The Poniard's Hilt Part 18

"Accordingly, it was about twenty-five years ago. Clovis had long before gone to paradise upon the recommendation of the bishops and after having part.i.tioned Gaul between his four sons--Thierry, Childebert, Clodomir and this Clotaire, who is to-day the sole king of all these conquered provinces. Clodomir died shortly after and left two children. These were taken in charge by their grandmother, the widow of Clovis, old Queen Clotilde. She had her two little grandsons brought up beside her, until they should be of age to a.s.sure the inheritance of their father's kingdom. One day, when she was in Paris, Childebert, who lived in that city, sent secretly one of his confidential servants to the kind-hearted Clotaire with the message: 'Our mother Clotilde keeps the children of our brother near her, and she wishes them to enter into possession of his kingdom; come quickly to Paris in order that we may consider what is to be done with them, whether we shall have their hair cut short like the rest of the people, and have them locked up in a monastery, or whether we shall kill them and thus share among ourselves the kingdom of their father, our brother'--"

"The story begins to be affectionate."

"It is the fraternity in vogue among the Franks."

"What Vagre would ever think of killing his own brother's children in order to seize their property?"

"None! None would think of such a thing."

"We are wolves, and wolves do not devour one another--my brothers--"

"And were those children whom they sought to slay still young, learned Symphorien?"

"One was ten, the other seven--"

"Poor little creatures--"

"I pursue my narrative. Clotaire arrived in Paris, deliberated with his brother, and the two acting in concert visited old Queen Clotilde and said to her: 'Send us your grandchildren that we may embrace them, and forthwith announce them to the people as the heirs of their father's kingdom.'"

"Oh! These Frankish kings are ever as wily as they are bloodthirsty! It was a lure, was it not, learned Symphorien?"

"You will soon see what their project was. Clovis' widow was happy, and sent the little children to their uncles, saying to the little ones: 'I shall forget that I lost your father when I see you succeed him in his kingdom.' The moment the children arrived at their uncles' they were separated from their slaves and governors, and kept in close confinement. Clotaire and Childebert then sent an emissary to the children's grandmother. In one hand he carried a pair of shears, in the other a naked sword. He said to old Queen Clotilde: 'Glorious Queen, our lords, your sons, desire to know your preference with regard to your grandsons--do you wish them to be shorn, that is, locked up in a convent, or would you prefer to have them slain?' 'If they are to renounce their father's throne,' cried the old Queen indignant, 'I would prefer to see them dead rather than shorn.' The emissary returned and said to the two kings: 'You have the Queen's wishes to finish the work that you began.' Immediately thereupon King Clotaire takes the eldest by the arm, throws him on the ground, and plunges his knife under the boy's arm-pit."

"Poor, dear little one!" murmured Odille weeping. "He must have died calling to his mother for help--"

"The royal butcher knew the right spot to plunge his knife in the child's body," observed Ronan; "that is the proper way to kill lambkins.

Proceed, learned Symphorien."

"At the cries of the child, his younger brother rushes in and throws himself at Childebert's feet, and clinging to his legs with all his strength, cries out to him: 'Uncle! Good uncle! Come to my help! Do not let me be killed like my brother!'"

"Touched to the heart for an instant, Childebert says to Clotaire: 'Grant me the life of this child.' But Clotaire answers enraged: 'Either push the child off your knees, or you will die in his stead! It is you who led me into this affair, and now your heart seems to fail you!'"

"The good Clotaire was right," put in Ronan. "First to scheme the a.s.sa.s.sination of the children, and then to recoil before the deed was to insult the stock of the glorious King Clovis. But Childebert thought better, in honor of his royal family, did he not, learned Symphorien?"

"What else could he? Childebert pushed the child off from his knees and threw him towards Clotaire, who plunged his knife under the boy's arm-pit as he had done with the other, and killed him. The two kings forthwith put all the slaves and governors of the two children to death, and divided their kingdom among them."

"That is the manner in which monarchies are founded," observed Ronan.

"Oh, by Rita-Gaur, the inspired Gaul of olden days who had a blouse woven of the beard of the kings! All these monsters deserve to be exterminated, do you not think so, friend?" he added, addressing the hermit laborer, who had silently listened to the narrative. "Is it not the duty of all sons of Gaul to take the field in permanence against these wild beasts who have invaded our country, reduced us to vile slavery?"

"It is better to prevent the evil than to kill the criminal," answered the hermit.

"Hermit, could you prevent a Frankish king from being born a rapacious thief?"

"He must be prevented from being born king, duke, count or seigneur, and taught that he is not the master of the life and goods of other human beings. Jesus of Nazareth said it: we are all equal. From the equality of men their fraternity will one day be born. To each his part in the common heritage. Propagate that doctrine among your brothers, and the end will be reached without the spilling of blood."

Saying this the hermit-laborer relapsed into his previous silent revery.

"Twice have I camped on the trail of that last king of Auvergne--king by the grace of pillage and ma.s.sacre," said Ronan, "and both times I failed to catch him. But, by Rita-Gaur, if ever Clotaire falls into my hands, I shall shave him--and so close to his shoulders that his head will never more grow again--"

"Ronan, you reckon without the demonstration of rhetoric. I have established the premises, let us now draw the conclusions. Therefore, _logice_, I shall prove to you that naught will avail you against Clotaire. The Lord protects him. Yes, the Lord has performed a miracle in favor of Clotaire, the butcher of children. Consequently, I was right when I said that I shall prove _logice_ that the Lord will surely perform some miracle in our own favor, in favor of the good Vagres--"

"We were decidedly wrong in not hanging the bishop!"

"It will always be time to draw the Lord's attention upon as by some such pious deed. But tell us the miracle, learned Symphorien."

"It was in the year 537, about four years after Childebert and Clotaire stabbed their little nephews to death. Our two worthy sons of the stock of Clovis had no thought but of how to plunder and despatch each other.

Accordingly, although united for a moment like loving brothers in the a.s.sa.s.sination of the two boys, Clotaire and Childebert declared war against each other. Theudebert, one of Clovis' grandchildren, joined Childebert; the two placed themselves at the head of their leudes, and, as was their wont, pillaged and laid waste the countries that they crossed, and marched against Clotaire. The good uncle did not consider his own forces strong enough to make head against the joint troops of his brother and his nephew; he declined battle and withdrew to the forest of Brotonne, between Rouen and the sea. Theudebert and Childebert girdled the forest, and quietly awaited the night, confident of catching the beloved brother and uncle in the net. In pursuit of their plan, Childebert and Theudebert advanced noiselessly at the head of their troops. The sun was rising. They had arrived to within two or three hundred paces from the spot where Clotaire was encamped with his leudes, when suddenly a frightful hailstorm of stones and fire dropped down from the sky. The troops of Childebert and Theudebert were crushed by the stones and consumed by the heavenly fire."

"And what became of Clotaire?"

"Oh! Clotaire, the favorite of the Lord, as the miracle proved, saw the troops of his brother and nephew annihilated only a few paces from him by the stones and fire that rained down from the sky, while over his own head, the sky, as pure, limpid and serene as his own conscience, was of a smiling blue. Not even a breath of wind agitated the tops of the trees in the forest, while all around there was a cataract of fire. And thereupon a further shower of stones dropped down from the bosom of the clouds, and buried all the enemies of Clotaire."

Symphorien stopped for a moment to contemplate the effect of the miracle on his audience and then proceeded:

"And above all, you must not fail to observe that the account of the miracle expressly states that it was the great St. Martin himself, who, in paradise, prayed to the Lord that he give such a token of friendship for Clotaire. Now, then, St. Martin did not intercede with the Lord on behalf of the felonious Clotaire, but at the fervent prayer of Queen Clotilde."

"What! The grandmother of the two poor little victims of that monster of a Clotaire?" exclaimed little Odille clasping her hands. "She prayed for a miracle in favor of the murderer of her two grandsons?"

"My Vagre," put in at this juncture the bishopess pa.s.sing her slender fingers through the waivy hair of the young man, and placing her lips upon her lover's mouth, "is it not better to proceed to yonder worlds than to remain and live in this world of horrors?"

"Aye, horrible--horrible is this world," cried the hermit-laborer with profound grief and indignation. "Oh! To see the name of that G.o.d of mercy, of love and of justice thus profaned and daily soiled! Oh! To see these crimes, that cause nature to shudder, placed under divine protection! Oh, Jesus! Jesus of Nazareth! You the divinest of all sages, you did foresee that your Church would be ill-understood, when, with your spirit, afflicted unto death, you did, in your last and supreme watch, weep over the approaching future of the world! Jesus! Jesus!

Centuries must elapse before your day shall arrive!"

"Be careful, friend!" said Ronan, "speak not so loud. Yonder holy man of a bishop, who sleeps not far from you, gorged with wine and meat, might excommunicate you if he heard you! But to the devil with sadness! We live in d.a.m.nable days--let us live like the d.a.m.ned! Up, my Vagres, up!

You are thrice holy! Let our Saturnalia cover all Gaul--let this land of our fathers be the grave of the Franks, even if it has to be the grave of ourselves. The ruins of our deserted cities will tell future centuries: 'Here lies a great people! Free, it was the pride of the world; enslaved by conquering kings, it one day knew how to vanish from the world as it dragged its tyrants with it into the abyss!' So, then, let us die rejoicing. Up, my Vagres and Vagresses--let us dance and make love until dawn! Let the Franks tremble in their burgs at our daring songs! Let bishops flee for refuge in their basilicas! Let them all whisper affrighted to one another: 'Woe is us! Woe is us to-morrow! They are feeling very happy to-night in Vagrery!"

And the Vagres and Vagresses screamed, and sang, and shouted. Wildly they tumbled about, and started a giddy reel upon the sward by the pale illumination of the moon.

CHAPTER IX.

LOYSIK AND RONAN.

Wrapped in silence the hermit-laborer had listened to the conversation of the Vagres. Seated beside little Odille, he seemed to shield her with a paternal protection. The child seemed a stranger to what happened around her. When at the close of the repast Ronan gave his companions the signal for the songs and dance, they ran away tumultuously from the place of the recent banquet to give a loose to their bacchic gayety and indulge in a giddy dance on the sward of another and nearby clearing.

Approaching the hermit-laborer and the little girl, both of whom had kept their places as they gazed up at the sky, Ronan said to her in a merry voice:

"Will you dance, little Odille? The reel is started; it will last until dawn."

The young girl shook her head melancholically, made no answer, and continued to gaze at the sky.

"Odille, what is it you are dreaming about as you gaze at the moon?

Whither do your thoughts fly, my child?"

"Sleep is overpowering me, and my thoughts are running over an old druid chant that my mother used to sing to me, to rock me asleep when I was little."