, my knees are bare, the torch will burn me—"
"Ho! You old brute! Do you imagine I would order you to extinguish the torch between your knees if they were covered with oxhide or jambards of iron?"
"Seigneur, good seigneur, it will smart me terribly; for pity's sake, do not impose such a torment upon me."
"Bother! Your knees are bones!"
The bright sally on the part of the count redoubled the laughter and hilarity of the leudes.
"It is true I am only skin and bones," answered the old man seeking to soften his master's heart; "I am quite weak—please spare me the pain, my good seigneur."
"Listen—if you do not on the spot extinguish your torch between your knees, I shall have my men seize you and extinguish the torch in your throat—take your choice, quickly!"
A fresh explosion of hilarity proved to the old Gaul that he had no mercy to expect from the Franks. He looked down weeping upon his frail and tremulous legs, and yielding to one last ray of hope he addressed the clerk in suppliant accents:
"My good father in God—in the name of charity—do intercede in my behalf with my good seigneur count!"
"Seigneur, I ask grace for the poor old man."
"Clerk! Does the slave belong to me—yes or not? Am I his master—yes or not?"
"He belongs to you, noble seigneur."
"Can I dispose of my slave at my pleasure, and chastise him as I may choose?"
"My noble seigneur, it is your right."
"Very well, then! I want him to extinguish the torch between his knees; if not, by the great St. Martin! I shall extinguish it myself in his throat!"
"Oh, my good father in God—do intercede again for me! I beg you!"
"My good son," said the clerk with unction to the slave, "we must accept with resignation the trials that heaven sends us."
"Will you have done!" cried the count again smiting the table with the handle of hisscramasax. "We have had wordsenough—take your choice—either your knees or your throat for an extinguisher! Do you hesitate—"
"No, no, seigneur, I obey—"
And it was a very comical scene for the Franks. By the faith of a Vagre, there was truly cause for laughter. With tears rolling down his cheeks, the poor old Gaul first approached the burning torch to his trembling knees; the instant the flame touched him he quickly withdrew it again. But the count, who, with both his hands upon his paunch swollen with food and drink, was roaring with laughter and, like the rest of the leudes, shook with mirth, again smote the table violently with the handle of hisscramasax. The slave understood the signal. With trembling hands he again drew the torch close to his icy knees, and assayed to put a quick end to the torture; he parted his legs a little and then brought them twice quickly and convulsively together so as to extinguish the flame between his knees. He succeeded in this, but not without emitting a piercing cry of pain; such was the pang he suffered that the old man fell over upon his back and lay on the floor deprived of consciousness.
"I smell grilled dog!" said the count dilating his nostrils like a beast of prey. The odor of burnt human flesh doubtlessly acted as an appetizer upon him, and he cried as if struck by a new idea: "My valiant leudes, the burg's prison is well stocked, I know. We have in theergastula, loaded with chains, first of all, Ronan the Vagre and the hermit-laborer; they are now both nearly healed of their wounds; then we have the little blonde slave, she is not yet well, she still seems to be at death's door; besides that, we have the handsome bishopess—she is not wounded but is possessed of the devil—".
"But, count," spoke up one of the leudes, "what do you propose to do with those cursed Vagres, the little Vagress and the handsome witch whom we brought prisoners with us from the combat at the fastnesses of Allange? What manner of torture will you inflict upon them?"
"Oh! how I regret that they have not a thousand members to burn and hack to pieces in order to expiate the death of our companions in arms whom they killed in the fastness!"
"Will you have them tried here, count?"
"No—no—they shall be tried at Clermont. Bishop Cautin insists upon his jurisdiction over them. Oh! By the Terrible Eagle, my ancestor who skinned his prisoners alive, the Vagre, the hermit-laborer and the witch shall be submitted to frightful tortures. But they do not concern us this evening. When I mentioned to you the prisoners in theergastula, my good leudes, what I meant to say was that we have there one of my domestic slaves who is charged with larceny by the cook slave. The latter asserts, the former denies the theft. Which of the two lies? In order to ascertain the truth, let us put the two cubs to the cold water and hot iron trials, according to the law of our Salic Franks."
THE MAHL.
The tribunal assembles. The count presides over themahlon his seat; seven leudes, ranked on benches on either side, assist him. The torch-bearing slaves stand behind the judges. The judgment seat is well lighted, while the rear of the hall, where the other leudes and warriors of the burg are grouped, remains in semi-obscurity, brightened, however, from time to time by the reflexion of the fire in the large stove which the blacksmith of the stables has lighted and blows into flame. The nine plow-shares are being heated red in the stove. Before the stove, and even with the ground, is the wide and deep tank filled with water. The slave charged with larceny stands at the foot of the tribunal with his arms tied behind his back. He is a young man and looks frightened at the judges. The accuser, a man of ripe age, contemplates the tribunal confidently. Agreeable to the usage in such instances, six other slaves surround the two men. They are chosen by the accuser and the accused to affirm under oath what they believe to be the truth. They are calledconjurators.
"To the trial! To the trial!" cries the count. "Mayor, inform the slave anew of the charge against him."
"Justin, a cook-slave of our seigneur, the count, happened to be alone in the kitchen; on the kitchen table lay a small silver dish used by dame Godegisele, the noble spouse of our master. Peter, this other slave, entered the kitchen bringing in some kindling wood. Immediately after his departure, Justin noticed that the silver dish had disappeared. He immediatelyannounced the theft and accused Peter of having committed it. I told Justin that one of his ears would be cut off if the dish was not found. He answered me that he swore by the salvation of his soul that he told the truth and that the thief was this other slave."
"And I repeat it again, seigneur count. If the dish was stolen it could have been stolen only by Peter. I swear it upon my share of paradise. I am innocent. Myconjuratorsare all ready to swear like myself upon the salvation of their souls."
"Yes, yes," answered the six slaves in chorus; "we swear that Justin is innocent of the theft—we swear upon the salvation of our souls, we swear upon our share of paradise."
"Do you hear, dog?" said Neroweg turning towards Peter. "What have you to say? What became of the silver dish, a precious article that I brought from the pillage of the town of Issoire? Will you answer, dog?"
"Seigneur, I did not steal the dish, I did not even see it on the table—myconjuratorsare ready to swear to it, like myself, upon my salvation—upon my share of paradise—"
"Yes, yes," put in the six in their turn, theconjuratorsof the accused slave. "Peter is innocent; we swear upon our salvation."
"My dear brother in Christ," said the clerk to the accused slave, "think of it. It is a grave sin, theft is, and falsehood is another grave sin. Take care—the Almighty sees and hears you—His hand lies heavy upon thieves and liars—"
"My good father, I stand in great fear of the Almighty; I follow His commandments as you teach them to us; I support my trials with resignation; I obey my master, the seigneur count, with the submission that you order us to the end that we may gain paradise; but I swear I did not steal the dish."
"Seigneur count," said Justin, "I swear by the eternal flames that I did not steal the dish, and only Peter can be the thief—I am innocent."
"Justin affirms and Peter denies; now I, Neroweg, order that, in order to ascertain the truth, they be both put to the trial—one to the trial of cold water, the other to the trial of burning irons—"
"Seigneur count," broke in the clerk, "you order that both the accuser and the accused be subjected to trial. But should the judgment of the Almighty prove that the accused is guilty, is not the accuser thereby declared innocent? Why should both be put to the trial at the same time?"
"If the accused and the accuser agreed between themselves to steal my dish," replied the count, "and if, in order to remove our suspicions, they mutually accuse each other, the trial will establish whether they are both guilty or innocent, or whether one is guilty and the other innocent."
"Yes, yes," cried the leudes enjoying by anticipation the spectacle of human suffering; "the double trial!"
"I am not afraid of the trial!" exclaimed Justin in a firm voice. "God will bear witness to my innocence—"
"And I am quite certain that I did not steal the dish," said Peter trembling, "and yet I am afraid of the trial!"
"Your companion, my dear son in Christ, sets you the example of a pious reliance upon divine justice, knowing the Eternal only condemns the guilty."
"Alas, good father!" said Peter to the clerk, "think of it, if the trial should turn out against me!"
"My son, it will be a proof that you did steal the dish."
"But no—no—I did not commit the theft."
"In that case, my son, you need have no fear of the judgment of God. His justice is infallible."
"Oh, good father, I hope you are right!"
"Speak not thus, my dear son. This law is holy, it is the Salic Law, the law of the Salian Franks, our conquerors. It is placed under protection by our Lord Jesus Christ. I shall readto you the preamble of the law in the name of which you are to be subjected to trial:
" 'The illustrious nation of the Franks, founded by God, strong in war, wise in council, of noble stature, of singular whiteness and beauty, bold, agile and mighty in battle, has recently been converted to the Catholic faith, which it practices pure and free from the defilement of any heresy; the said illustrious nation has prepared and dictated the Salic Law through the medium of the oldest members who then governed the nation. Thegastof Wiso, thegastof Bodo, thegastof Salo, thegastof Wido, who inhabit the places called Salo-Heim, Bodo-Heim, Wiso-Heim and Wido-Heim met during threemahls, carefully discussed and adopted this law.
" 'Long live he who loves the Franks! May Christ uphold their empire! May Heaven enlighten their chiefs and fill them with grace! May He protect the army, may He fortify the faith, may He grant peace and happiness to those who govern them under the auspices of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.' "
"Clerk, we have had words enough!" put in the count. "The accused shall be put to the trial of the cold water—let his right hand be bound to his left foot, and let him be thrown into the tank head foremost. If he floats the judgment of God condemns him; he will then be pronounced guilty and shall to-morrow suffer punishment. If he sinks to the bottom, the judgment of God will have absolved him."
At a sign of Neroweg several of his men seized the Gallic slave, and despite the resistance that he offered and his supplications, they tied his right hand to his left foot.
"Alas," moaned the wretched man, "what a terrible law that law is, good father! What a fate is mine! If I remain at the bottom of the tank I shall drown, however innocent I may be! And if I float, I shall be sentenced and executed as a thief!"
"The judgment of the Eternal, my dear son, can never go wrong."
Already the Franks were raising the slave in their arms and were about to cast him into the tank when the clerk cried out:
"And the consecration of the water!"
And stepping towards the slave who moaned aloud, the clerk placed upon the Gaul's lips a silver cross that he carried around his neck and said:
"Kiss this cross, my dear son."
The young slave devoutly kissed the symbol of the death of the Friend of the sorrowful, while the clerk pronounced aloud the formula adopted by the Church:
"Oh, thou who art about to undergo the trial of cold water, I adjure thee, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, in the name of the indivisible Trinity, in the name of all the angels, archangels, principalities, powers and dominions, virtues, thrones, cherubim and seraphim, if thou art guilty, that this water may reject thee, without any sorcery preventing it from so doing; and Thou Lord Jesus Christ, give us such a sign of Thy majesty that if this man has committed the crime, he be rejected by this water to the praise and the glory of Thy holy name, and to the end that all may recognize that Thou art God. And you, water! Water created by the omnipotent Father for the needs of man, I adjure you, in the name of the indivisible Trinity which allowed the people of Israel to cross the Red Sea, dry-footed, I adjure you, water, to refuse to accept this body if he has eased his shoulders of the burden of good works. I so order you, water, confident in the virtue of God alone in whose name I demand obedience from you. Amen."
The consecration being finished by the clerk, the Franks raised over their heads the Gallic slave who screamed and struggled to free himself, and hurled him violently into the center of the tank amidst the loud guffaw of the count and the witnessing Franks.
"Never yet did otter, leaping from a willow tree after acarp, make so beautiful a plunge," exclaimed the good seigneur count holding his sides; he was laughing so heartily. The witnessing Franks also laughed and roared, and crowded around the tank saying to one another:
"He will float—the scamp!"
"He will not float—he is not guilty!"
"How he beats the water!"
"And that gurgling sound—glou—glou—glou!"
"Sounds like a bottle that is emptying itself—"
"There he comes to the surface!"
"No, he sinks again!"
Presently the slave rose and succeeded in keeping himself for a moment on the surface. His face was livid and distorted, his hair streaming, his eyes rolling back like the eyes of a man who has escaped drowning by some desperate effort. He beat the water with the only arm that was free and cried:
"Help! I drown! Help!"
In his fright the innocent fellow forgot that the life which he implored was reserved for the cruel punishment meted out to thieves, seeing thejudgment of Godwould have convicted him as such. The young man was pulled half dead out of the tank; as he lay on the floor the Franks derived increased pleasure from his contortions, and the expression of his purplish face, on which the stamp of terror was still visible.
"My son, my son, I warned you before," said the clerk in threatening accents. "Theft is a grave crime! And falsehood is another grave crime! Here you lie—guilty of both! The sacred judgment of the Lord has, in His infallible and divine truth, pronounced you guilty."
"Go to, miserable thief!" said to him one of hisconjuratorswho feared to share the punishment of Peter. "You assured us of your innocence, we trusted your word, and you deceived us—the judgment of God has condemned you! Go to, infamous fellow—we shall gladly give a hand in your execution!"
"I am innocent! I am innocent!"
"And what about the judgment of God, blasphemer!" cried Justin, the accuser.
"Alas, I am nevertheless innocent—I did not steal the dish!"
"Hold your tongue, impious criminal! The trial that I shall now undergo with blind faith in the justice of the Lord will furnish further proof of your guilt!" retorted Justin.
"Good! Good, my dear son! Step aside from the miserable liar, thief and blasphemer! Your innocence will be quickly established; your piety will have its reward."
"Oh, I know it, good father! I long for the trial! May the holy name of God be glorified!"
"That dog, whom the judgment of our omnipotent Lord has pronounced guilty, shall receive condign punishment. Now let us pass to the trial of the red-hot irons. Although the first trial has proved to us the guilt of that slave, there is nothing as yet to prove that the other fellow is innocent. They may be both accomplices in the theft of my silver dish."
"Oh, my noble seigneur, I am in no fear!" cried the cook, his face beaming with celestial confidence. "I bless the name of God for His having reserved to me the opportunity to bear witness to my profound faith in our holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic religion, and to triumph a second time over the accusations of the wicked. I know, O Lord, that, faithful to your commandments, I shall triumph with humility."
With the believer impatiently awaiting the new triumph of his innocence, the clerk proceeded, agreeable to the usage, to consecrate and adjure the red-hot irons in the brasier, just as he had conjured the water in the tank. He ordered the red-hot irons with the same solemn invocations that they respect the soles of the slave's feet if he was innocent, and to burn him to the bone if he was guilty of having robbed his seigneur.
The conjuration being done, the stable blacksmiths drewforth from the stove, with the aid of long tongs, the nine red-hot plow-shares that they held in readiness, and laid them down in a row flat upon the stone floor at a distance of two or three inches from one another. Ranged in that order, they presented a strange aspect—an enormous red-hot gridiron.
"Quick!" said the count. "The irons must not be allowed to cool off."
"What a jig will not the cub dance on that row of burning irons, if he was in the plot with the other thief to steal your dish!"
"And yet what a wondrous miracle is about to be accomplished if the cook is really innocent!" remarked another leude with impatient curiosity. "To walk over red-hot plow-shares without burning one's feet! It takes the God of the Christians to accomplish such a miracle!"
Such was the curiosity of the Franks that their cruel wish to see the slave dance upon the red-hot irons struggled strongly against the wish to witness a wonderful miracle. Hardly was the last plow-share ranged in its place upon the floor than Neroweg, fearing to have them cool off, called out impatiently to Justin:
"Quick! Quick! Walk over them!"
"Go, my dear son; fear naught!" added the clerk.
"Oh, I am not afraid, good father," answered the cook in a voice of inspired exaltation; and crossing his arms over his breast, he cried out fervently: "Lord God, Thou readest in the hearts of men; Thou hast already borne witness to my innocence—give in favor of Thy servant a new proof of Thy infallible justice—order the burning irons to be as soft under my feet as if I trod upon a carpet of moss and flowers!"
And, his face beaming with serenity, and his eyes raised heavenward, the Gallic slave moved with firm steps towards the gridiron of red-hot plow-shares. During the short interval that elapsed before the accused exposed himself to thejudgment ofGod, the count, his clerk and all the witnessing Franks seemed impressed by the slave's imperturbable confidence; they looked at one another; and Neroweg said in a low voice to the leudes that sat beside him:
"The cook must be truly innocent of the theft."
"Proceed! March on, my son in God!" cried the clerk at the moment when Justin was raising his foot over the first plow-share. "The justice of the Eternal is infallible. You said it—it is over a carpet of moss and flowers that your feet are to walk."
But our fervent Catholic had barely touched the red-hot iron with his feet when he emitted a frightful shriek. So intensely unbearable was the pain that he tripped and fell down forward on his knees and hands. As he thus tumbled over the red-hot plow-shares he gave himself fresh and deep burns all over his body, until, driven crazy, he made a desperate bound clean over the implements of his torture, and, roaring with pain, rolled down over the floor ten paces away, near where his companion Peter lay, tied hand and foot.