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The Poniard's Hilt; Or, Karadeucq and Ronan. A Tale of Bagauders and Vagres
"What you are after is my hundred acres of meadow land, my twenty gold sous, and my pretty little blonde slave."
"What I am after is the salvation of your soul, unhappy man! What I aim at is to save you the torments of hell, the very thought of which should make you shudder with terror."
"You are always talking of hell. Where is hell?"
Bishop Cautin again struck the floor with his feet under the table.
"Count, do you smell that odor of sulphur?"
"I do feel a pungent odor."
"Do you see the smoke that is coming up from between those stone slabs?"
"Whence does that smoke proceed?" cried Neroweg affrighted, rising from the table and jumping back from a near place where a thick black vapor was curling upward. "Bishop, what magic is this? Come to my help!"
"Oh, Lord God! You have heard the voice of your unworthy servant!" said Cautin clasping his hands and falling upon his knees. "You wish to manifest yourself to this barbarian!" And turning his head toward Neroweg: "You asked where hell was? Look at your feet – see the abyss – see that sea of flames, all ready to engulf you!"
As the bishop spoke, one of the mosaic slabs sank below the floor, drawn down by an artful contrivance of ropes and weights; a large gap was thus left open, and out of it a whirl of flames leaped up, spreading a suffocating odor of sulphur.
"The earth is opening!" cried the terrorized Frank. "Fire! Fire! My feet burn! Help! Help!"
"It is the everlasting fire," said the bishop rising and striking a threatening attitude, while the count, dropping on both his knees, hid his face in his hands. "Ah! You asked me where hell was, impious, blaspheming brute!"
"Father! Good father – have pity upon me!"
"Do you hear those underground cries? It is the devils; they are coming for you. Listen! Do you hear them cry: 'Neroweg! Neroweg! The fratricide! Come to us! Cain, you are ours!' "
"Oh! Those cries are frightful. Good father in Christ, pray to the Lord that he forgive me!"
"Ah! Now you are on your knees, pale and distracted, with hands clasped, your eyes closed with terror! Will you still ask where is hell?"
"No! No! Holy bishop! Holy Bishop Cautin! Absolve me of the death of my brother; you shall have the meadow lands, the twenty gold pieces – "
"And the pretty blonde slave?"
"Oh! You want my pretty blonde slave also?"
"I have a donation deed ready made out. You shall order one of your leudes to come in and sign the parchment as your witness – yonder hermit shall be my witness, and you will sign the document in their presence. The donation will then be in order and binding."
"I consent to everything – have pity upon me. Order the devils back. Order them back! Oh! good father, order them away! Keep them from dragging me to hell!"
"They will certainly drag you thither if you fail in your promise."
"I shall keep all my promises."
"Seeing that you are no longer in doubt of the power of the Lord," the bishop proceeded to say while he again stamped on the floor with his foot, "you may rise, count, open your eyes, the abyss of hell is closed again"; the slab had in the meantime been raised and adjusted in its former place. "Hermit, bring the parchment to me and writing materials. You shall be my witness."
"I decline, seigneur bishop, to aid in the accomplishment of such a sacrilegious knavery," the hermit-laborer answered in Latin, "but if I reveal your trick to that barbarian he will put you to death! I shall not be the means of your death. God will one day judge you! In the meantime I shall raise my voice against your unworthy comedies."
"What! Would you be capable of abusing your influence over the masses in order to incite them to a rebellion in my diocese? Is it a declaration of war that you make to me? Do you not know that the officers of the Church must stand by one another? Or is it some favor that you mean to draw from me through intimidation? Answer!"
"To-morrow, before proceeding upon my journey, I shall tell you what I demand of you – "
Cautin, who stood in awe of the hermit, rang a bell while the count, who remained upon his knees, still trembled at every limb, and mopped the cold sweat that inundated his forehead. At the bishop's call, the confidential servant appeared. The holy man said to him in Latin:
"The hell was very satisfactory. Have the fires put out!"
And he added in the Frankish tongue:
"Order one of the count's leudes, one who can write, to step in. You shall come back with him; I shall need your services."
The servant left, and the bishop addressed the kneeling Frank:
"You have believed, you repent – you may now rise!"
"My good father, I am afraid of returning to my burg to-night. The devils might come for me on the road and take me to hell. I am terror-stricken. Keep me in your house to-night!"
"You shall be my guest until to-morrow. But I want the pretty blonde slave to be delivered to me this very evening. I promised her to my bishopess, who was once my wife according to the flesh, and is to-day my sister in God. She needs a young girl for her service – and I promised her that one. The sooner she has her, all the better pleased will she be."
"And so, bishop," said the count scratching himself behind his ear, "you must have that blonde slave?"
"Will you dare to break your engagement?"
"Oh, no! No, father! One of my leudes shall take horse, ride to my burg, and bring the slave to you on the crupper."
The deed of the donation was signed and duly witnessed by the bishop's servant and one of the count's leudes. It provided that Neroweg, count of the King of Auvergne and the city of Clermont, donated to the Church, represented by Cautin, and in remission of his sins, a hundred acres of meadow land, twenty gold sous, and a spinner female slave, fifteen years old, named Odille. After the ceremony of signing was concluded the bishop gave the Frankish count absolution for the murder of his brother and offered him three full cups of wine to comfort him.
"Sigefrid," said the count to his leude, smothering a last sigh of regret, "be a good friend to me; ride to my burg; take Odille the spinner girl on the crupper of your horse and bring her here."
CHAPTER III
AT THE CHAPEL OF ST. LOUP
The Vagres arrived near the episcopal villa.
"Ronan, the gates are solid, the windows high, the walls thick – how shall we penetrate into the place and reach the bishop?" asked the Master of the Hounds. "You promised to lead us to the very heart of the house. As for me, I'm off to the heart of the bishopess."
"Brothers, do you see yonder, at the foot of the hill, that little structure surrounded by pillars?"
"We see it – the night is clear!"
"That building was formerly a warm water bath. The warm spring lay in the mountain. The bath is reached from the villa by a long underground gallery. The bishop had the stream turned away, and transformed the former bath into a chapel that he consecrated to St. Loup. Now, then, my sturdy Vagres, we will penetrate to the very heart of the episcopal villa by that underground gallery, without need of boring holes through walls or breaking doors or windows. If I promised, did I keep?"
"As always, Ronan! You promised and kept!"
The troop entered the former warm water bath, now chapel of St. Loup. It was dark as a pocket. A voice was heard saying:
"Is that you, Ronan?"
"I and mine. Lead, Simon, you good servant of the episcopal villa! Lead on, we follow."
"We shall have to wait."
"Why delay?"
"Count Neroweg is still with the bishop, with his leudes."
"All the better! We shall capture a fox and a wild-boar at once! A superb hunt!"
"The count has with him twenty-four well armed leudes."
"We are thirty! That is fifteen Vagres more than enough for such a raid. Lead on, Simon, we follow."
"The passage is not yet free."
"Why is not the passage free that leads underground into the banquet hall?"
"The bishop prepared a miracle for this evening, in order to frighten the Frankish count with hell. Two clerks carried into the apartment under the banquet hall large bales of hay, bundles of fagots and boxes of sulphur. They are to set them on fire and yell like devils possessed; then one of the mosaic slabs of the flooring in the hall will sink down; it drops by means of the same contrivance that used to remove it in order to descend to this gallery for the warm baths."
"And the stupid Frank, imagining he sees one of the mouths of hell yawning wide, will make some generous donation to the holy man – "
"You guessed it, Ronan. So, then, we shall have to wait until the miracle is over. When the count is gone and the villa slumbering you and your men can come in safely."
"The bishopess for me!"
"To us the iron money-chest, the gold and silver vases! To us the bishop's full money-bags – and then we shall scatter alms among the poor who have not a denier!"
"To us," cried another set, "the full wine pouches and bags of grain – to us the hams and smoked meats! Alms, alms to the poor who hunger!"
"To all of us the wardrobes, the fine clothes, the warm robes – and then alms, alms to the poor who suffer with cold!"
"And then, fire to the episcopal villa – and to the sack!"
"Freedom to the slaves!"
"We shall take with us the young girls, who will follow us gladly!"
"Long live love and the Vagrery!" cried Ronan, saying which he struck up the song:
"My father was a Bagauder, and I a Vagre am; born under the green foliage as any bird in May.
"Where is my mother? I do not know, forsooth!
"A Vagre has no wife.
"The poniard in one hand, the torch held in the other, he moves from burg to burg and villas kept by bishops; he carries off the wives or concubines of bishops and of counts, and takes the belles along into the thickest of the woods!
"And first they weep and then they laugh. The jolly Vagre knows the art of love. In his strong arms the loving belles forget full soon the cacochymic bishop or the brutified duke!"
"Long live the Vagre's love!"
"You are in rollicking mood – "
"Aye, Simon, we are about to put a bishop's house to the sack!"
"You will be hanged, burned, quartered!"
"No more nor less so than Aman and Aëlian, our prophets, Bagauders in their days as we are Vagres in ours. For all that, the poor say: 'Good Aëlian!' 'Good Aman!' May they some day say: 'Good Ronan!' I would die happy, Simon!"
"Always living in the recesses of the woods – "
"Verdure is so cheerful!"
"At the bottom of caverns – "
"It is warm there in winter, cool in summer!"
"Always on the alert; always on the run over hill and valley; always wandering without hearth or home – "
"But always living free, old Simon. Yes, free! free! instead of leading a slave's life under the whip of some Frankish master or some bishop! Join us, Simon!"
"I am too old for that!"
"Do you not hate your master, Bishop Cautin, and the whole seigniory?"
"One time I was young, rich and happy. The Franks invaded Touraine, my native country. They slew my wife after violating her; they dashed my little girl's head against the wall; they pillaged my house; they sold me into slavery, and from master to master, I have finally fallen into the hands of Bishop Cautin. So you see, I have every reason to execrate the Franks; but worse than them, if possible, I execrate the Gallic bishops, who hold us Gauls in bondage, and sanctify the crime of our foreign oppressors. I would hang them all if I could!"
"Who goes there?" cried Ronan noticing a human form on the outside, creeping on its knees and approaching the door of the chapel in that posture. "Who goes there?"
"I, Felibien, ecclesiastical slave of our holy bishop."
"Poor man! Why do you crawl on your knees in that style?"
"It is in obedience to a vow that I took. I come on my knees – over the stones of the road – to pray to St. Loup, the great St. Loup, to whom this chapel is dedicated. I come at night so that I may be back at dawn when I must start to work. My hut is far from here."
"But why do you inflict such a punishment upon yourself, brother? Is it not hard enough to have to rise with the sun, and to lie down upon straw at night worn out with fatigue?"
"I come upon my knees to pray St. Loup, the great St. Loup, to request the Lord to grant a long and happy life to our seigneur, the bishop."
"To pray for a long and happy life for your master is to pray for a lengthening of the whip of the superintendents who flay your back."
"Blessed be their blows! The more we suffer here below, all the happier will we be in paradise!"
"But the wheat that you sow is eaten by your bishop; the wine that you press is drunk by him; the cloth that you weave, clothes him – and you remain wan, hungry, in rags!"
"I would be willing to feed on the offal of swine, clothe myself in thorns that tear my skin to the veins – my happiness will be all the greater in paradise!"
"The Lord created the grain, the grapes, the honey, the fruits, the creamy milk, the soft fleece of the sheep – was all that done in order that any of His creatures should live on ordure and dress in thorns? Answer me, my poor brother."
"You are an impious fellow!"
"Alas! Almost all the slaves are, like this unhappy fellow, steeped in the abjectest besotment – the evil spreads by the day – it is done for old Gaul – "
"If so, let us sing the refrain of the Vagres:
"The Franks call us 'Wand'ring Men,' 'Wolves,' 'Wolves' Heads' – Let us live like wolves! Let us live in joy! In summer under the green foliage, in winter in caverns warm!"
"Come, Simon, the bishop's miracle must be over by this time."
"Yes – I shall precede you alone, a little way in this underground passage; should I see light I shall return and notify you."
"But what about that slave, who is mumbling his prayers on his knees to the great St. Loup?"
"Lightning might strike at his very feet and he would not budge from the spot – he will go back as he came, on his knees. Follow me!"
And led by the ecclesiastical slave, the Vagres vanished in the subterranean passage which led from the former warm baths into the episcopal villa. As they proceeded in the dark, they sang in an undertone:
"The jolly Vagre has no wife. The poniard in one hand, the torch held in the other, he moves from burg to burg and villas kept by bishops; he carries off the wives and concubines of bishops and of counts, and takes the belles along into the thickest of the woods!"
CHAPTER IV
THE DEMONS! THE DEMONS!
What were the prelate and the count engaged in while the Vagres were approaching the ecclesiastical villa through the underground gallery? What were they engaged in? They were emptying cup upon cup. The count's leude had returned to the burg in quest of the pretty blonde slave girl. While waiting for him, Bishop Cautin, hardly able to contain himself for the joy that he anticipated in the possession of the girl whom he coveted, had returned to his seat at the table. Neroweg had not yet recovered from his recent fright; ever and anon a shiver would run over him. Every time it occurred to him that hell had just yawned at his very feet and might be located under the very room in which he found himself, he would gladly have left the banquet hall. He dared not. He believed himself protected by the holy presence of the bishop against the attacks of the devils, who might elsewhere fall upon him. In vain did the man of God urge his guest to drain another cup; the count pushed the cup back with his hand while his gimlet eyes, resembling the eyes of a frightened bird of prey, rolled uneasily over the hall.
Impassible in his seat, the hermit laborer remained sunk in meditation, or observed what took place around him.
"What ails you?" the bishop asked the count. "You look downcast and drink no more! A minute ago you were a fratricide, and now, thanks to the absolution that I gave you, you are white as snow. Is your conscience still uneasy? Can it be that you hid some other crime from me? If you did, you chose your time ill – as you saw, hell is not far away – "
"Keep still, father! Keep still! I feel so weak just now that I could not carry a lamb on my back – I who can otherwise raise a wild-boar. Do not leave your son in Christ alone! You are able to conjure the demons away – I shall not leave you till it is broad day – "
"You will nevertheless have to leave me the moment the pretty blonde slave arrives; I must take her to the women's section of the house near Fulvia."
"As truly as one of my ancestors was called the Terrible Eagle in Germany, I shall not quit you any more than your shadow."
"An ancestor of that Neroweg was called the Terrible Eagle in Germany – the meeting is odd," thought the hermit to himself. "It does seem that our two hostile families, the one Frank the other Gaul, having crossed each other's path in the past, must cross it again – and are to recross it, perhaps, again and again through the centuries to come – "
"Count, your terror proves to me that your soul is not at ease – I mistrust that your confession was not complete."
"Yes, yes; I confessed everything!"
"I hope to God it be so, for the salvation of your soul. But cheer up! Let us talk of the hunt. Oh! By the way of the hunt, I have a complaint against you and your forester slaves. The other day they pursued three stags into the very heart of the Church's forest – in that part of the wood that is separated from the rest of your domains by the river."
"If my forester slaves pursued any stag into your forest, I shall allow yours to pursue one into mine; our woods are separated only by a narrow road."
"A better boundary would be the river itself."
"In that case I would have to abandon to you fully a thousand acres of woodland, which lie on this side of the stream."
"Do you place much store by that little corner of your forest? The trees do not thrive very well at that spot."
"Not as poorly as you would make out. There are among them oak trees more than twenty feet around; besides, it is that portion of my domains that game seems to like best."
"You boast of the beauty of your trees; it is your right; but your domains would have a better and safer boundary if you took the river, and if you consented to yield to the Church that corner of a thousand acres."
"What makes you speak of my woods? I have no need of any further absolution from you – "
"No – you killed one of your wives, one of your concubines and your brother Ursio – you have expiated those crimes by endowing the Church – you have received absolution. Nevertheless, coming to think of it, there is one thing that both of us have overlooked – and it is of capital importance – "
"What is it, father?"
"Your fourth wife, Wisigarde, died a violent death at your hands. She did not receive priestly assistance at her death – her soul is in pain. She might come to torment you during the night in the shape of some frightful phantom until you will have drawn her poor soul from purgatory – "
"How can I do that?"
"Through the holy mass and through the prayers of a priest of the Lord."
"Well, father, I wish you to make those prayers for the soul of the departed."
"I shall grant your request. For twenty years prayers shall be recited at the altar for the repose of the soul of Wisigarde, but only under condition that you pass over to me the corner of your woods that is separated from your domains by the stream – "
"Give again to your Church! Ever give! Ever!"
"Would you prefer to be tormented by nocturnal phantoms?"
The Frank looked at the bishop with an angry and defiant eye:
"Rapacious Gaul! You are seeking to pluck piece by piece from me the share of the conquests that our kings have presented to my family as our hereditary possessions. Endow the Church still more! I will sooner endow the devil! Yes, by all the horns of Lucifer!"
"Do! Endow him! Here he is!" came from a rude loud voice that seemed to issue from the center of the earth.
At the sound of the voice the hermit started from his seat; the bishop threw himself back and quickly crossed himself, but a reassuring thought flashed through his mind, and he said to himself aloud in Latin:
"It must be my good assistant who remained below – the trick is good!"
The count, however, struck with terror and believing himself pursued by the archfiend in person, screamed aloud and fled from the banquet hall distracted. So precipitate was his flight and headlong his bewilderment that he nearly upset the leude who, back at that moment from his errand to the count's burg, entered the hall pushing before him the young blonde slave whom he was sent in quest of:
"Here is the slave girl, Odille," said the leude.
The bishop started to run towards the poor lass, but at the very moment when he dashed forward to seize her, a vigorous hand that rose from the opening of the now again removed mosaic slab held the prelate back by the fold of his robe, and a voice shouted:
"A profligate you shall no longer be, holy man of God! That pretty lass is not for you!"
When the startled bishop looked around, he saw with terror Ronan issuing from the underground recess at the head of his companions, all of whom were yelling at the top of their voices. In order to carry on the humor of the trick that the bishop played upon the count, the Vagres had all blackened their faces with the charred remains of the fagots that shortly before furnished the "flames of hell."
At the sight of those black men rising from under the ground, and yelling as if possessed, the leude who brought in the young slave also believed that they issued from hell, and rushed out close upon Neroweg's heels, crying:
"The demons! The demons!"
More and more frightened by these cries, the count ran to the stable, leaped upon his horse, and dashed full tilt away from the episcopal villa. His leudes followed his example; they, in turn, took to their mounts, and leaving their arms behind in the banquet hall, fled tumultuously, repeating in terror:
"The demons! The demons!"
