CHARLEMAGNE.
Following their guide, the two hostages left the sumptuous and vast
galleries, and ascended, closely behind Octave, a spiral staircase that
led to the private apartment of the Emperor, the apartment around which
wound the balcony that served as observatory to Charles. Two richly
dressed chamberlains stood in the outer vestibule. "Stay for me here,"
Octave said to the Bretons; "I shall notify the Emperor that you await
his pleasure, and learn whether he wishes to receive you at this
moment."
Despite his race and family hatred for the Frankish Kings or Emperors,
the conquerors and oppressors of Gaul, Vortigern experienced a thrill of
emotion at the thought of finding himself face to face with the mighty
Charles, the sovereign of almost all Europe. This first emotion was
speedily joined by a second--that mighty Emperor was the father of
Thetralde, the entrancing maid, who, the evening before, had thrown her
bouquet to the youth. Vortigern's thoughts never a moment fell upon the
brunette Hildrude. An instant later Octave reappeared and beckoned to
Amael and his grandson to step in, while in an undertone he warned them:
"Crook your knees low before the Emperor; it is the custom."
The centenarian cast a look at Vortigern with a negative sign of the
head. The youth understood, and the Bretons stepped into the bed-chamber
of Charles, whom they found in the company of his favorite Eginhard, the
archchaplain whom Imma had one night bravely carried on her back. A
servitor of the imperial chamber awaited the orders of his master.
When the two hostages entered the room, the monarch, whose stature,
though now unarmed, preserved its colossal dimensions, was seated on the
edge of his couch clad only in a shirt and hose that set off the
pre-eminence of his paunch. He had just put on one shoe and held the
other in his hand. His hair was almost white, his eyes were large and
sparkling, his nose was long, his neck short and thick like a bull's.
His physiognomy, of an open cast and instinct with joviality, recalled
the features of his grandfather, Charles Martel. At the sight of the two
Bretons the Emperor rose from the edge of the couch, and keeping his one
shoe in his hand, took two steps forward, limping on his left foot. As
he thus approached Amael he seemed a prey to a concealed emotion
somewhat mingled with a lively curiosity.
"Old man!" cried out Charles in his shrill voice that contrasted so
singularly with his giant stature, "Octave tells me you fought under
Charles Martel, my grandfather, nearly eighty years ago, and that you
saved his life at the battle of Poitiers."
"It is true," and carrying his hand to his forehead where the traces of
a deep wound were still visible, the aged Breton added: "I received this
wound at the battle of Poitiers."
The Emperor sat down again on the edge of his bed, put on the other shoe
and said to his archchaplain: "Eginhard, you who compiled in your
chronicle the history and acts of my grandfather, you whose memory is
ever faithful, do you remember ever to have heard told what the old man
says?"
Eginhard remained thoughtful for a moment, and then answered slowly: "I
remember to have read in some parchment scrolls, inscribed by the hand
of the glorious Charles and now preserved in your august archives, that,
indeed, at the battle of Poitiers"--but interrupting himself and turning
to the centenarian he asked: "Your name? How are you called?"
"Amael is my name."
The archchaplain reflected for a moment, and shaking his head observed:
"While I can not now recall it, that was not the name of the warrior who
saved the life of Charles Martel at the battle of Poitiers--it was a
Frankish name, it is not the name which you mentioned."
"That name," rejoined the aged Amael, "was Berthoald."
"Yes!" put in Eginhard quickly. "That is the name--Berthoald. And in a
few lines written in his own hand, the glorious Charles Martel commended
the said Berthoald to his children; he wrote that he owed him his life
and recommended him to their gratitude if he ever should turn to them."
During the exchange of these words between the aged Breton and the
archchaplain, the Emperor had continued and finished his toilet with the
aid of his servitor of the chamber. His costume, the old Frankish
costume to which Charles remained faithful, consisted in the first place
of a pair of leggings made of thick linen material closely fastened to
the nether limbs by means of red wool bandelets that wound criss-cross
from below upwards; next of a tunic of Frisian cloth, sapphire-blue, and
held together by a silk belt. In the winter and the fall of the year the
Emperor also wore over his shoulders a heavy and large otter or
lamb-skin coat. Thus clad, Charles sat down in a large armchair placed
near a curtain that was meant to conceal one of the doors that opened
upon the balcony which served him for observatory. At a sign from
Charles the servitor stepped out of the chamber. Left alone with
Eginhard, Vortigern, Amael and Octave, Charles said to the elder Breton:
"Old man, if I understood my chaplain correctly, a Frank named Berthoald
saved my grandfather's life. How does it happen that the said Berthoald
and you are the same personage?"
"When fifteen years of age, driven by the spirit of adventure, I ran
away from my family of the Gallic race, and then located in Burgundy.
After many untoward events, I joined a band of determined men. I then
was twenty years of age. I took a Frankish name and claimed to be of
that race in order to secure the protection of Charles Martel.[B] To the
end of interesting him all the more in my lot I offered him my own sword
and the swords of all my men, just a few days before the battle of
Poitiers. At that battle I saved his life. After that, loaded with his
favors, I fought under his orders five years longer."
"And what happened then?"
"Then--ashamed of my imposition, and still more ashamed of fighting on
the side of the Franks, I left Charles Martel to return into Brittany,
the cradle of my family. There I became a field laborer."
"By the cape of St. Martin, you then turned rebel!" exclaimed the
Emperor in his squeaky voice, which then assumed the tone of a
penetrating treble. "I now see the wisdom of those who chose you for an
hostage, you, the instigator and the soul of the uprisings and even wars
that broke out in Brittany during the reign of Pepin, my father, and
even under my own reign, when your devil-possessed countrymen decimated
my veteran bands!"
"I fought as well as I could in our wars."
"Traitor! Loaded with favors by my grandfather, yet were you not afraid
to rise in arms against his son and me?"
"I felt remorse for only one thing--and that was to have merited the
favor of your grandfather. I shall ever reproach myself for having
fought on his side instead of against him."
"Old man," cried the Emperor, purple with rage, "you have even more
audacity than years!"
"Charles--let us stop here. You look upon yourself as the sovereign of
Gaul. We Bretons do not recognize your claims. These claims you hold,
like all other conquerors, from force. To you might means right--"
"I hold them from God!" again cried the Emperor, this time stamping the
floor with his foot and breaking in upon Amael. "Yes! I hold my rights
over Gaul from God, and from my good sword."
"From your sword, from violence, yes, indeed. From God, not at all. God
does not consecrate theft, whether a purse or an empire be involved.
Clovis captured Gaul. Your father and grandfather plundered of his crown
the last scion of that Clovis. Little does that matter to us, Bretons,
who refuse to obey either the stock of Clovis or that of Charles Martel.
You dispose over an innumerable army; already have you ravished and
vanquished Brittany. You may ravage and vanquish her over again--but
subjugate her, never. And now, Charles, I have spoken. You shall hear
not another word from me on that subject. I am your prisoner, your
hostage. Dispose of me."
The Emperor, who more than once was on the point of allowing his
indignation to break loose, turned to Eginhard and, after a moment of
silence, said to him in a calm voice: "You, who are engaged in writing
the history and deeds of Charles, the august Emperor of Gaul, Caesar of
Germany, Patrician of Rome, Protector of the Suevians, the Bulgarians
and the Hungarians, I command you to write down that an old man held to
Charles a language of unheard-of audacity, and that Charles could not
prevent himself from esteeming the frankness and the courage of the man
who had thus spoken to him." And suddenly changing his tone, the
Emperor, whose features, for a moment stern in anger, now assumed an
expression of joviality shaded with shrewdness, said to Amael: "So,
then, Breton seigneurs of Armorica, whatever I may do, you want none of
me at any price for your Emperor. Do you so much as know me?"
"Charles, we know you in Brittany by the unjust wars that your father
and yourself have waged against us."
"So that, to you, gentlemen of Armorica, Charles is only a man of
conquest, of violence, and of battle?"
"Yes, you reign only through terror."
"Well, then, follow me. I may perhaps cause you to change your mind,"
said the Emperor after a moment's reflection. He rose, took his cane and
put on his cap. His eyes then fell upon Vortigern, whom, standing
silently at a distance, he had not noticed before. "Who is that young
and handsome lad?" he asked.
"My grandson."
"Octave," the Emperor remarked, turning to the young Roman, "this is
rather a young hostage."
"August Prince, this lad was chosen for several reasons. His sister
married Morvan, a common field laborer, but one of the most intrepid of
the Breton chieftains. During this last war he commanded the cavalry."
"And why, then, was not that Morvan brought here? That would have been
an excellent hostage."
"August Prince, in order to bring him we would have first had to catch
him. Although severely wounded, Morvan, thanks to his heroine of a wife,
succeeded in making his escape with her. It has been impossible to reach
them in the inaccessible mountains whither they both fled. For that
reason two other chiefs and influential men of the tribe were chosen for
hostages; we left them on the road on account of their wounds, and
proceeded only with this old man, who was the soul of the last wars, and
also this youth, who, through his family connections, is related to one
of the most dangerous chieftains of Armorica. I must admit that in
taking him, we yielded also to the prayers of his mother. She was very
anxious that he should accompany his grandfather on this long journey,
which is very trying to a centenarian."
"And you," resumed the Emperor, addressing Vortigern, whom, during the
account given by Octave, he had been examining with attention and
interest, "no doubt also hate inveterately that Charles, the conqueror
and devastator?"
"The Emperor Charles has white hair; I am only eighteen years old,"
retorted the young Breton, blushing. "I can not answer."
"Old man," observed Charles, visibly affected by the lad's
self-respecting yet becoming modesty, "the mother of your grandson must
be a happy woman. But coming to think of it, my lad, was it not you who
yesterday evening, shortly before my arrival, came near breaking your
neck with a fall from your horse?"
"I!" cried Vortigern, blushing with pride; "I, fall from my horse! Who
dared to say so!"
"Oh! Oh! my lad. You are red up to your ears," the Emperor exclaimed,
laughing aloud. "But, never mind. Be tranquil. I do not mean to wound
your pride of horsemanship. Far from it. Before I saw you to-day my ears
have rung with the interminable praises of your gracefulness and daring
on horseback. My dear daughters, especially little Thetralde and the
tall Hildrude, told me at least ten times at supper that they had seen a
savage young Breton, although wounded in one arm, manage his horse like
the most skilful of my equerries."
"If I deserve any praise, it must be addressed to my grandfather,"
modestly answered Vortigern. "It was he who taught me to ride on
horseback."
"I like that answer, my lad. It shows your modesty and a proper respect
for your elders. Are you lettered? Can you read and write?"
"Yes, thanks to the instruction of my mother."
"Can you sing mass in the choir?"
"I!" cried Vortigern in great astonishment. "I sing mass! No, no, by
Hesus! We do not sing mass in my country."
"There they are, the Breton pagans!" exclaimed Charles. "Oh, my bishops
are right, they are a devil-possessed people, those folks of Armorica.
What a pity that so handsome and so modest a lad should not be able to
sing mass in the choir." Saying this, the Emperor pulled his thick cap
close over his head and leaning heavily on his cane, said to the aged
Breton: "Come, follow me, seigneur Breton. Ah, you only know of Charles
the Fighter; I shall now make you acquainted with another Charles whom
you do not yet know. Come, follow me." Limping, and leaning on his cane,
the Emperor moved towards the door, making a sign to the others to
follow; but stopping short at the threshold, he turned to Octave: "You,
go to Hugh, my Master of the Hounds, and notify him that I shall hunt
deer in the forest of Oppenheim. Let him send there the hounds, horses
and all other equipments of the chase."
"August Prince, your orders will be executed."
"You will also say to the Grand Nomenclator of my table that I may take
dinner in the pavilion of the forest, especially if the hunt lasts long.
My suite will dine there also. Let the repast be sumptuous. You will
tell the Nomenclator that my taste has not changed. A good large joint
of roast venison, served piping hot, is now, as ever, my favorite
treat."
The young Roman again bowed low; Charles stepped out first from the
chamber. He was followed by Eginhard, then by Amael. As Vortigern was
about to follow his grandfather, he was retained for an instant by
Octave, who, approaching his mouth to the lad's ear, whispered to him:
"I shall carry to the apartments of the Emperor's daughters the news
that he intends to hunt to-day. By Venus! The mother of love has you
under her protecting wings, my young Breton."
The lad blushed anew, and was about to answer the Roman when he heard
Amael's voice calling out to him: "Come, my child, the Emperor wishes to
lean on your arm in order to descend the stairs and walk through the
palace."
More and more disturbed in mind, Vortigern stepped towards Charles as
the latter was saying to the chamberlains: "No, nobody is to accompany
me except the two Bretons and Eginhard;" and nodding to the lad he
proceeded: "Your arm will be a better support to me than my cane; these
stairs are steep; step carefully."
Supported by Vortigern's arm the Emperor slowly descended the steps of a
staircase that ran out at one of the porticos of an interior courtyard.
When the bottom was reached Charles dropped the young man's arm, and
resuming his cane, said: "You stepped cleverly; you are a good guide.
What a pity that you do not know how to sing mass in the choir!" While
thus chattering, Charles followed a gallery that ran along the
courtyard. The men who accompanied him marched a few steps behind.
Presently the Emperor noticed a slave crossing the courtyard with a
large hamper on his shoulders. "Halloa! You, there, with the basket!"
the Emperor called out in his piercing voice. "You, there, with the
basket! Come here! What have you in that basket?"
"Eggs, seigneur."
"Where are you taking them to?"
"To the kitchen of the august Emperor."
"Where do those eggs come from?"
"From the Muhlsheim farm, seigneur."
"From the Muhlsheim farm?" the Emperor repeated thoughtfully, and almost
immediately added: "There must be three hundred and twenty-five eggs in
that basket. Are there not?"
"Yes, seigneur; that's the exact rent brought in every month from the
farm."
"You can go--and be careful you do not break the eggs." The Emperor
stopped for a moment, leaned heavily upon his cane, and turning to
Amael, called out to him: "Halloa, seigneur Breton, come here, draw
near me." Amael obeyed, and the Emperor resuming his walk proceeded to
say: "Charles the Fighter, the conqueror, is at least a good
husbander--does it not strike you that way? He knows to an egg how many
are laid by the hens on his farms. If you ever return to Brittany, you
must not fail to narrate the incident to the housekeepers of your
country."
"If I ever again see my country, I shall tell the truth of what I have
seen."