The Poniard's Hilt Part 33

"If my skin would save them and the bishopess--I do not mean this bear-skin, but my own!--by the faith of a Vagre, I would sacrifice it!

You know that when you laid your plan before us, and that a ready fellow was needed to impersonate a bear, I promptly offered myself. I told you then how, at Beziers, I was an all the more inveterate disguiser at the calends because the priests forbade them; and that at those saturnalia I especially impersonated bears, and so well as to be taken for one. I was thereupon unanimously chosen bear in Vagrery, and--But I suppose you think that I am talking too much. It is my only refuge! It diverts me!

If I remain silent and think, then my heart breaks and I am useless."

"Loysik! Ronan! executed to-morrow! No--no--heaven and earth!"

"Whatever may have to be done in order to save your sons, the bishopess and little Odille, I shall follow you to the end. When it was decided that you were to be the mountebank and I the bear, we had to find a good-sized bear, and kind enough to let us have his head, jacket and hose. I took my axe and my knife, and climbed up Mont Dore. Good hunter, good hunt. I almost immediately ran across a friend of my size. Probably taking me for his comrade, he ran at me, ready to hug me to his heart, with his arms--and also his jaws, wide open. Anxious not to injure his coat with too many blows of my axe, I stabbed him adroitly in the heart, after which I carefully undressed my accommodating friend. His jacket and hose seemed, by the faith of a Vagre! cut on purpose for me. I joined you at our haunt, and down we came to the plain, determined to do anything in order to save your two sons, the little slave and my bishopess. Let us resume, I am growing more collected--what shall we do?

Our plan was to enter the city of Clermont on the night before the execution; we were certain that we could cause a portion of the slaves to revolt; the people would join and the Vagres were to be ready. That project must now be given up, also the idea of lying in ambush on the road and attacking the escort that was to take the prisoners to Clermont. Our purpose in entering the burg in our disguise was only to gather information concerning the time of their departure and the probable route that they would take, while ten of our companions were to wait hidden in the skirts of the forest. Our ten friends are ready, either to proceed with us to Clermont, or to join us on the road, or even to approach the fosse of the burg to-night. Shall we give our good Vagres the signal that we agreed upon? To-day's events, to-morrow's executions and the large number of troops gathered in the burg, thwart all our plans. What is to be done? You have been thinking long, old Vagre--have you decided upon a plan?"

"Yes--come, my brave Master of the Hounds!"

"To the burg? But it is still daylight."

"It will be dark before we arrive."

"What is your plan?"

"I shall tell you on the way. Time presses. Come, come, be quick!"

"Forward, march! Oh, I forgot--the jacket!"

"What jacket?"

"The one that I must put on for buffoonery--besides it is a prudent measure; the turned-down hood will conceal whatever defect there may be at the jointure of the fur between my neck and my head. The hood will also partially cover my bear face--mayhap the Franks have sharper eyes than those two blockheads of slaves. Let us first complete the disguise."

While the lover of the bishopess spoke, Karadeucq pulled a rolled-up jacket out of his wallet; the false bear put it on; it reached back and down to his hind legs, and being pulled well over his head, left only his nozzle exposed to view, while the wide sleeves almost reached down to his clawy paws. The black fur of the belly and thighs remained wholly uncovered. Nothing could be imagined more grotesque than the bear in his costume. By the faith of a Vagre! the animal could not choose but furnish subject for laughter to the guests of Neroweg, especially after the copious libations of their supper.

"Now, Karadeucq, I shall conceal my poniard in one of the folds of the jacket--by the way, it is the very Saxon knife that I picked up as I fled from the defile of Allange. I picked it up on the field of battle.

You can see on the hilt of the arm the two Gallic words--'_Friendship_,'

'_Community_'--graven in the iron. 'Friendship'--that is a good omen.

Friendship, as well as Love, leads me to the burg. Blood and ma.s.sacre!

I shall free at one blow both my friend and my sweetheart!"

"Come, come! O, Ronan! O, Loysik! I shall save you both--or we shall die together! Come, forward, my brave companion."

CHAPTER VII.

IN THE ERGASTULA.

When, more than five hundred years ago, the Romans conquered and owned, though they could not subjugate, Gaul they constructed their _ergastulas_--slave pens--of solid, lasting material. There they locked up their chained Gallic slaves at night. Such a cave was an adjunct also to the old Roman camp on which now stood the burg of Neroweg. The bricks and cement were still so closely joined that they jointly const.i.tuted a body more solid than marble itself. Hardly could men, equipped with all the necessary implements for boring, and working from dawn to dusk, succeed in effecting an opening through the wall of this prison. The opening of the vault was barred by enormous rods of iron. Without, a strong body of Franks, armed with axes, were keeping ceaseless watch; some were lying on the ground, others walked up and down. From time to time these watchmen cast a wistful glance towards the burg, which lay about five hundred paces from them. The princ.i.p.al building, however, was hidden from their view by the gables of the barns and stables that adjoined the seigniorial mansion from that side.

Why did these watchmen cast such wistful glances to the side of the burg? Because, issuing through the open windows, the cries of the wa.s.sailers, from time to time, also the rattle of drums and blare of hunting horns, reached their ears. There was a feast in Neroweg's hall.

On that evening he was entertaining his royal guest Chram at his best.

An iron lamp, that swung under the vaulted entrance of the antique _ergastula_, threw a dim light around the gate of the underground cell and also partially lighted it within.

Steps were heard. A leude appeared followed by slaves bearing baskets and bowls.

"Boys! Here's some beer for you, also wine, venison, bread and cheese.

Eat, drink and be merry. The son of the King is on a visit at the burg."

"Three cheers for Sigefrid, wine, beer and venison!"

"But keep a close watch on the prisoners--let not one of you step aside--keep your eyes wide open."

"Oh, those dogs do not move any more down there than if they had fallen asleep forever under the cold ground, where they will be to-morrow. You need not fear, Sigefrid."

"Outside of the seigneur King, the bishop or Neroweg, whosoever should approach the iron railing to speak with the prisoners--"

"Will instantly fall under our axes, Sigefrid--they are sharp and heavy."

"At the slightest event, let the horns blow the alarm--we shall then immediately rush to your aid."

"Those are all wise precautions, Sigefrid, but superfluous. The bridge is raised; besides, the slime in the fosse is so deep that anyone trying to cross it would sink over his head in it. Finally, there are no strangers at the burg. Including the King's bodyguard we are more than three hundred armed men--who would attempt to free the prisoners under such circ.u.mstances? Moreover they are as incapable of walking as a rabbit whose four paws have been cut off. So you see, Sigefrid, your precautions, however wise, are superfluous."

"All the same, keep close watch until to-morrow. It is only one night of watch to you."

"And we shall spend it merrily, drinking and singing."

"They seem to be merry in the banquet hall, Sigefrid. Tell us what is going on."

"The sun of May does not more greedily pump up the dew than our topers do the full kegs of wine and beer; mountains of victuals vanish in the abysses of their stomachs--they no longer talk, they yell; a little longer they will all be roaring! Chram's leudes at first affected daintiness and choice manners; but at this hour they guzzle, swallow and laugh like any of us. After all they are good and gay customers; some little jealousy on our part at first irritated us against them; the rivalry has been drowned in wine. Only shortly ago old Bertefred, hiccoughing and weeping like a calf, embraced one of the young warriors of the royal suite, and called him his darling little son."

"Ha! Ha! Ha! That was a droll scene!"

"Finally, in order to complete the scene, I just learn that a mountebank with a dancing bear and a monkey has been let into the burg. Neroweg proposed the amus.e.m.e.nt to King Chram, and the steward issued orders to admit the man and his animals in the banquet hall. They were sent for amid the shouts of glee of the whole convivial party. I want to go back quick and share the sport."

"Happy Sigefrid! He will see the gambols of the bear and the grimaces of the monkey."

"Now, boys, I promise you that after the King has enjoyed himself, I shall request the count to have the mountebank sent to this part of the house with his animals, so that you also may be amused by him."

"Sigefrid, you are a good companion!"

"But always keep your eyes upon the prisoners."

"Be easy! And now to the wine, beer and venison! While we wait for the man, his bear and monkey, let us empty the pots in honor of the good King Chram and of Neroweg! To the a.s.sault of the victuals!"

The iron lamp that swung under the vaulted entrance of the antique _ergastula_ lighted up the group of Franks eating, laughing and drinking at the entrance. The lamp also threw its ruddy light across the iron railing and upon the Gallic prisoners who sat, gathered together, near the entrance of the prison, the rear of which remained in deepest darkness; nearest to the iron railing lay little Odille; the girl lay on her back with her arms crossed over her girlish bosom like a corpse about to be buried. Indeed the girl's pallor was that of a dying person.

Near her and holding the child's head in her lap sat the bishopess, still handsome, although somewhat paler and reduced in flesh; she contemplated the girl with the loving eyes of a mother. A few steps away sat Ronan; his feet were wrapped in rags; his wrists were manacled; unable either to hold himself on his feet or on his knees he leaned his back against the underground wall. The Vagre looked at Odille with a tenderness equal to that of the bishopess. Manacled like his brother, whose torture he had shared, the hermit-laborer was seated near Ronan and seemed deeply moved at the tender care that the bishopess bestowed upon the young slave girl.

"Die, little Odille," said Ronan, "die, my child. It is better far that you die of the wound which your brave hand inflicted upon yourself, when, a month ago, you thought I was dead. It is better far that you die now, than to be burned alive to-morrow."

"Poor little one, the strain of this day's experience has exhausted her strength! Look, Ronan, her face, alas! grows paler and paler."

"Let us bless this pallor of death, beautiful bishopess; it announces the approach of death--a death that will save the poor child the agony of the burning pyre. Did not her wound already protect her against the brutalities of the count and the torture of to-day? Die, die, little Odille, we shall live again in yonder world. Were I free I would have made you my wife for life in Vagrery, if you consented. I have loved you dearly for your sweetness, your beauty, and the misfortune of the shame that you were smitten with so young--an innocent girl even after your dishonor! Die, little Odille! As sure as I and my brother Loysik will be executed to-morrow I stand in less dread of the agony in store for me than of the thought that you are yourself to burn alive! Oh, if my feet were not in blisters I would drag myself to your side. Oh, if my hands were not manacled I would smother you with a loving hand, as our mothers, the Gallic women of yore, killed their children in order to s.n.a.t.c.h them from slavery. Beautiful bishopess, could not you, whose arms are free, gently strangle that poor child? The slender thread of life that hardly holds her, would be easily torn!"