COUNT AND VAGRE.
With Loysik and Ronan on the shoulders of their companions and little
Odille in the arms of the Master of the Hounds, the Vagres and the
revolted slaves hastened to reach the forest. The rear of the fleeing
troop was brought up by four Vagres, panting for breath and bent down by
a heavy bundle that they carried between them. It was a large coarse
cloth wound around a gagged and firmly bound man, whose head was
additionally wrapped in a jacket.
"Who is that man, my brave Master of the Hounds? Do you know?" asked
Ronan.
"It is Count Neroweg, whom your father dexterously kidnapped from the
very midst of the leudes with the aid of two of his comrades."
"Neroweg in our power! In the power of Ronan, Loysik and Karadeucq, the
descendants of Schanvoch! Heaven and earth!"
"Hello, old Karadeucq, come this way--Ronan will not believe that we
kidnapped the Frankish wild-boar."
"Yes, my sons, that fellow whose head is concealed in a jacket, and whom
our men are carrying, is Neroweg--it is my share of the booty."
"It is your share, Karadeucq--but we, the count's former slaves, demand
to have his skin and bones."
"What a pity that we have not the bishop also--the feast would be
complete."
"The Lion of Poitiers killed the bishop."
"Father, are you sure that infamous bishop is dead?"
"Yes--I saw him fall under the sword of the Lion of Poitiers. The blow
almost clove him in two."
"But how did you manage to capture Neroweg?"
"I kept my eyes upon you and Loysik from a distance, as you were carried
towards the bridge by our Vagres who shouted: 'Room there, room for the
wounded leudes whom we have saved from the ruins.' Mixing in, together
with three other of our men, among the distracted crowd of leudes and
loyal slaves, who were running about helter skelter, I suddenly saw the
count running all alone at a distance, and carrying in his arms with
great difficulty two heavy skin bags, probably filled with gold and
silver; he was running towards a dry well. Neroweg was at that moment
alone and a considerable distance away from the burning buildings. The
thought struck me to seize the man. Together with two of our men I crept
behind the bushes around the cistern into which the count threw one of
the bags, fearing, no doubt, that their contents might be stolen from
him in the general turmoil. The three of us fell upon him unawares, and
threw him down; I planted both my knees upon his chest and both my hands
over his mouth to keep him from crying out for help; one of our men took
off his jacket, gagged Neroweg and wrapped the jacket over the Frank's
head, while our other companion tied his feet, legs and arms firmly,
took a large piece of rough cloth that lay near and wound it around the
seigneur count. The bridge lay not far away; we could see it from where
we stood--and that is the way in which I captured my booty. We are now
far enough away from the burg; the count's voice could not be heard
there. Remove the jacket from his head and the gag from his mouth.
Hurrah for the Vagrery!"
As soon as Neroweg was uncovered and ungagged Karadeucq said to him:
"Count, your hands will remain bound, but I shall now free your legs.
Will you walk to the forest with us?"
"You mean to kill me there! Let us walk, accursed mountebank, you will
see how a Frank marches with a firm step to death--you Gallic dogs, race
of slaves!"
The outskirt of the forest was reached at the peep of dawn--a flitting
moment in the month of June. At the distance a ruddy glamour was seen
struggling against the approaching light of day--it was the
conflagration that still raged over the ruins of the burg.
Ronan and the hermit-laborer were laid upon the grass, with little
Odille seated beside them. On her knees near the young girl, the
bishopess tended her wounds. The Vagres and the revolted slaves stood in
a circle around. Neroweg stood pinioned, but savage and resolute of
countenance--those barbarians and thieves, however cowardly in their
vengeance, are, it must be admitted even by us, their enemies, endowed
with a certain savage bravery--he cast an intrepid look at the Vagres.
Old Karadeucq, who had preserved his vigor, looked youthed by fully
twenty years. The joy of having saved his sons and of having Neroweg in
his power seemed to impart new life to him. His eyes sparkled, his
cheeks were aflame, he contemplated the count with greedy looks.
"We shall be revenged," said Ronan, "you will be revenged, little
Odille."
"Ronan, I ask no vengeance for myself; in our prison I often said to the
good hermit-laborer: 'If ever I should be free again, I shall not return
evil for evil.'"
"Yes, sweet child--as sweet as pardon. But you need not fear, our father
will not kill that man unarmed," answered Loysik.
"Will he not kill him, brother? Aye, by the devil! Our father will kill
the Frank as sure as he put us both to the torture, and that he beat and
violated this poor child! Blood and massacre, no mercy!"
"No, Ronan, our father will not kill a defenseless man."
"You are long about killing me!" put in the captured count. "What are
you waiting for! And you, accursed mountebank, the chief of these
bandits, why do you look at me in that way in silence?"
"Because, Neroweg, in contemplating you as I do, I am thinking of the
past. I am conjuring up family recollections in which one of your
ancestors, the Terrible Eagle, is mixed."
"He was a great chief," answered the Frank proudly; "he was a great
King, one of the bravest warriors of my lineage. His name is still
glorified in Germany--my shame remains hidden at the bottom of my
grave--if you dig a grave for me, cursed dogs!"
"It happened more than three hundred years ago; a great battle was
delivered on the banks of the Rhine between the Gauls and the Franks.
One of my ancestors fought with yours--the Terrible Eagle. It was a
desperate struggle; it was not merely a fight between soldier and
soldier, it was a conflict between two races that were fated foes! My
ancestor had a presentiment that the stock of Neroweg would be fatal to
ours, and he sought to kill him in order to extinguish his family. Fate
willed it otherwise. Alas, my ancestor's forebodings did not deceive
him. This is the second time that our two families meet across the ages.
You had my two sons put to the torture, and to-day they were to be
executed upon your orders. Now you are in my power; you are about to
die, and your stock will be extinct."
A flash of joy lighted the Frank's eyes, and he answered with a firm
voice: "Kill me!"
"My Vagres, this man belongs to me--it is my part of the booty."
"He is yours, old Karadeucq--you may dispose of him at your pleasure.
Say the word and we will strike him down dead."
"I wish him to be unbound; I wish him to have the full use of his
limbs--but make a strong circle around us two, so that he can not run
away."
"Here we are--a strong circle of swords' points, axes, pikes and sharp
scythes--he will not be able to break through."
"A priest!" suddenly cried the count in accents of anguish. "I do not
wish to die without the assistance of a priest! Will you assist me,
hermit-laborer?"
"Father," cried Loysik, "do not kill this man in that manner!"
"I do not ask you for my life, Gallic dogs! Slaves! But I do not wish to
go to hell! I ask the absolution of a priest!"
"Take this axe, Count Neroweg; we shall be equally armed; the combat
between us is to be to the death."
"Father, in the name of your two sons, whom you have just saved, desist
from this combat."
"My sons, this axe does not weigh heavy in my hands--I shall extinguish
in this Frank the stock of the Nerowegs."
"I, a man of an illustrious family, do battle with a beggar, a Vagre, a
revolted slave! No! I shall not bestow such an honor upon you, bastard
dog--you may slay me."
"Seize him, and shave his head smooth like a slave. Shame upon the
coward!"
"I, shaved like a vile slave! I, undergo such an outrage! I prefer to do
battle with you, vile bandit; give me the axe!"
"Here it is, count. And you, my brave Vagres, widen the circle--and long
live Gaul!"
Neroweg precipitated himself upon the Vagre; the combat was engaged; it
was frightful, stubborn. Loysik, Ronan, little Odille and the bishopess
followed trembling and with anxious eyes the events of the struggle. It
did not last long. Karadeucq spoke truly. The axe did not weigh heavy in
his vigorous hand; it swung in the air and fell with a crash upon the
forehead of Neroweg, who rolled down upon the grass with his skull
cleaved in twain.
"Die!" cried Karadeucq with a triumphant air. "The stock of the Terrible
Eagle will no longer pursue the stock of Joel!"
"You lie, Gallic dog! My stock is not extinct. I have a son of my second
wife at Soissons--and my present wife, Godegisele, is with child. My
stock will live!"
And with a feeble voice, the dying man added:
"Hermit laborer, give me paradise--my good Bishop Cautin, have pity upon
me! Oh, I am going to hell! to hell! the demons!"
And Neroweg expired, his face contracted in diabolical terror.
Missing the count, his leudes must have concluded that he lay buried
under the smoldering ruins; some feared that the revolted slaves
captured and took him with them. If they searched for him, they must
have found the count's body at the outskirts of the forest, with his
skull cleaved in twain by an axe blow, and stretched out at the foot of
a tree, with the outward bark ripped off and on the bare trunk of which
the following words were engraved with the point of a dagger:
"_Karadeucq, the Vagre, a descendant of the Gaul Joel, the brenn of the
tribe of Karnak, killed this Frankish count, a descendant of Neroweg,
the Terrible Eagle. Long live Gaul._"
PART IV.
GHILDE.
CHAPTER I.
AT THE HEARTH OF JOEL.
Two years have passed since the death of Count Neroweg. We are now in
winter; the wind moans, the snow falls. It was on the day following a
similar night that, nearly fifty years ago, Karadeucq, the grandson of
old Araim left the paternal roof, under which the following narrative
takes place, in order to run the Bagaudy, seduced thereto by a peddler's
story.
Old Araim died long ago, never ceasing to sorrow over the loss of
Karadeucq, his pet. Jocelyn and Madalen, Karadeucq's father and mother
also are dead. His elder brother Kervan and his sweet sister Roselyk
still live and inhabit the same homestead situated near the sacred
stones of Karnak. Kervan is over sixty years of age; he married late;
his son, now fifteen years of age, is called Yvon. The blonde Roselyk,
sister of Kervan, is nearly as old as her brother; her hair has turned
white; she has remained single and lives with her brother and his wife
Martha.
It is night; out of doors the wind blows and the snow falls.
Kervan, his sister, his wife, his son and several of their relatives,
who cultivate with them the identical fields that more than six hundred
years ago Joel cultivated with his family, are engaged near the
fireplace at several household tasks, the favorite pastimes during the
long nights of winter. A violent gust of wind blows open the door and
several windows. Kervan remarks to his sister:
"Good Roselyk, it was on such a night as this, many long years ago, that
a cursed peddler came to our door. Do you remember the incident?"
"Alas, I do! The next morning our poor brother Karadeucq left us
forever. His disappearance gave so much pain to our grandfather Araim
that he died of a broken heart, and shortly after we lost our mother,
who was almost crazed with grief. Our father Jocelyn alone withstood the
bereavement. Oh, our brother Karadeucq was but too heavily punished for
wishing to see the Korrigans!"
"The Korrigans, aunt Roselyk!" cried Yvon, Kervan's son. "The little
fairies of olden times, of which good old Gildas, the shearer of the
sheep, often talks? They have not been seen in this country for a long
time, neither the Korrigans nor the other little dwarfs, called Dus."
"Fortunately, my boy, the country is now free from those evil
sprites--but for them your uncle Karadeucq might now be in our midst by
the fireplace."
"And did you never hear from him, father?"
"Never, my son! He surely died in one of those civil wars, those
disasters that continue to rend old Gaul under the reign of the
descendants of Clovis."
"May our Brittany be ever spared the ills that so cruelly afflict the
other provinces!"
"Our old Armorica has until now been able to preserve her independence
and repel all attempts at invasion from the Franks. Why should we be any
less able to hold our own in the future? The chiefs of our tribes, whom
we choose ourselves, are brave. The chief of the chiefs whom these have
chosen, old Kando, and who keeps watch at our frontiers, is an intrepid
and experienced man. Did we not triumphantly repel all the attacks of
the Franks until now?"
"And already three times have you been called to take up arms, Kervan,
and were forced to leave me, together with your sister Roselyk and our
son Yvon, in mortal fear," exclaimed Martha, Kervan's wife.
"Come, come, you poor timid Gallic woman. Remember our family
legends--Margarid, Joel's wife; Meroe, the wife of Albinik the mariner;
Ellen, the wife of Schanvoch--did they ever exhibit such weakness when
their husbands took the field to fight for the freedom of Gaul?"
"Alas, no! And Margarid as well as Meroe met death on the battlefield,
together with their husbands."
"While I have been only once wounded in battle against the accursed
Franks, whom we cut to pieces on our frontier."
"But you seem, brother, to forget all about the danger that you ran
during the last vintage. That was an odd vintage! It had to be garnered
with the sword on the side and the axe ready in hand."
"Nonsense! Those were mere pleasure parties. We sallied forth gaily, and
went beyond our own borders to harvest the crops of grapes that the
Franks make their slaves raise in the region of Nantes. By the beard of
Joel! He would have laughed a hearty laugh at the sight of our troops
recrossing our frontier gaily escorting our large carts full of red
grapes! What a pleasing sight! The yokes of our oxen, the bridles of the
horses and even the iron of our lances were festooned with green vine
leaves. And we marched to the rhythmic measure of the chant that we sang
in chorus:
"'The Franks, they shall not drink it,
This wine of our old Gaul--
No, the Franks, they shall not drink it!
We make our vintage, sword and pruning-hook in hand.
Our chariots, used in war, are our rolling presses.
It is not blood that crimsons deep their axle-trees,
It is the purple juice of ruddy grapes.
The Franks, they shall not drink it,
This wine of our old Gaul--
No, the Franks, they shall not drink it!'"
"Father, I shall be sixteen years old next vintage in the country of
Nantes--will you not take me with you?"
"Keep still, Yvon! Make not such requests. They frighten me," cried the
boy's mother.
"Roselyk, dear sister, do not my wife's words remind you of our mother
scolding our brother Karadeucq because he wished to see the Korrigans?
She used to say: 'Hold your tongue, bad boy!'"
"Alas, brother, all mothers' hearts are alike."
"Father, I hear steps outside--it must be old Gildas. He promised to
come this evening and teach us a new chant that he learned from a
traveling tailor. Yes, it is he! Good evening, old Gildas!"
"Good evening, my boy; good evening to all."
"Shut the door, old Gildas. The air is cold; come near the fire."
"Kervan, I am not alone. A stranger accompanies me. He knocked at my
door and asked for the house where Kervan, the son of Jocelyn, dwells.
The traveler comes from Vannes, and even further. He wishes to see you."
"Why does he not step in?"
"He is shaking off the snow that covers him from head to foot."
"Good God, Gildas! Is the man a peddler?"
"Roselyk, Roselyk, does not that also sound like mother? You are right,
all mothers' hearts are alike."
"No, Martha; the young man does not look like a peddler to me. Judging
by his resolute mien, he would sooner be taken for a soldier. He carries
a long dagger in his belt--here he is himself."
"Step in, traveler. Did you ask for the dwelling of Kervan, the son of
Jocelyn? Do you wish to see Kervan? I am Kervan."
"Greeting to you and yours, Kervan. But why do you look at me so
wonderingly?"
"Roselyk, look well at this young man--look at his eyes, his forehead,
his bearing, his face."
"Oh, brother, one sees strange resemblances at times. One would think
that our brother Karadeucq himself stood before us--that is how he
looked at the time that he ran away."
"Roselyk, do you not notice that the stranger seems strangely affected?
There are tears in his eyes. Say, young man, are you the son of
Karadeucq?"
The answer of Ronan the Vagre was to throw himself on the neck of his
father's brother, after which he embraced no less effusively Martha,
Roselyk and Yvon. After the tears were dried and the first emotion
appeased, the first words that simultaneously parted from the lips of
Kervan and Roselyk were:
"And our brother, our beloved Karadeucq? What tidings do you bring us
from him?"
At this question Ronan the Vagre remained silent; his head drooped and
tears again suffused his eyes.
Deep silence reigned hereat among the descendants of Joel. All eyes
wept.
Kervan was the first to overcome his grief, and broke the silence,
addressing his nephew:
"Is it long since my brother Karadeucq died?"
"Three months, dear uncle."
"Was his end peaceful? Did he remember me and Roselyk, who loved him so
dearly?"
"His last words were: 'I die without having been able to fulfill my part
of the duty imposed by my ancestor Joel upon his descendants. Promise
me, my son Ronan, you who are familiar with my own life and that of your
brother Loysik, to fulfill that duty in my stead, and to write down,
without concealing aught, both the good and the evil that we have done.
When you have done that, promise me that you will proceed to the cradle
of our family, near the sacred stones of Karnak. My father Jocelyn and
my mother Madalen are certainly dead by this time. You shall deliver the
narrative that will have been written, either to my good brother Kervan,
if he survives our aged parents, or to his eldest son. If Kervan should
have died without posterity, ask his heirs or his wife's to deliver to
you, obedient to the orders of our ancestor Joel, our family's legends
and relics, and you are then to transmit them to your descendants. If,
however, my brother Kervan and my sweet sister Roselyk still live, tell
them that I die with their names upon my lips and dear to my heart.'
Such were the last words uttered by my father."
"And have you the account of your own and my brother's lives?"
"Here it is," answered Ronan opening his traveling bag.
And he drew from it a parchment which he handed over to Kervan. The
latter took the scroll with deep emotion, while, taking from his belt
the long poniard with an iron hilt that Loysik and after him the Master
of the Hounds had worn, and on the hilt of which were engraven the Saxon
word _Ghilde_ and the two Gallic words _Friendship_, _Community_, Ronan
passed the weapon to his uncle, saying:
"It was my father's wish that this poniard be added to our family
relics. When you will have read this narrative you will admit that the
weapon deserves being placed together with the other articles that our
ancestors have bequeathed to us--pious relics, that I must ask you to
show me and which I shall contemplate with veneration. It is now getting
late. I must leave you again day after to-morrow morning. I must,
therefore, request you to read this very evening the narrative that I
have delivered to you. I shall relate to you to-morrow what remains to
be said and that I have not had the time to write down. I, on my part,
have a strong wish to read our family chronicles, the principal
incidents of which my father often narrated to me."
"Come," said Kervan taking up a lamp.
Ronan followed him. The two stepped into one of the chambers of the
house. On a table lay a small iron coffer, the gift of Victoria the
Great to Schanvoch. Kervan took from the coffer the gold sickle of
Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, the little brass bell left by
Guilhern, Sylvest's iron collar, Genevieve's silver cross and the
casque's lark of Victoria the Great. He deposited all these articles
near the poniard of Loysik. Kervan also produced from the little coffer
the several family parchments, ranked them in order before Ronan, and
then rejoined his family.
That long winter's night was spent by the Vagre reading the legends of
his family.
On their part, Kervan, his wife and sister prolonged their reading until
it was almost dawn. Contrary to their wont, they did not rise with the
day. With the impressions of his family history fresh upon his mind,
Ronan visited next morning the environs of the house. He found at every
step mementos of his ancestors--the wide field on which his ancestor and
his two sons, Guilhern and Mikael, indulged in the virile exercises of
the _mahrek-ha-droad_ still spread before his eyes; the living spring,
at the edge of which Sylvest and Syomara had in their infantine games
built their little hut to protect themselves from the heat of the sun,
still babbled along its course.
The Vagre was drawn from his revery by the voice of his father's
brother.
"Ronan," said Kervan, "the frost has hardened the ground and the cattle
can not be let out to-day. We shall have wheat to pound in the house.
Let us go in. While we are at work you can narrate to us the events that
complete your narrative. I promise you that I shall faithfully
transcribe them and append them to the narrative that you wrote."
CHAPTER II.
ON THE HILL NEAR MARCIGNY.
The family of Kervan are reassembled together with Ronan in the large
hall of the farmhouse. After the morning repast the women take up their
distaffs, or some other domestic work. The men pound the wheat, which
they pour out of one set of large bags and then drop into another. Huge
logs of beech and oak burn in the fireplace, seeing that outside the
cold is intense. While each pursues his work in silence they cast from
time to time inquisitive looks at Ronan, the Vagre son of the Bagauder.
"Uncle," says Ronan, "did you read through the narrative that I gave you
yesterday?"
"Yes, and all the rest of us here assembled heard it read. But there is
no mention made of my poor brother's death."
"Before broaching that subject, uncle, I should inform you of what
happened after the burning down of the burg of Neroweg.
"The complete success of our raid threw the Franks and bishops of the
region into consternation. All the slaves who were not too besotted, the
colonists whom the seigneurs rack-rented, in short, a considerable
number of determined men joined our band. From day to day its numbers
swelled and it became more redoubtable. With good or evil grace the
seigneurs felt themselves forced to improve the condition of their
slaves.
"My brother Loysik proved himself faithful to the principle of Jesus of
Nazareth that it is the sick who stand in special need of a physician.
He remained with us, and soon he had a decided ascendency over our
troop. His good-heartedness, his courage, his eloquence, his love for
Gaul, his horror of the Frankish conquest gained him all hearts. One day
he took it into his head to undertake a journey the destination of which
he kept a secret. Shortly after that we had letters from him urging us
to draw near to the confines of Burgundy; he was to join us in the
neighborhood of Marcigny, a town situated at the extreme end of that
province. Before his departure he made us promise that we would set no
more burgs and episcopal villas on fire; pillage, however, continued
unabated and was distributed among the poor. Thus we administered strict
justice upon the Frankish seigneurs, the bishops and abbots who enjoyed
a reputation for cruelty."
"But did not the Franks take up arms against you? Were they terrified to
that extreme?"
"King Clotaire ordered a levy of men, but the beneficiary seigneurs
feared that, if they parted with their leudes, their burgs would remain
unprotected and either at the mercy of the slaves or exposed to attacks
from our band. They sent but few men in answer to the King's summons.
And so we were given fresh opportunities and twice we beat the Franks in
pitched encounters. All the time we drew nearer and nearer to the
frontiers of Burgundy as requested by Loysik."
"And what of little Odille, Ronan? What became of her, poor, dear victim
of Frankish brutality?"
"I took her to wife; the dear girl never leaves me; she is as sweet as
she is brave, as devoted as she is tender."
"Dear girl--and the bishopess, who interested us all, despite her
errors?"
"Fulvia has become to the Master of the Hounds what Odille is to me."
"And that Prince Chram, who was scheming a parricide, did he carry out
his projected treason towards Clotaire, that other monster who stabbed
his brother's son to death?"
"Three days ago, on my way hither, I saw Chram and his father on the
frontier of our Armorica."
"The father and son on our frontier?"
"Aye, and they approved themselves worthy of each other. Oh, Kervan, I
have run the Vagrery in my boyhood; I have witnessed frightful scenes
during that period; but by the faith of a Vagre, I never was so
terrified--I still shudder with horror when I think of what, only a few
days ago, took place under my own eyes, when Chram and his father met.
"It was a horrible spectacle--I shall presently describe it to you, but
I must first return to our own affairs. Faithful to our promise to
Loysik, we drew nearer to the boundaries of Burgundy. That region, one
of the first that was conquered before Clovis by other hordes of
barbarians that preceded him from Germany and were called Burgunds, was
full of heroic souvenirs of old Gaul. It was there that, at the voice of
Vercingetorix, the Chief of the Hundred Valleys, the people first rose
in arms against the Romans. Epidorix, Convictolitan, Lictavic and other
patriots of that province joined with their several tribes the Chief of
the Hundred Valleys, all anxious to join him in doing battle for the
freedom of Gaul."
"And I suppose that once so brave region has undergone the fate of the
others?"
"There, as elsewhere, Kervan, the bishops undermined the mental virility
of the people, besotted them, and rendered them submissive prey to the
conquerors."
"But here in our Armorican Gaul, both the Christian and the
non-Christian druids preach to us the love of country and hatred for the
oppressor."
"And, consequently, Brittany has remained free. It happened otherwise
with the unfortunate province that I am speaking of. Since the year 355
its population began to degenerate visibly. Two chiefs of barbarian
hordes, Westralph and Chnodomar, invaded the region; other barbarians,
Burgunds by name, who came from the region of Mayence, in torn drove
away the first invaders and established themselves at about the year
416. These Burgunds, who gave their name to the region, were a pastoral
people and less savage than the other tribes that poured in from
Germany. The larger number of the original inhabitants were either cut
to pieces or led into slavery at the time of the first conquest in 355.
Although held in slavery by the Burgunds, the lot of the surviving
portion of the population was less wretched than that of their brothers
in most of the other conquered provinces. Gondiok, Gondehaud and his son
Sigismond succeeded one another as kings until 534. In that year,
Childebert and Clotaire, sons of Clovis, fell upon the Burgunds, and,
although these were of their own Germanic race, laid their country
waste, enslaved both Burgunds and Gauls, and attached the territory to
the domain of the Frankish kingdom."
"What devastation! What bloodshed!"
"Those were horrible times, but by the faith of a Vagre, we rendered
them frightful to many a conqueror himself. Well, agreeable to the
request of Loysik, we drew near the confines of Burgundy and arrived in
the vicinity of Marcigny early in autumn. In that happily located region
the fall of the year is as mild as summer. The sun was going down, we
had been on the march almost all day; the region, once so thickly
populated and teeming with wealth, now lay fallow and deserted. Some
more slaves joined us, others, however, fled into Marcigny, and threw
the place into alarm. We expected the return of Loysik at every moment.
As a matter of precaution we camped on a woody hill whence we could
observe the city, lying at a goodly distance away, and hardly protected
by its crumbling walls. Towards evening we saw our brother proceeding
out of the town. He hastened to us, having been notified of our arrival
by the fleeing slaves. It seems to me I see him now climbing the hill;
he walked hurriedly; his face beamed with happiness. After answering to
the affectionate greetings of our delighted troop who surrounded him,
all being eager to express to him their delight at his return, Loysik
made a sign that he wished to speak. He stepped upon a mound under the
overspreading branches of a chestnut tree. We gathered in a semi-circle
before him; many of the women who joined us in running the Vagrery sat
down at his feet on the grass. Odille and the bishopess were foremost
among these. On that day Loysik wore a robe of coarse white wool; a ray
of the westering sun that penetrated through the foliage above his head
seemed to surround with a golden aureole his serious and sweet face, on
both sides of which, parting from his slightly bald head, fell his long
blonde hair of the same color as his slight beard. I know not for what
reason, but as I then looked at Loysik, the young man of Nazareth
occurred to me, as he preached to the vagabond crowd that ever
surrounded him. Profound silence reigned among our troop. Loysik held an
address to us which I shortly after transcribed in full, together with
all that happened on the occasion, upon a parchment lest I should forget
it."
Taking a scroll from his pocket Ronan the Vagre proceeded:
"Here it is--I shall read it textually to you:
"'My friends, my brothers, all of you who hear me, I return to your
midst with good tidings. Until now, you have, by means of frightful acts
of reprisal, returned evil with evil to the Franks, the abbots and
bishops. These wicked folks so willed it--violence invites violence,
oppression invites revolt, iniquity invites vengeance. The threatening
words of Jesus have been verified--_They that take the sword, shall
perish by the sword; Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, for ye bind
heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders;
but ye yourselves will not move them with one of your fingers; Woe unto
you that are rich, for ye have received your consolation._ To the poor
who lacked the necessaries of life you gave the goods that you took from
the conquering plunderers, or from the modern princes of the Church.
Struck with terror, many a hard-hearted seigneur and prelate felt forced
to relax his severity. You have administered justice; but, alas, an
adventurous, merciless justice. It could not be otherwise. In these days
of tyranny and civil war, of slavery and revolt, of atrocious misery and
criminal opulence, people are hurled from the paths of morality. The
innate sense of justice and injustice, of good and evil is beclouded in
the popular mind. Some, besotted with terror, undergo unheard-of ills
with abject and degrading resignation; others, a prey to headlong
vertigo, mix actions of greatest nobility with deeds that are most
reprehensible. Your vengeance fatedly begets incalculable misfortunes.
No doubt there is now many a seigneur, who, merciless until recently,
does now conduct himself with less cruelty towards his slaves, as a
consequence of the terror with which you inspire him. But the next day?
You will then be far away, and the butchers then resume their murderous
propensities. You set the homes of the conquerors on fire; but those
buildings are speedily raised again, and it is our brothers, the slaves,
who are forced to rebuild them. You distribute among the poor a part of
the tribute that you levy upon the seigneurs and the prelates; but after
a few days of abundance, misery weighs anew upon the unhappy population,
and, by contrast, it is more painful than before. The coffers that you
rifle must all be refilled by our brothers, the slaves, by dint of fresh
and crushing labors. What floods of tears! What floods of blood are
shed! How many ruins mark your tracks, how many irreparable disasters!'
"A voice cried out from the crowd: 'Have not our conquerors shed the
blood of our race in torrents? Let the world perish, together with the
iniquity that racks us! Death to the oppressors! Death to the seigneurs
and the priests!'
"My brother then proceeded:
"'Perish iniquity! Aye, perish slavery! Aye, perish misery and
ignorance! Like you, I hold the barbarian conquest in horror; like you,
I hold subjection in horror; like you, I hold in horror the false
priests of Jesus, who keep their fellowmen in bondage; like you, I hold
in horror the degradation of our country. But in order to overcome
barbarism, ignorance, misery and slavery, they must be combated with
civilization, with intelligence, with virtue, with labor, with the
awakened Gallic patriotism that lies torpid at the bottom of so many
hearts!'
"'Hermit, our friend,' the interrupter cried again, 'how else can we
fight our enemies than arms in hand? Are we not "Wand'ring Men,"
"Wolves," "Wolves' Heads"?'
"'What is it that has turned you into Vagres, ye men of all conditions?
What is it that drove you to revolt? Is it not spoliation and misery,
and a determination to be free rather than submit to slavery? If you
were to be told: "Renounce your wandering lives, and your labor will
supply you amply with the necessaries of life, and your courage will
guarantee your safety and tranquility. You who regret having lost the
joys of the hearth and of family life or who desire to partake of
them--yours can be those pure delights, while you others who prefer
austere seclusion can be free to indulge your bent, and you can live
happy and peacefully;"--if you were to be promised that, would you not
prefer it to your present life?'
"'Hermit, are such prospects possible? You are not of the number of
false priests who pretend to have the power of performing miracles.'
"'Ah, had they only willed it, the bishops could have performed such
miracles every day in the name of the human fraternity preached by
Jesus. Aye, had they all acted like the bishop of Chalon, a path of
pacific emancipation would have been opened to Gaul.'
"'And what did the bishop of Chalon do?'
"'Upon leaving you, I proceeded to yonder little town of Marcigny, which
belongs to the diocese of Chalon and where the bishop owns a villa
which he occupies in summer. He is not a wicked man, although he does
keep his fellowmen in bondage. He has spent his days in quiet, idleness
and opulence. He is a great friend of King Clotaire. I proceeded to that
bishop. I shall narrate to you the conversation that took place between
us:
"'I said: "Did you ever hear about the Vagres?" "Alas, yes! Those people
commit grave crimes in other regions. But, thank God, the Vagrery never
entered Burgundy." "Well, bishop, I wish to inform you that bands of
Vagres are approaching your diocese." "Oh, woe is me! Woe is all of us!
What will become of us all? My diocese will be ravaged, my treasury
pillaged, my palace in Chalon sacked, my villa burned down! Monk, what
desolation!" "Bishop, is not the Valley of Charolles located in your
diocese?" "It belongs to glorious King Clotaire, like all the rest of
the lands of Gaul that have not been distributed as benefices either by
himself, or by his father, King Clovis, to the chiefs of the leudes and
the Church." "Are you not a friend of Clotaire's?" "That great King
shows me a good deal of kindness." "Demand of him in my name the gift of
the Valley of Charolles; I shall found there a community of
monk-laborers. Around the monastery a lay colony will be established,
open to the Vagres. A portion of the lands shall be reserved for the
monk-laborers, the rest shall be left to the colonists. But the gift
must be absolute, hereditary and free from all taxes, fees or imposts.
The colonists are to be recognized as free in fact and by right, they
and their descendants. Obtain the donation for me from King Clotaire,
and the troop of Vagres, instead of becoming a source of terror to the
region, will be a source of security to your diocese." Such was the
conversation. The bishop hastened to forward my application to King
Clotaire; and yesterday a royal messenger brought the King's answer.
Here it is, I shall read it to you.
"'It runs thus: "Clotaire, illustrious warrior, King of the Franks. The
function and duty of a King is to come to the help of the servants of
God and to receive their prayers favorably. Moreover, seeing that we
sojourn but a short time in this life, it is important that we hasten to
store up wealth in heaven. We can easily store up such wealth through
generous donations to the bishops and the Church. Therefore, we receive
favorably the request of our venerable father in Christ, Florent, bishop
of Chalon-on-the-Saone, and we hereby inform all our loyal subjects, now
and in the future, that a certain monk named Loysik has asked us through
the intermediary of the said Florent, our venerable father in Christ and
friend, a tract of land where he may live freely, pray and implore
divine mercy for us. He has added that he is followed by a large number
of men whom he wishes to withdraw from the disorders and the miseries of
the century. Those men have promised to settle down near him, and to
devote themselves to a peaceful and industrious life. Whereas, we
consider the monk's request wise, and whereas furthermore we are of
opinion that if we receive it favorably we shall be performing a work
agreeable to God and meritorious for the remission of our sins, we
hereby grant to the said monk the possession of the Valley of Charolles,
situated in the diocese of Chalon, bounded to the north by the mountains
known as the Balue Rocks; to the south by the river Charolles, an arm of
which crosses the said valley; to the west by the ravine known as Goats'
Forest, which is contiguous to the lands of the church of Marcigny. We
cede to the said monk all that he may find on said territory--slaves,
domestic animals, buildings, vines, cultivated fields, meadows and
woodlands. He shall have the free use of them all, without anyone
whosoever having the right to hinder him, to build or to plant. We
exempt him and those who may settle with him in the said Valley of
Charolles, of all contributions to our fisc. We forbid all our leudes,
bishops, dukes, counts and all others to exact, either for themselves or
their suites, whether moneys, presents, quarter or rents from the said
monk Loysik, or from those who may settle down upon the territory that
we have ceded to him, they being held and recognized by us as free men.
Let no one be audacious enough to violate our commandments. We will it
that the said monk Loysik, his companions and their successors live
free and undisturbed under our protection. And in order that these
presents shall have greater force, we have willed that they be signed by
our own hand and sealed with our seal. CLOTAIRE."
"'As he placed this charter in my hand the bishop added: "Now, monk,
make good use of this donation and prevent the Vagres from ravaging my
diocese."
"'While the bishop was saying these words to me, some fugitive slaves
rushed in and announced to him the approach of your troop. The prelate
thereupon said to me imploringly: "Go, run, monk, I am ready for any
sacrifice in order to live in peace with those redoubtable neighbors."
"'It now, my friends and brothers, rests with you whether you will live
happy and free. Those of you who are willing to enter our community of
hermit-laborers will be admitted; those who, preferring family life, may
wish to join a woman of their choice shall be settled upon the
hereditary lands. I have visited the valley in all its parts; a river,
well stocked with fish, crosses the meadows, magnificent woods shade it,
vines and cereals flourish on its slopes, the cattle on its meadows are
numerous. The poor slaves who were either born upon the place or
transported thither will be set free; the lands that they have hitherto
cultivated for the royal fisc will henceforth be theirs as hereditary
property. The valley is immense. Even if we were ten times more numerous
than we are, the soil's fertility will supply our wants. The lands that
King Clotaire restores to us in the form of a gift have been violently
conquered more than two centuries ago by tribes of barbarians, they were
subsequently invaded by the Burgunds, and finally conquered over again
by the Franks. Portions of the land are not cultivated; the race that
owned them more than two hundred and fifty years ago, before the
invasion, has long been extinct. The people who once inhabited them have
been either cut to pieces during the successive conquests or have been
led far away into slavery, or have died under the yoke working for
others on their own ancestral domains--they are no more. By occupying
this portion of the soil of Gaul we dispossess none of our own race.
But, at an emergency, we must be able to defend the territory from
aggression. In these days of civil wars, donations, however perpetual,
are not always respected by the inheritors of the royal power, nor by
the seigneurs and the bishops. We must, accordingly, be ready to repel
force with force. The valley is protected towards the north by almost
inaccessible rocky cliffs; on the south by a deep river; on the west by
rugged ravines, and to the east by a dense forest. It will be an easy
thing for us to fortify ourselves in our possession and maintain our
rights.'"
Kervan followed closely the Vagre's narrative and asked him with deep
interest whether his companions took the advice of Loysik.
"Yes, dear uncle, almost all the Vagres accepted Loysik's offer; few
only preferred to continue their life of adventure. They left us with
the promise, however, not to enter Burgundy. We never since heard of
them. Among those who now people the Valley of Charolles, many have
adopted the rules of the monk-laborers under the direction of Loysik.
The large majority of our companions, however, have organized a lay
community around the monastery; they married either women who ran the
Vagrery with us or daughters of neighboring colonists. I wedded little
Odille, while the Master of the Hounds took the bishopess for his mate.
The artisans whom slavery and want had driven to the Vagrery, resumed
their former occupations, and now work for the colony; others tend the
fields, the vines and the cattle. As to myself, I have become a good
husbandman, and my little Odille, who since her childhood was accustomed
to tend flocks of sheep in the mountains where she was born has turned
to that occupation. The bishopess works at the distaff, spins and weaves
like a skilful housekeeper, and also oversees the hospital which we
opened for sick women. Loysik superintends the hospital of men in the
monastery."
"Ah, Ronan! Why did not the bishops act like your father, seeing they
did not follow the example of our venerated druids, and preach a holy
war against the Franks? Why did not the Church restore to their former
owners the vast domains that they find it so easy to wheedle from the
credulity of the Frankish Kings and seigneurs? Or, in cases where the
former owners are no more, why does not the Church distribute the land
among the slaves that cultivate it?"
"Alas, the prelacy has preferred to reign over a brutified people; they
did not like to live a simple life among a free people. Oh! It will be
done for our old Armorica if she ever falls under the yoke of the
priests!"
"May it please heaven that such a fatality may never befall our beloved
region! Let us put aside such sad thoughts; let us rather talk of the
peaceful and industrious life of the colony of Charolles."
"Yes, we live happy in our beloved valley, where we cultivate our fields
in common and share the fruits of our labor, agreeable to the words that
you saw graven on the hilt of the poniard that I delivered to
you--_Friendship_, _Community_."
"But what is the meaning of that other word--_Ghilde?_"
"It is a Saxon word; it means association, fraternity. In the northern
country where the word comes from there is a custom, the origin of which
is lost in the remotest ages, according to which all the members of a
_ghilde_ pledge to one another with a mysterious oath friendship, mutual
support and solidarity in all things. If the house of one of the
associates burns down, all the others help him in rebuilding it; if his
crops are destroyed by a storm or any other accident, all the associates
contribute their share to indemnify him for his loss; likewise if his
vessel is lost at sea. Is anyone of them afraid to undertake a long
voyage alone, one, two or several of his associates accompany him; is
any member of the _ghilde_ the victim of some iniquity, all the others
take his part in order to secure justice; is he insulted, all the others
rally around him to aid him in obtaining reparation or vengeance. Our
community has put into practice the virtues of that custom. We say
there, as once we said in Vagrery: _All for each, each for all_."
"And my brother Karadeucq, did he long enjoy that peaceful life after a
life of so many hardships?"
"He lived happy in my house unto the day of his death, and he was able
to bless my first-born child."
"Tell us the circumstances of my brother's death."
"From the written narrative that I delivered to you, you must have seen
what kind of a man was Chram, the son of King Clotaire. His projects of
revolt having failed in Poitou and Auvergne, he made a raid into
Burgundy at the head of a few troops in the expectation of raising the
country against his father. The counts and dukes of the reign considered
it in their interest to take the field against Chram in this new civil
war. Nevertheless, he laid part of the country waste. One of the bands
of Chram arrived near our valley. Foreseeing the need thereof in these
disturbed times, my father and Loysik had the unprotected accesses of
the valley fortified with fosses and entrenchments made of felled trees.
Our colonists and the men of the monastery took turns in mounting guard
at these places the moment the invasion of Burgundy by Chram was known.
My father was in command of one of the advanced posts when Chram's
warriors approached our valley for the purpose of ravaging it."
"I presume an armed encounter took place between Chram's soldiers and
the inhabitants of Charolles, and my poor brother Karadeucq--"
"Was mortally wounded as he drove the Franks back at the head of his
men. My father died after giving me the orders that I stated to you. He
wore during the combat the Saxon poniard that belonged to Loysik, and
which the Master of the Hounds had picked up as he fled from the field
of carnage at the fastness of Allange. The Master of the Hounds returned
the poniard to my brother after our flight from the burg of Neroweg.
Loysik afterwards presented the weapon to my father. He wore it on the
day of the encounter with the Franks. He ordered me to bring it to you,
in order that it be joined to our family relics."
"My brother's death was brave, like his life. A curse upon that Chram,
son of Clotaire! Had he not raided Burgundy, my brother Karadeucq might
still be alive!"
"Like you, Kervan, I say a curse upon Chram! But, at any rate, he met on
the frontiers of our Brittany the merited punishment for his criminal
life."
CHAPTER III.
THE DEATH OF CHRAM.
"Oh, Kervan," Ronan the Vagre proceeded after a short respite, "it
almost looks as if these Frankish Kings and all their family are
predestined to become the subjects of horror to the whole world. I shall
now narrate to you the manner of Chram's death.
"My father had made me promise him at the last moments of his life that
I would repair hither, to the cradle of our family, so soon as I wrote
the chronicle that I delivered to you, but which I could not finish for
the reasons that I shall state.
"There is nothing more difficult or more perilous than a long journey in
these disastrous days. The traveler runs at every step the risk of being
captured on the road and led away a prisoner by the armed bands of the
dukes, the counts, the seigneurs or the bishops who are in perpetual
feuds with one another, plundering or raiding one another's domains,
ever intent upon enlarging their possessions. As a consequence, whoever
is compelled to undertake a journey never ventures outside of the cities
except with considerable numbers, so as to be in condition to repel the
armed bands. I learned that a company of travelers was to leave the city
of Marcigny for Moulins. That was exactly my route. I left the valley
and joined the caravan. We left Marcigny in a body of nearly three
hundred persons--men, women and children--some on foot, others mounted,
all bound to Moulins as the first station. At that city other travelers
were expected to proceed to Bourges. At Bourges I counted upon being
able to join a third body and reach Tours, and in that way to proceed
upon my journey to Saumur and then to Nantes, which would bring me to
the very frontier of Brittany. On the stretch between Marcigny and
Tours, our troop of travelers were repeatedly compelled to drive off
marauding bands of armed men. In one of these encounters I was wounded,
but only slightly; but several of my traveling companions were killed,
while some others were captured and carried, together with their
families, into slavery. The bulk of our troop, however, myself included,
were fortunate enough to arrive safely at Tours, and there to rest in
security."
"What horrible days these are! It would not be any more dangerous to
travel in a hostile country."
"Oh, Kervan, if you could see the ravages of the conquest! Ruins
everywhere, fresh and old ones. Our former Gallic roads and highways, so
beautifully wide and carefully kept, with their relays of post horses
and inns, are now all wild and heaps of ruins. Communication, once so
easy from one end of Gaul to the other, is now wholly broken up. In one
place the road breaks off because it crosses over the domain of some
Frankish seigneur or of some abbey; at another place the bridges have
been broken down by some armed band, that, being closely pursued, sought
to protect its retreat. Thus we were compelled to make wide detours in
order to arrive at our journey's end. Several nights were spent on the
open fields. We were at times compelled to fell trees near the banks of
a river and build a raft to effect a crossing, there being none other
practicable.
"Upon my arrival in Tours, I learned that King Clotaire was there
gathering troops in order to march in person against his son Chram, who
had just crossed Touraine and was moving in the direction of the
frontiers of Brittany. I thought the chances favorable to finish my
journey in safety. I followed in the wake of the royal troops, which
consisted of leudes and soldiers, the latter of whom were furnished to
the King by the beneficiary seigneurs, and also of impressed colonists.
When the King's army put itself in march, I followed. Alas, Kervan! The
enemy's forces themselves could not have been more merciless towards the
people than were the royal troops. Upon their arrival in a town the
Franks would drive the residents from their houses, they would then take
possession, consume the provisions, beat the men, outrage the women, and
destroy everything that they could not carry with them. Clotaire joined
his troops with his bodyguard at Nantes. It was there that I saw the
monster for the first time. He wore a long blood-colored dalmatica
embroidered in gold; over the costly vestment he had a hooded fur
jacket, with the hood half drawn over his forehead. From under his coif
his eyes glistened like those of a wild cat. The King's cadaverous
visage was set in long locks of grey hair that reached almost to his
waist. He rode a large war steed, black of coat and caparisoned in red.
At his left rode his constable; at his right the bishop of Nantes.
"Being left with only a few troops, Chram had fled before the superior
forces of his father. His plan was to enter Brittany. But he found Kando
on guard at the frontier."
"Kando is one of the bravest and alertest warriors of Armorica."
"Accompanied by his worthy friend Spatachair--the Lion of Poitiers, the
renegade Gaul of whom mention is made in the written narrative that I
delivered to you, died insane--Chram proceeded to Kando's camp and
proposed to him that he join his Breton troops to the Franks in order to
make head against his father, Clotaire.
"'I am always delighted to see the Franks cutting one another's
throats,' Kando answered Chram; 'nevertheless the horror that your
parricidal projects inspire me with is such that, although your father
himself is a monster after your own kind, I refuse to enter into any
alliance with you. My own troops are enough to fight Clotaire if he
should take it into his head to invade our territory, which, until now
no Frank has attempted with impunity.'
"Feeling at least certain of Kando's neutrality, but nevertheless
crowded into a corner at the frontier of Armorica, Chram now stood at
bay and prepared for a desperate combat on the morrow. He imagined that
if the worst were to befall him, his escape would in any event be
certain, seeing that he had taken the precaution of keeping a vessel
ready to embark in near the little port of Croisik.
"I had arrived safely at the boundary of Brittany; I cared little for
the issue of the impending battle. I had met two Bretons by accident
near Nantes. The two Armoricans were bound for Vannes. From that city to
the sacred stones of Karnak I knew the distance was short. We three
departed before sunrise on the morning of the battle that Clotaire was
to deliver against his son. In order to shorten our route and also to
avoid finding ourselves entangled in the pending melee, we walked to the
seashore intending to proceed to the bay of Morbihan.
"We had walked a good portion of the day, and were skirting the shore in
the neighborhood of the port of Croisik when we noticed a fisherman's
hut raised against a projecting rock. We turned towards it, intending to
rest a few hours, when, to my great astonishment I saw near the hut
several traveling mules and richly caparisoned horses in charge of some
slaves. Three of the animals, one of which was a palfrey, bore women's
saddles."
"A strange spectacle in that solitary place. And to whom did the mounts
belong?"
"To Chram. His wife and two daughters were in the hut. A boat was moored
at the shore, and at a distance of about three bows' shots, a light
vessel rode at anchor, ready to set sail."
"You mentioned before the means of escape that Clotaire's son had
prepared in case his troops were beaten--the vessel, I presume, waited
for him and his family?"
"My two companions, as well as myself, hesitated whether or not to enter
the hut, when its door opened and a richly dressed young woman stepped
to the threshold; two little girls were with her. One of them, a child
of about five or six years of age, clung to the folds of her mother's
robe, while the latter held another girl of about twelve by the hand.
The young woman looked depressed; her eyes were in tears; behind her I
saw a warrior, whom I readily recognized as one of the three favorites
of Chram, Imnachair, the identical warrior who witnessed the torture to
which I was subjected at the burg of Neroweg."
"Were that woman and children Chram's family? It has always seemed
strange to me that such monsters should at all have families."
"Those were my very thoughts, Kervan, when the young woman, noticing our
traveling bags on our shoulders, asked us with marked anxiety whether we
came from Nantes, and whether we had any news of a battle that must have
been fought there."
"'We can give you no information upon that, madam,' we answered her, 'we
did not even know that there were any armies drawn up for battle.'
"Suddenly one of the slaves who must have been stationed on the lookout
over the crest of the rock, ran towards the hut crying: 'Horsemen! We
see far away, in a cloud of dust, a number of horsemen riding at full
gallop in this direction!'
"'Death and fury!' cried Imnachair stamping the ground and growing pale.
'It is Chram--the battle is lost!'
"At these words the poor young woman fell down upon her knees, clasped
her two daughters to her heart, and I could hear but the moans and sobs
of the mother and her children.
"'Quick! Quick! To the boat!' shouted Imnachair. 'Slaves, unload the
mules; take to the boat the cases that they carry; and you, madam, hold
yourself ready to embark!"
"The precipitate tramp of galloping horses was heard approaching, also
the clank of armors, and even voices, that, although confused, sounded
furious.
"'It is my husband!' cried Chram's wife, growing deadly pale. 'But his
father is pursuing him! Do you not hear those cries of death?'
"Imnachair listened. 'Yes,' said he; 'it is the voice of King Clotaire!
Flee, madam; flee, you and your children! Let us run to the boat--we
shall soon row ourselves out of danger. It will soon be too late!'
"'Flee without my husband--never!' answered the young woman convulsively
pressing her two children to her heart.
"Cries of 'Kill him!' 'Kill him!' 'Death!' 'Death!' grew more distinct
every instant. Those who uttered them were now no more than three
hundred paces from the hut. King Clotaire headed the pursuers.
"'Come, madam!' shrieked Imnachair seizing the young woman by the arm.
"'No!' she answered resolutely.
"'If you are determined to wait for Clotaire, I must leave you!' cried
Imnachair. 'Adieu, madam!' saying which he ran to the boat.
"Neither I nor my two companions being anxious to meet Clotaire and his
bodyguard, we rushed towards the granite boulders that strewed the beach
and hid ourselves completely from view among them. Both the hut and the
sea were in sight from the place of my concealment. A minute later I saw
the boat, now loaded with the cases that were taken from the
pack-saddles of the mules, and which undoubtedly contained the treasury
of Chram, row swiftly towards the vessel, the sails of which were at the
same time being loosened to the wind."
"And the woman--the two children?"
"Imnachair left them all behind. He sat in the stern of the boat with
the tiller in his hand; the slaves rowed and accompanied the King's
favorite in his flight."
"The heavens would be unjust if such men as Chram could find devoted
friends. This wretch of a favorite no doubt gave Chram over to a
deserved death; but that wife--those innocent children--"
"As I was saying, Kervan, from my place of concealment I had the sea,
the hut and its surroundings in plain view. Despite the distance that
separated me from the horrible scene that I am about to describe to you,
I could distinctly hear the voices of the Franks, who were drawing
nearer and nearer. Almost at the same instant that Imnachair pushed off
from the beach, I saw Chram's wife take a few steps, dragging her
children after her. Her strength failed her; she again dropped down upon
her knees; I saw her and her two little daughters raise their arms
imploringly, with terror-stricken countenances. An instant later,
bare-headed, livid, with his armor in disorder, Chram appeared in sight
near the hut; he leaped off his horse, and was moving backwards, sword
in hand, parrying the blows aimed at him by three warriors. Suddenly the
thundering voice of King Clotaire was heard, and these words reached my
ears:
"'Lord, look down upon me from Your throne in heaven, and judge my case,
because I have been most unworthily wronged by my son! Look down upon
us, Oh, Lord, and judge us equitably, and let Your judgment be that
which You pronounced between David and Absalom!'
"Clotaire finished this invocation as he came within my view near the
door of the hut, and he then addressed the three members of his
bodyguard who were still closely pressing Chram:
"'Stop your attack! I want to see the traitor alive!'
"The warriors lowered their swords. Chram, whose face was bathed in
blood, staggered a few steps forward and fell into the arms of his wife,
who had rushed towards him, and now held him in a close and consoling
embrace. Her two little daughters remained on their knees with their
arms outstretched towards Clotaire, who descended from his foam-flecked
horse. In his hand he held his long sword. His warriors made a circle
around Chram and his family. Clotaire then sheathed his sword, folded
his arms over his breast, and for an instant contemplated his son in
silence. Chram fell on his knees; with clasped hands he implored his
father's pardon, and then bowed down his head to the ground; his wife
and two daughters sobbed aloud. Clotaire looked upon the group long in
silence. Finally he issued his orders to one of the men in his suite.
Chram, his wife and his two daughters were bound fast despite their
frantic cries for mercy and desperate resistance. All the four were then
dragged into the hut. Their piercing cries reached my place of
concealment, distant though it was. A few minutes later Clotaire's
warriors came out of the hut and closed the door.
"'We bound them all firmly upon the bench, as you ordered, seigneur
King,' one of them reported.
"At the same moment I saw another warrior draw near the hut with a
burning brand."
"But what was the death that Clotaire reserved for his son and his son's
family?"
"The hut was constructed of wood and thatched with reeds. The three
warriors of the King heaped around it bunches of dry seaweed and dead
tree branches."
"Oh, I can guess what is to come. Oh, Ronan--that is horrible. The
father is going to burn his son, granddaughters and his son's wife!"
"When a sufficient mass of these combustible materials was heaped up all
around the hut, Clotaire made a sign. The warrior who held the burning
brand blew upon it, and soon as it was in flame held it to the heap of
dry wood and weed. In an instant the hut disappeared behind a roaring
sheet of fire. The cries of the unfortunate beings who were about to
perish in the flames became heartrending. I turned my head away in
involuntary horror, and, as my eyes fell upon the high sea, I saw the
light vessel speeding away under full sail and vanishing in the distant
horizon--it carried away Imnachair, together with the treasury of Chram.
"Clotaire has four sons left to him--Charibert, Gontran, Sigebert and
Chilperik. It is said that the last of these seems to have inherited the
ferocity of his father Clotaire and his grandfather Clovis!"
EPILOGUE.
On the morning after the day when Ronan, my brother Karadeucq's son gave
us this account, he left us. These were his last words:
"Kervan, I leave this house happy at having fulfilled the last wishes of
my father and the orders of Joel."
Ronan the Vagre left, accordingly, early in the morning to return to his
beloved Valley of Charolles. My nephew promised that, in the event of
any matters of importance, he would inform us if he finds a traveler
bound for Brittany. He would address any further narrative either to
myself or my son Yvon, should I have left this world.
May Ronan, my brother's son, arrive safely in the Valley of Charolles
and find his family happy and peaceful.
If before my death I should have nothing to add to these chronicles, I
bequeath them, together with our family relics, to my son Yvon.
* * * * *
I, Yvon, son of Kervan and grandson of Jocelyn, enter at this place the
date of my father's death in the month of June of the year 561.
From travelers we have learned that King Clotaire died this year at
Compiegne in the fifty-first year of his reign, and was interred in the
basilica of St. Medard at Soissons with the blessings of the bishops.
I have received no tidings from Ronan. May he still be alive and happy
and free in the Valley of Charolles, as we are here in Brittany, which
still remains free from the Frankish yoke. May it please Hesus never to
allow our beloved province to experience such a calamity.