The Knight of Malta Part 37

An expression of keen dissatisfaction was depicted on the commander's countenance, as he cried:

"And I have been talking, no doubt?"

"The Lord has been moved to pity by your words, but I have not understood them, my brother. Besides, your mind was distracted; you were under the domination of some fatal illusion."

Pierre smiled bitterly. "Yes, it was an illusion,--a dream," said he. "You know, I am sometimes overcome by dreadful imaginations, and become delirious,--that is why I wish to be alone in these periods of madness. Believe me, Elzear, then the presence of any human being is intolerable to me, for I fear even you."

As he said these words, the commander entered a closet adjoining his chamber, and soon came out dressed in a long robe of black woollen cloth, on which was quartered the white cross of his order.

The figure of Pierre des Anbiez was tall, erect, and robust. His thin, nervous limbs showed, in spite of age, an uncommon vigour. His features were severe and warlike; thick, black eyebrows shaded his deep-set, hollow, burning eyes, which seemed always to glow with the sombre fire of a fever; a deep scar divided his brow, and furrowed his cheek until it was lost in his gray, short, and bushy beard.

Returning to his chamber, he walked back and forth, his hands crossed behind his back, without saying a word to his brother.

Finally he paused and extended to the priest his hand, which had been painfully torn by a gunshot, and said:

"The sign which I had attached to my door ought to have a.s.sured my solitude. From the first officer to the last soldier on my galley, no one dares enter here after seeing that sign. I thought myself alone, as much alone as in the depth of a cloister, or the most hidden cell of the great penitentiary of our order. So, my brother, although you have seen, although you have heard, permit me to ask you never to say a word on this subject. Let what has pa.s.sed here be forgotten,--as sacred as a confession made by a dying man under the seal of the confessional."

"It shall be as you desire, Pierre," replied Father Elzear, sadly.

"I think of it only with pain that I cannot help you in the sorrows which have burdened you so long."

"Rea.s.sure yourself. It is not given to the power of man to console me," replied the commander. Then, as if he feared to wound the affection of his brother, he added:

"Yet your fraternal friendship and that of Raimond Digiare very dear to me; but, alas, although the dews of May and the sweet rains of June may fall in the sea, they can never sweeten the bitterness of its deep waters. But what did you come to ask me?"

"Pardon for a poor Moor condemned this morning to the chase-gun."

"That sentence has been executed, and it could not be, my brother, that I should ever grant you this pardon." "Thank G.o.d, the sentence has not been executed; there is still some hope left me, Pierre."

"The hour-gla.s.s stands at two. I gave order to the captain of the mast to tie the Moor to the chase-gun at one o'clock; the slave ought to be now in the hands of the surgeon and chaplain,--may G.o.d save the soul of this pagan, if his body has not been able to endure the punishment."

"At my earnest request, the captain of the mast suspended the execution, my brother."

"You cannot say what is not true, Elzear, but this moment you have made a fatal gift to the captain of the mast."

"Pierre, remember that I alone am responsible. Pardon, I pray--"

"Holy Cross!" cried the commander, impetuously, "for the first time since I have commanded this galley, shall I pardon, in the same day, two of the gravest faults that can be committed: the revolt of a slave against a subordinate officer, and the want of discipline in the subordinate officer toward his chief? No, no, that is impossible!" The commander took a whistle from his belt and blew a shrill note through the little silver tube.

A page clothed in black appeared at the door.

"The captain of the mast!" said the commander, abruptly. The page went out.

"Ah, my brother, will you be altogether without pity?" cried Elzear, in a tone of sad reproach.

"Without pity?" and the commander smiled bitterly, "yes, without pity for the faults of others, as for my own faults."

The priest, remembering the terrible chastis.e.m.e.nt that his brother had just inflicted upon himself, realised that such a man must be inexorable in the observance of discipline, and bowed his head, renouncing all hope.

The captain of the mast entered.

"You will remain eight nights in irons on the rambade," said the commander.

The sailor bowed respectfully, without uttering a word.

"Let the chaplain and surgeon be informed that the Moor is to be chastised on the chase-gun."

The captain of the mast bowed more profoundly still and disappeared.

"I, at least, will not abandon this poor wretch!" cried Father Elzear, rising hurriedly in order to accompany him.

The good brother went out, and Pierre des Anbiez resumed his slow promenade in his chamber.

From time to time his eyes were attracted, in spite of himself, by the fatal portrait of the man for whose murder he suffered such remorse.

Then his steps became irregular and his face became sad and gloomy again.

For the first time perhaps in many years, he felt a thrill of pain at the thought of the cruel suffering the Moor was about to undergo.

This punishment was just and deserved, but he remembered that the unhappy captive had been, up to that time, gentle, submissive, and industrious. Yet such was the inflexibility of his character that he reproached himself for this involuntary pity, as a culpable weakness.

Finally the solemn flourishes of the trumpets of the galley announced that the execution was finished. He heard the slow and regular step of the soldiers and sailors, who were breaking ranks after having a.s.sisted at the punishment.

Soon Father Elzear entered, pale, dismayed, his eyes bathed in tears, and his ca.s.sock stained with blood.

"Ah, my brother! my brother! if you a.s.sisted at these executions, never in your life could you have the heart to order them."

"And the Moor?" asked the commander, without replying otherwise to his brother.

"I held his poor hands in mine; he endured the first blows with heroic resignation, closing his eyes to arrest the tears, and saying nothing but, 'My good father, do not abandon me'. But when the pain became intolerable, when the blood began to gush out under the thongs, the unhappy man seemed to concentrate all his powers upon one thought, which might give him courage to endure this martyrdom. His face took on an expression of painful ecstasy; then he seemed to conquer pain, even to defy it, and cried, with an accent which came from the very depths of his paternal heart, 'My son! my son! Acoub, my beloved child!'"

As he told of the punishment and last words of the Moor, Father Elzear could no longer restrain his tears; he wept as he continued:

"Ah, Pierre, if you had heard him--if you only knew with what pa.s.sionate feeling he uttered those words, 'My son! my beloved child,'

you would have had pity on this poor father, whom they have carried off in a state of unconsciousness."

What was the astonishment of Father Elzear, when he saw the commander, overwhelmed with emotion, hide his head in his hands and cry, sobbing convulsively:

"A son! a son! I, too, have a son!"

CHAPTER XXIV. THE POLACRE

The day after the execution of the sentence on the Moor, the north wind was blowing with increasing violence.

The waves hurled themselves with fury against the girdle of rocks through which opened the narrow pa.s.sage which led into the road of Tolari.