IN THE BANQUET HALL.
Neroweg feasted his royal guest Chram at his best. At first he hesitated
to take his gold and silver vessels, the fruit of his ravages, out of
his coffers and exhibit them on his table. He feared to excite the
cupidity of Chram and his favorites, apprehending that the latter would
indulge their nature for pilfering, or that the former might make some
covetous demand upon him. In the end, however, yielding to a barbarian's
vanity, the count could not resist the desire to display his wealth
before the eyes of his guests. Accordingly, he produced from his ample
coffers the large amphoras, the goblets, the large bowls, the huge
dishes--all of massive gold or silver, fashioned in the Greek, Roman or
Gallic style and as varied as the plunderings from which these riches
proceeded. Among these valuable articles were also several goblets of
jasper, of porphyry and of onyx studded with precious stones; there were
also strewn over the table several hand basins made of rare wood, hooped
in gold and inlaid with carbuncles. But none of these precious articles
was to be used by the count's guests; the valuables were heaped upon
the table without order like piles of booty; they were intended merely
to delight the sight or tickle the envy of the guests who could purloin
none of the articles by reason of the distance at which they were heaped
from them upon the vast table of the banquet hall. In front of Prince
Chram and Bishop Cautin the count had ordered to be spread in the shape
of a table cloth a bit of purple cloth embroidered in gold and silver
and similar to that which covered their seats. Prince Chram and the
bishop alone were allowed to use a jasper goblet studded with precious
stones. They ate from a dish of solid gold in which the food destined
for them was spread. The plates before the other guests were of wood,
tin or clay. In order to do further honor to the King's son the count
had donned over his greasy skin jacket and his leather hose an antique
dalmatica of silver cloth with gold bees embroidered upon it, a present
made to his father by King Clovis. Around his neck Neroweg wore two
heavy gold chains, on several links of which he had ingeniously fastened
a number of earrings intended for women and glistening with precious
stones. A peacock would not have been prouder of its plumage than was
that Frankish seigneur under his dalmatica and jewels, with his shaven
chin, his long reddish moustache and his yellow hair drawn back and
fastened at the top of his head by a gold bracelet studded with rubies,
from which the coarse and unkempt hair fell back over his neck like the
tail of a horse.
The aspect presented by the banquet hall matched that of the host. It
was a mixture of luxury, barbarism, slovenliness and dirt. Around the
table of rough wood, covered by rich cloth only in front of Chram and
the bishop, and bearing in its center the heaped-up pile of costly
vessels, ragged slaves moved about under orders of the seneschal, the
steward, the cup-bearer or other head servants of the count, all clad in
the skin jackets that they wore in all seasons, and which were as soiled
as otherwise uncouth. The number of torch-bearing slaves intended to
light the banquet table had been doubled, tripled and quadrupled; the
number of barrels set up at the four corners of the hall was likewise
increased; they were stood up one on top of the other, presenting the
appearance of squatty pillars. In order to reach the higher kegs and
fill up the pots of beer the cup-bearers were compelled to serve
themselves with a ladder. By this time, however, the upper barrels had
long been emptied. The old wine of Clermont that they once contained was
cheering, warming and mounting to the heads of the convivial crowd.
Yielding to his natural inclination for carousal, and delighting in
advance at the prospect of seeing Ronan the Vagre, the hermit-laborer
and the beautiful bishopess executed on the morrow, Bishop Cautin could
hardly keep his seat. He drank, frolicked, bantered and even indulged in
sallies of aggressive sarcasm. Despite his aversion for Chram the bishop
dared not shoot his arrows at him; and he stood in even greater awe of
the Lion of Poitiers. The Gallic renegade, rancorous as the devil
himself, had said to the man of God, accompanying the word with the
looks of an enraged lion: "You forced me to alight from my horse and
kneel down before you; I shall have my revenge; I shall abide my time."
The real butt of the bishop's sarcasm was Neroweg, habitually stupid and
dumb.
"Count," Cautin said to him, "your hospitality comes from an overflowing
heart; of that I am certain; but your food is execrable in its
abundance; it is all meat and fish, boiled and grilled, served in
profusion but without taste; it is a true barbarian's feast, who lives
upon his flocks, hunting and fishing; there is not here a single
appetite-provoking and delicate dish; we are filled and that is all! I
take his glory, Prince Chram, for witness."
"Our host and friend does his best," said Chram, who, finding his
projects already somewhat deranged by the torture of Ronan the Vagre,
was anxious to keep the count in good humor. "Before the cordial spirit
of Neroweg's hospitality, I think little of the feast itself."
"But I do think of it, glorious Prince," rejoined the bishop. "I have
told the count a hundred times that his cooks are detestable; they do
not know how to prepare the food. Tell me, Neroweg, how much did you pay
for the slave who is the chief of your kitchen?"
"I paid nothing for him. My leudes found him on the road to Clermont,
they took him and brought him to me in bonds. Yesterday, however, he had
his feet burned by the trial of the judgment of God, and his tongue was
afterwards pulled out in punishment for his blasphemies. He must have
been indisposed to-day and helped himself with other slaves who are less
skilful than himself in the preparation of food."
"Oh, I understand! Of course having had his tongue cut out he was not
able to taste the sauces; but he is nevertheless a wretched cook. And I
am not surprised; what can one expect of a cook who is picked up
accidentally on the high road! You do not seem to know, count, that bad
cooks spoil the best of dishes. Here, for instance, are some
cranes--think of it, cranes! a toothsome meat, more succulent than any
if properly prepared. Now just see how that ass, that churl of a cook
serves them up--boiled in water!"
"Come, father, be not angry, we shall have them roasted next time."
"Roasted! that would be still more criminal! roasted cranes! Come this
way, steward, I will give you the recipe for the cook--if he is capable
of carrying it out."
"Oh, holy bishop, with the help of the whip the cook could not choose
but carry out the recipe."
"I must humbly declare that I am not the inventor of the way in which
cranes must be prepared. I read it and learned it from the writings of
Apicius, a celebrated Roman gourmand, who died, alas, many years ago,
but his genius will live as long as cranes will fly."
"Let us have the recipe, father."
"Here it is: You wash and dress your crane, you then put it in an
earthen pot, with water, salt and anise--"
"Well! that is just what my cook did; he washed the crane in water and
salt--"
"But let me finish, barbarian, and you will soon enough see that the
lazy ass stopped in the middle of the road instead of proceeding to the
end. Now you must allow the water in which your crane is laid, to be
boiled down one-half; thereupon you put it into a pan with olive oil
broth flavored with wild marjoram and coriander; when your crane is done
to the turn, pour in some wine mixed with honey and spices, a pinch of
cumin, a taste of benzoin, a bit of rue and some caraway seed boiled in
vinegar; pour in flour to give consistency to your sauce, which will
then be of a handsome gold brown tint; you pour this over your crane
after having placed the bird handsomely on a large platter with its
round neck gently curled in a circle and holding in its long beak a
spray of greens. And now I ask his glory, Prince Chram, I ask our
illustrious friends here assembled--is there any comparison between a
crane, prepared in such a style, and this shapeless, colorless thing
that seems to be swimming in a bowl of greasy water?"
"If God, the Father, needed a cook, he would certainly choose you,
sensuous bishop," said the Lion of Poitiers; "you would be no disgrace
in paradise as the chief of the celestial kitchens."
At the impious jest the holy man made a grimace of rage, remembering
only recently he had actually officiated as cook, but not in
paradise--it was in Vagrery. He filled his cup and drained it at one
draught, looking askance at the royal favorite.
"Come, Count Neroweg," said Spatachair, "there is mercy for every sin;
some other day you will treat us to a choicer feast--and you will
promise your wife to preside at the banquet."
"And by the faith of the Lion of Poitiers, I promise not to chuckle her
under the chin too freely."
"When you give that banquet, Neroweg," added Imnachair, despite the
glances of Chram to check the insolence of his favorites, "when you give
us that banquet, you will not make us eat and drink, as you do to-day,
out of copper and tin vessels, while you spread out before our dazzled
eyes your gold and silver utensils in the center of the table--far from
our reach. It almost looks, you vainglorious rustic, as if you took us
for thieves."
"Neroweg offers his hospitality in the way that suits him," put in
Sigefrid, the count's leude, in a tone of muffled anger; "those who eat
the meat and drink the wine of this house have no right to complain of
the dishes--if these don't suit them, let them go and fill up
elsewhere."
"Are we, the King's men, to be chaffed for what we eat and drink at this
burg?"
"That would be the height of impudence! As to me, I was surfeited before
I touched a mouthful of these mountains of cold provisions."
"Moreover, it is an insult," cried another of the guests. "We members of
the royal bodyguard will brook no insult."
"Do you think yourselves above us, because we are leudes of a count? If
you do, we may measure the distance between us, by measuring the length
of our swords."
"It is not swords, but hearts that we should measure."
"Do you pretend to say that we, the faithful men of Neroweg, have
smaller hearts than you?"
"A challenge let it be, thick-headed rustics!"
"The thick-headed rustic is more than a match for the effeminate court
soldier. And you will find it out on the spot if you dare put your hands
to your swords."
"Six against six, or more, if you prefer."
"Nothing will suit us better than to cross swords with you."
The altercation between the half tipsy Franks had started at one end of
the table; at first it was conducted in a low voice, but it soon reached
such a pitch of loudness and exasperation that Chram, the bishop and the
count hastened to interpose and restore peace among the table
companions. It was with an ill grace and exchanging wild looks of hatred
that the intoxicated leudes subsided.
Karadeucq and his bear, both preceded by the steward, had reached the
threshold of the banquet hall when the disturbance between the leudes
was silenced. The steward approached his master and said:
"Seigneur, the mountebank with his bear and monkey are ready."
"What, count, have you bears in this place?"
"Chram, he is a strolling mountebank with his animals. I thought it
would amuse you at the close of the banquet, and I ordered him to be
brought in."
The news of the proposed entertainment was joyfully received by all the
Franks, and made them forget their recent quarrel and hard feelings.
Some stood up, others rose on their haunches in order to be the first to
see the man, his monkey, and his bear. When Karadeucq appeared, loud
roars of laughter shook the walls of the hall. It was not that the
aspect of the old Vagre was amusing, but nothing could be imagined more
grotesque than the appearance of the lover of the bishopess under the
bear's skin. He stepped forward heavily, clad in the jacket with its
hood thrown back and seemed dazed by the light of the torches, although
all the thirty or forty of them cast but a flickering and subdued light
over the vast hall. Thanks to this rather dim and unsteady light, and
also to the wide jacket that half enveloped the Vagre, his ursine
appearance was perfect. Moreover, in order to keep the curious at a
distance, Karadeucq pulled in the chain to which the animal was
attached and cried:
"Seigneurs, do not come too near the teeth of the bear, he is often
sullen and ferocious."
"Mountebank, keep close watch on your beast; should he unfortunately
hurt anybody in this hall, I shall have him cut to pieces, and you will
receive for your share fifty lashes on your back!"
"Seigneur count, have pity on me, poor old man that I am; I only have my
animals to earn my bread with--I have requested your noble and very
noble guests not to approach my bear too closely, in order to prevent
any unfortunate accident."
"Step forward; I wish to have a closer view of your jolly companion; he
will not, I presume, dare to paw me, the son of King Clotaire."
"Oh, very glorious Prince! these poor brutes are deprived of
intelligence and cannot distinguish between the great seigneurs of the
world and the humble slaves."
"Step forward, step forward--a little closer."
"Very glorious King, look out--it will be less dangerous to be close to
the monkey--I can let him out of his cage."
"Oh, monkeys, I am not very curious to see those wicked animals. I have
pages, plenty of them. Ha, ha, ha--look at the droll fellow with his
jacket. Look, Imnachair, how clumsily he carries himself--how he
grunts--for all the world he looks like the Lion of Poitiers in his
morning gown, after spending a night with women and wine."
"What else should I do, Chram! I consider lost every night that I do not
put to use in your style with wine and women."
"Lion, you are unjust--I have become temperate and chaste."
"Through exhaustion--O, chaste and sober Prince--did you renounce the
pure girls and good wine!"
"If so, you should rather pity than blame me. Ho, there, mountebank,
what tricks can your bear perform? Is he clever?"
"If you order it, glorious King, my bear will ride on horseback on my
cane, and myself holding him by the chain, he will gracefully gallop
around the hall."
"Good; let us see him do it."
"Attention! Mont-Dore."
"How do you call him?"
"Mont-Dore, glorious King. I give him that name because I caught him
when he was still but a cub on one of the peaks of Mont Dore."
"I am no longer surprised if your bear is ferocious. He was born in one
of the most notorious lairs of the accursed Vagres, those wandering men,
those wolves, those heads of wolves who haunt only rocks, forests and
caverns. But as sure as this morning we put one of them to the torture,
we shall end by wiping them all out, just as Count Neroweg did the other
day with a band of them who took refuge in the defile of Allange."
"Oh, glorious King, may the Almighty deliver us from these pestilential
Vagres! May He grant me the favor of never running across any of them
except as he hangs from the gibbet--the way I saw the first and last one
whom I ever laid eyes upon--it was a terrible sight! The thought of it
still makes me tremble."
"Where did you see that Vagre on the gibbet?"
"Near the frontier of Limousin; over the gallows was this inscription:
'This is Karadeucq the Vagre--so shall his likes be treated.'"
"Karadeucq! The old bandit who with his bedevilled band so long raided
Limousin and Auvergne!"
"Pillaging burgs and episcopal mansions!"
"A worthy example, followed by the band of Ronan, the other dog that is
to be executed to-morrow!"
"Well, I am glad to hear it, at last we are delivered from that
Karadeucq! He was thought to be running the Vagrery in some other
regions, but his return was always apprehended."
"Oh, glorious Prince, he will never be back again--unless the bandit
descended from his gibbet, and that is unlikely. When I saw him dangling
in the air his corpse was already half eaten up by the carrion crows,
and both his hands and feet were chopped off."
"Are you quite certain you saw the name of Karadeucq on that gibbet? It
would be truly a great deliverance for the country."
"Glorious King, his name is so uncommon in our country that it struck me
the moment I saw it; hence I remember it well."
"It is a Breton name," said Bishop Cautin; "it is one of the names
common in those heretical and cursed regions that to this hour
stubbornly resist the authority and orders of our councils. Oh, Chram,
will the Frankish Kings never have the power and the will to reduce to
obedience that savage Armorica, that hot-bed of druid idolatry, the only
province of Gaul that until now has been able to withstand the arms of
King Clovis, your grandfather, and his worthy sons and grandsons?"
"Bishop, you have an easygoing way of talking about such matters. More
than once did Clovis and the Frankish Kings, my ancestors, dispatch
their best warriors to the conquest of that pestilential country, and
our troops were every time cut to pieces in the marshes, the defiles and
the forests of Armorica. No, those indomitable Bretons are not
human--they are demons! Oh, if all the other regions of Gaul had been
peopled with that infernal race, ever rebellious to the Catholic church,
we would still be struggling to maintain our power. But, old mountebank,
you seem greatly affected; I noticed a tear roll down your grey beard;
why so?"
"If only one tear did run down my grey beard, it is because old men's
eyes are stingy of tears."
"And why would you have shed more?"
"Oh, King, I would have wept all the tears in my head over those unhappy
Bretons whose detestable druid idolatry condemns them to the
everlasting flames, as our holy bishop used to say: unhappy blind men
who shut their eyes to the divine light of the faith! unhappy rebels,
who dare turn their arms against our good seigneurs and masters, the
Frankish Kings, whom our blessed bishops order us to obey in the name of
the Church! Oh, Prince, I repeat it to you, but for that the eyes of an
old man are stingy of tears, mine would flow in torrents at the thought
of the damnable error of those unhappy heretics!"
"Mountebank, you are a pious man," said Cautin; "kneel down and kiss my
hand."
"Holy bishop, blessed be the favor you grant me."
"Rise, my son, and preserve your faith in our Church; have also
confidence in the future; the accursed idolaters and rebellious Bretons
will not much longer escape the just punishment that is in store for
them."
"Oh, no! As true as scissors have never touched my hair, I, Chram, son
of Clotaire, King of France, I shall never rest so long as those
Armorican demons are not crushed and drowned in their own blood. Too
long have they resisted our arms. We shall soon make short work of
them."
"May the Almighty hear your vow, great Prince, and may He grant me, a
poor old man, enough days to witness the submission of that Brittany
that has so long remained stiffnecked and indomitable."
"Now, mountebank, let us return to your bear; we had almost forgotten
all about him, the wild fellow who was born in one of the lairs of the
accursed Vagres."
"Nothing strange in that, glorious King! Are not those accursed fellows
wolves? Have not bears and wolves the same dens? Come Mont-Dore, up my
lad, show your skill to our holy bishop, who is present, and to the
illustrious King Chram; also to the very renowned count and the noble
audience. Take this cane--it shall be your mount; get on horseback and
gallop around this table as gracefully as you can, and with the
gentlest airs that you can put on. Come, Mont-Dore, to horse, the
courser will not run away with you. Make room, there, make room, there,
noble seigneurs--above all, do not approach the animal too closely.
Come, Mont-Dore, start galloping, my daring knight!"
The lover of the beautiful bishopess straddled the cane which he held
between his two fore paws, and led by the chain which Karadeucq held he
commenced to prance with grotesque clumsiness around the hall amid the
loud laughter of the assembled leudes.
As he led him, the Vagre said to himself:
"I came dangerously near betraying myself when I heard the Frankish King
speak of the bravery of the Breton race; my heart beat with pride fit to
crack my ribs; then, besides, I thought of good old grandfather Araim,
who used to call me his pet! I thought of my father Jocelyn, of my
mother Madalen--both no doubt dead in the country that I ran away from
more than forty years ago, and where my brother Kervan and my dear sweet
sister Roselyk still live. At these thoughts tears came to my eyes
despite myself. Oh, my sons! Ronan! Loysik! here I am near to you, but
shall I manage your delivery! Hesus! Hesus! inspire me."
The Master of the Hounds pranced all along astride of the cane,
encouraged in his antics by the laughter that it provoked in the Franks.
Remembering the success that had crowned his efforts during the nights
of the calends of January, he indulged in gambols that delighted the
blockish leudes and that carried their hilarity to the pitch of
hysterics. Above all the count held his sides and laughed and laughed,
fit to burst his dalmatica of silver cloth. Suddenly he checked his
laughter and said to Chram:
"King, would you see still better sport?"
"Yes, count, what have you to propose? Your face is red to suffocation.
You breathe like an ox. What new thought has just sprouted in your
head?"
"It is this: I have a plan--we have in the burg enormous and ferocious
mastiffs that we use to hunt wolves and wild boars with. We shall chain
the bear to one of the beams of the hall."
"And let loose some of your mastiffs against him? The idea is
delicious."
"Yes, Chram; I want to offer you a royal treat."
"Long live Count Neroweg! Come, fetch the dogs! The more ferocious they
are and sharp their teeth, all the more amusing will be the sight."
"Yes, yes," cried the Franks with shouts of joy; "the dogs--the dogs--a
combat between the bear and the dogs."
"Hello! my master of the hounds, Gondolf! fetch in Mirff and Morff--if
they leave a shred of skin and flesh on the bones of the bear I wish
this goblet of wine may be poison to me."
"Seigneur, I shall run to the kennel and bring the mastiffs Mirff and
Morff."
When he heard the count's proposition, which was received with universal
acclaim by the leudes, the lover of the bishopess, who, faithful to his
role, was riding lustily on his cane around the table suddenly
interrupted his antics and was on the point of expressing with some
compromising gesture his refusal to serve as quarry for the fangs of
Mirff and Morff. Fortunately by means of a gentle tug given at the
chain, Karadeucq recalled the Vagre to prudence and the latter continued
his gambols with the most indifferent air in the world; but his
conductor, without letting the chain slip from his hands, threw himself
at the feet of Neroweg and said:
"Seigneur count, illustrious seigneur!"
"What would you of me, old mountebank?"
"My bear is my bread winner--you will have him killed."
"And I, do not I also run the risk of seeing the best two dogs of my
pack hugged to death--or torn to pieces by your bear's claws? You said
yourself, your animal was ferocious."
"Seigneur, you do not earn your living with your dogs; but my bear is my
bread winner."
"Dare you resist my will?"
"Oh, great Prince," said Karadeucq on his knees, but turning towards
Chram: "A poor old man addresses him to your glory; one word from you to
this illustrious seigneur, who respects you as the son of his King, and
he will renounce his project. I swear to you by my salvation, the other
tricks of my bear which I have not exhibited will amuse a hundredfold
more than the bloody combat that will deprive me of my bread winner."
"Come, rise old mountebank, I shall not hinder you in the making of your
living."
"Thanks to you, great King, my bear is saved!"
Chram's words provoked violent murmurs from the count's leudes; not only
did they see themselves deprived of a spectacle that was to delight
their eyes, but they imagined themselves humiliated anew, now in the
person of the master of the house, their count. The murmurs grew louder.
"Chram is not King in this burg, Neroweg," cried Sigefrid, one of the
principal starters of the quarrel that was allayed just as Karadeucq
entered the hall with his bear. "No, King Chram cannot by a word deprive
us of an amusement that it pleases you to afford us. Neroweg is King in
his burg."
"No, no," loudly chimed in the other warriors of the count, "we want to
see the fight with the bear. The dogs! the dogs! Neroweg alone commands
here."
"Yes, and to the devil with the King!" cried Sigefrid.
"The devil take Chram if he opposes our enjoyment! We are masters here."
"Only brutes of rustics send their guest to the devil when he is the son
of their King," put in the Lion of Poitiers with a threatening air. "Is
that the example in courtesy that you set to your men, Neroweg? It seems
so, judging by the conduct of your steward, who is hastening now, when
the banquet is hardly over, to carry away your gold and silver vessels
out of fear, I suppose, lest we steal them."
"My sons! My dear sons in Christ! Are you about to start quarreling
anew? I order peace, my sons--in the name of heaven, keep the peace!"
"Bishop, you are right to preach peace; these brave leudes who fear that
I am interfering with their amusement did not understand me. I told the
mountebank that I would not hinder him from earning his living."
"Thanks again, thanks again, great King."
"How much is your bear worth?"
"He is priceless to me."
"Whatever sum you may fix will be counted out to you, in case your bear
is killed."
The King's words were received by the acclamations of the Franks, and
allayed the quarrel that was on the point of breaking out. Karadeucq,
however, without rising from his knees, cried:
"Great King, no sum can repay me for my bear; mercy, beg the count to
desist from his project."
"The dogs! Here are the dogs!"
"In all my life I have not seen such mastiffs!" exclaimed Chram with
admiration. "Count, if your whole pack is similarly fitted out, it will
rival mine, which I considered matchless."
"What flanks! What enormous paws! Ha, Chram, if you only heard their
voices, the bellowing of a bull is like the song of a nightingale beside
their barking when they are on the tracks of a wild boar. I am justly
proud of my dogs."
"I wager that one of them will be enough to kill the bear as truly as my
name is Spatachair."
"Come, tie the bear to one of the beams, old mountebank, and let us
begin." "I told you, if your beast is killed, I shall pay whatever sum
you may say, royally and without chaffering."
"Illustrious King, have pity on a poor man."
"Enough, enough--chain up the bear to one of the beams, and be done."
"Seigneur bishop, in the name of your blessed hand which you give me to
kiss, be charitable towards my poor animal."
"Is he perchance a Christian that I should exercise charity towards him?
Oh, mountebank, mountebank, had you not shown yourself a minute ago to
be a pious man, I would consider this last request an outrage."
To insist any longer would have been to risk losing everything.
Karadeucq understood this, and addressing himself to Chram, said:
"Glorious King, let your will be done; but allow me to make one last
request."
"Hurry up."
"The spectacle will only be a butchery; my bear being chained he will
not be able to defend himself."
"Would you perchance leave him loose, old idiot, and have him devour
us!"
"No, King; but if you would wish an amusement that would last some time,
then at least equalize the forces; permit me to arm my bear with a
club."
"Has he not his nails?"
"For the sake of prudence I have filed them off--you notice how smooth
his paws are."
"Very well, he shall have a club--but do you think he will know how to
help himself with it?"
"Alas, the fear of being devoured will force him to defend himself as
best he may; in all your life you will not have seen such a spectacle."
"And you, Neroweg," said Sigefrid, more than any other of the leudes a
stickler for the count's dignity, "do you allow the bear to have a club?
You alone have the right to say here: 'I will.'"
"Yes, yes, I allow the club--I think that the bear striking at the dogs
with a club will be a wonderful spectacle. And yet, I would have greatly
preferred to have seen the beast killed by Mirff and Morff. But that
would have ended the sport too quickly. Come, let the slaves blow the
horns, and you others, who beat the drums, blow and beat at your
loudest, or you shall have your own backs drummed upon; and you,
torch-bearing slaves, draw near the circle that is to be formed. Hold
high your torches that we may see the combat well. Strike up, you
drummers! blow on the hunting horns in order to excite the dogs well."
"To the beam; tie the bear to the beam!"
Karadeucq led the lover of the bishopess to a corner of the hall,
chained him to one of the beams of the colonnade, put between his paws
the knotty club on which he had been riding and said to him:
"Come, my poor Mont-Dore; courage; you will have to defend yourself
well, seeing that you have to fight against two dogs for the amusement
of the noble seigneurs; show yourself worthy of your race."
A wide circle was formed, lighted by the torch-bearing slaves. In the
front rank of the audience stood King Chram, his three favorites, the
count, the bishop and several leudes; all the others mounted the table.
In the center of the circle, clad in his ample jacket, which had
fortunately been left to him, stood the Vagre-bear; he preserved an
intrepid countenance; he naively sat down on his haunches, like a bear
who expects no evil, and nonchalantly held his club between his fore
paws; occasionally he leaned the club against his body in order to
scratch himself with a movement of graceful and easy abandon. Suddenly
the hunting horns struck up their deafening uproar. Gondolf, the count's
master of the hounds, stepped into the circle holding the two monstrous
mastiffs by the leash. From their enormous necks a dewlap similar to
that of a bull dropped down upon their chests; their large bloodshot
eyes were half hidden under their long and drooping ears; black, white
and yellow streaks ran over their shaggy skin which bristled up on their
backs the moment they perceived the bear. Instantly they barked
furiously, and dashing forward wildly they broke the leash that Gondolf
still held in his hand. In two bounds they precipitated themselves upon
the lover of the bishopess.
"At him, Mirff! At him, Morff!" cried the count clapping his hands. "At
him! At the quarry, my wild fellows! Leave him not a shred of flesh on
his bones!"
"Unless a miracle of strength and skill takes place, my companion will
be torn to pieces, our strategy discovered, and the last chance of my
sons' escape will be lost; if so, I shall swiftly stab both the King and
the count at their hearts," said Karadeucq to himself, and as he did,
his hand reached under his blouse, for the dagger that he had there
hidden. His hand firmly seized it, ready for immediate use.
Seemingly unaffected by the sight of the dogs, the Vagre-bear continued
to perform his role with unaltered presence of mind, bravery and skill;
he made a momentary movement of surprise, but immediately backed up
against the beam and held himself ready, with uplifted club, to repel
the attack of the dogs. Mirff was the first to dash forward, aiming at
his belly, but that very instant the Vagre-bear struck him so violent a
blow over the head that the club broke in three, and Mirff dropped as if
struck by thunder, and emitting terrible howls.
"Malediction!" cried the count. "There goes a mastiff that cost me three
gold sous! Here, my men, have that ferocious bear immediately
disemboweled with your boar spears and iron bars!"
The count's imprecations were drowned by the frantic shouts of the rest
of the audience, who, themselves more disinterested than Neroweg in the
course that the combat was taking, applauded the bear's valor and
awaited the issue of the struggle with anxious curiosity. The
Vagre-bear, now disarmed and wholly exposed, was at close quarters with
the other mastiff, that, the moment the club was broken, seized his
adversary in the thigh with his formidable fangs and threw him down with
the impetuosity of the shock. The blood of Karadeucq's companion flowed
copiously and reddened the leaves with which the floor was strewn. Twice
did the bear and the dog roll over each other; at the third time,
pinning to the ground with the full weight of his body the mastiff,
that, like Deber-Trud, did not loosen its teeth from its enemy, the
Vagre clutched the brute by the throat and held him in such a tight
clutch between his vigorous hands, that the animal was strangled. During
this doubly terrible struggle not only did the mastiff's bite cause the
Vagre an intense pain, but he ran at every instant the risk of being cut
to pieces, together with Karadeucq, if, by the slightest accident, he
but betrayed himself;--the lover of the bishopess remained true to his
ursine role; he emitted no sound other than a few muffled grunts. The
combat being over, the worthy animal crouched down in a lump at the foot
of the beam between the corpses of the two mastiffs; with his head
between his fore paws he seemed patiently to lick his bleeding wound,
while Chram, his favorites and several even of the count's leudes
vociferously acclaimed the triumph of the bear.
"Alas, alas!" murmured old Karadeucq as he approached his companion. "My
poor bear is wounded, mortally perhaps. I have lost my bread winner."
"Fetch boar spears and axes!" cried the count foaming at the mouth with
fury. "Let the ferocious brute be cut to pieces on the spot; he has just
killed Mirff and Morff, the best two dogs of my pack! By the Terrible
Eagle, my ancestor, I order that the cursed bear be cut to pieces
instantly! Did you hear me, Gondolf?" he added, addressing his master of
the hounds and trembling with rage. "Take down one of those hunting
spears from the wall--kill that bear, kill him on the spot!"
Gondolf hastened to arm himself as he was ordered, while Karadeucq,
kneeling down again, cried to Chram with outstretched arms:
"Great King, my only hope rests with you. I implore mercy from you. I
place myself under your protection and under the protection of your
royal suite. Oh, redoubtable and invincible warrior! Oh, ye other
valorous warriors of the King's suite, as terrible in battle as you are
generous after victory, you surely will not want to see this animal
killed; he vanquished, but was wounded in the struggle and fought
fairly! No, no, ever following the example of your glorious King, your
refined and courteous honor will revolt at such brutal cowardice, even
if committed towards a poor animal! Oh, warriors who are as brilliant by
your armor and military grace as you are terrible by your valor, I place
myself at the mercy and under the protection of your King. He will
demand the life of my bear of the seigneur count, who can refuse nothing
to such a noble guest!"
The Frank is vainglorious; his pride delights in the most exaggerated
praises of himself; Karadeucq was aware of this; moreover, by addressing
himself exclusively to the royal bodyguard, he expected to throw once
more the apple of discord between them and the count's leudes. His words
were favorably received by the warriors of Chram, who, stepping towards
Neroweg, said:
"Count, we demand of you grace for this brave animal, and we do so in
the name of the old German custom, according to which a guest's request
is always granted."
"King, the custom to the contrary notwithstanding, I shall avenge the
death of Mirff and Morff, who cost me six gold pieces. Gondolf, fetch
the spears and axes; the bear shall be cut to pieces instantly!"
"Count, the poor mountebank has placed himself under my protection. I
may not forsake him."
"Chram, whether or not you protect the old bandit, I shall revenge the
death of my magnificent dogs Mirff and Morff."
"Listen, Neroweg, I have a pack that is worth fully as much as yours.
You saw it hunt in the forest of Margevol. You may send the master of
the hounds to my villa, let him pick out six of my best and handsomest
dogs to replace the two that lie dead at our feet."
"I said I would revenge Mirff and Morff," yelled the count furiously,
grinding his teeth. "Gondolf, the spears! the spears! death to the
devilish bear!"
"You savage rustic, you fail in all the duties of hospitality by denying
the request of the King's son," bellowed the Lion of Poitiers at
Neroweg, "just as you insulted us, your guests, by keeping your wife
from the banquet, and by having your gold and silver vessels removed
from the table even before the banquet was over! You are more of a bear
than that animal, which you shall not kill. I forbid you--the mountebank
has placed himself under the protection of Chram and of us, his men."
"Companions!" cried Sigefrid, "shall we tolerate the heaping of insults
upon our count?"
"Just listen to the rustic brutes!" observed aloud one of Chram's
warriors, "listen to them, barking as ever, without daring to bite."
"I, Neroweg, king in this burg, as any king in his kingdom, I shall kill
that bear! And if you say another word, you whom they call Lion, I shall
knock you down at my feet with a blow from my axe, insolent palace cub!"
"You dare insult me, you smut-covered boar!" screamed the Gallic
renegade as, pale with anger, he drew his sword with one hand and with
the other seized the count by the collar of his dalmatica. "You seem to
want me to turn your throat into a sheath for my blade! Ask for mercy,
or you are a dead man!"
"Ha, you double thief! You wish to steal my gold necklace!" cried
Neroweg, thinking only of defending his jewelry, and concluding from the
gesture of his adversary that the latter's purpose was to rob him. "I
was right to place my gold and silver vessels out of the clutches of all
of you thievish palace cubs."
"He calls us all thieves! To your swords, men of the royal bodyguard!
Let us avenge our honor! Let us slash these rustics!"
"Ha, bastard dogs!" cried Neroweg between whom and the Lion of Poitiers
Sigefrid had thrown himself. "You speak of swords--here is one for you,
and of good temper; you will taste it, profligate blasphemer, who have
of a lion only the name! To me, my leudes! they have raised their hands
against your count! Let us slash the royal bodyguard!"
"Neroweg!" cried Chram interposing, as his favorite, who had shaken
himself loose from Sigefrid, rushed at the count with upraised sword,
"are you all fools to quarrel in this manner? Lion, I order you to put
up your sword."
"Oh, great St. Martin, blessings upon your name for giving me the
opportunity to chastise the sacrilegious whelp who had the audacity to
raise his switch at my holy bishop, and who has never ceased sneering at
both the holy man and me since he stepped into my burg," cried the
count, deaf to the words of Chram, and striving to reach his adversary,
from whom he had been again separated in the midst of the uproar.
"Boys, let us defend Neroweg!" Sigefrid called out to his fellow leudes
of the count. "This is a good opportunity to prove to the braggards that
our rough-looking swords are better than their parade weapons! To arms!
Down with them to the last man!"
"And we also to arms! let us settle accounts with these dogs of the
basement! They think they are strong, because they are on their own
dunghill. Death to the clowns. Let us defend the favorite of King Chram,
our King! Swing your axes!"
"My dear sons in God," screamed the bishop in a vain endeavor to
dominate the tumult and the increasing uproar, "I order you, all of you,
to put up your swords! It is an affliction to the Lord to see His sons
quarrel over trifles. Obey your father in God!"
"My friends!" cried Chram in his turn but without being able to make
himself heard, "it is folly, it is stupidity to slay one another in this
wise. Imnachair! Spatachair! calm our men; and you, Neroweg, calm yours
instead of exciting them!"
Vain words; they dropped unheard; neither Neroweg nor the rest of the
leudes did or cared to listen to words of conciliation. As to Neroweg
himself, a mass of combatants had again thrown themselves between him
and the Lion of Poitiers, to whom he called in an enraged voice and
struggled to reach. The warriors of Chram and those of the count soon
passed from insults and threats, hurled at each other from a distance,
to a hand-to-hand conflict. At the first blow the engagement became
general--maddening, furious, maudlin and all the more terrible because
the torch-bearing slaves, who alone lighted the hall, fearing to be
killed in the brawl, fled away precipitately, some throwing their
torches to the ground and thus extinguishing them, others carrying the
lighted torches with them in their distracted flight. In an instant the
banquet hall was deprived of its living illumination; the battle
continued in the dark with blind ferocity.
And Karadeucq and the lover of the beautiful bishopess, did they remain
quietly in the midst of the butchery? Oh, by no means! Vagres know
better than that. After having skilfully thrown the firebrand in the
midst of the leudes of the King and the count, Karadeucq saw with
pleasure the flames of angry rivalry between the two sets of barbarians
flare up a third time, after twice having been appeased; and it was with
delight that he noticed it rage in such manner that both he and his bear
were lost sight of. As soon as the conflagration which he had kindled
was well under way, the old Vagre rushed to the bear, and unchaining
him, said at his companion's ear: "Follow close at my heels and do as I
do."
The melee was at its height; the torch-bearers had either fled or were
fleeing, leaving the banquet hall in almost perfect darkness. Followed
by the Master of the Hounds Karadeucq threw himself under the wide and
massive table which, although now broken in parts, was not upset by the
combat, being, contrary to the habit of the Franks, fastened to the
floor. Thus under shelter for a moment the old Vagre unfastened the
chain from around the neck of the lover of the bishopess, whereupon
continuing to grope their way under the table by the flickering light of
the extinguishing torches on the floor, they reached the door of the
banquet hall, which was free from the combatants, and rushed out. As
they issued from the banquet hall the Vagres found themselves face to
face with two slaves who, having fled through another issue, were
running distracted with their torches in their hands. Each Vagre seized
one of the slaves by the throat.
"Extinguish your torch," said Karadeucq, "and lead me straight to the
_ergastula_, or you die this instant."
"Give me your torch," said the lover of the bishopess, "and take me
straight to the hay lofts, or I stab you to death."
The two slaves obeyed; the Vagres parted company; one ran towards the
hay lofts and barns, the other to the _ergastula_, both guided by their
conductors.