AT THE CROSS-ROAD.
The day after Fergan the Quarryman decided to penetrate into the castle
of Plouernel, a considerable troop of travelers, men of all conditions,
who had left Nantes the day before, were journeying towards the frontier
of Anjou. Among them were found pilgrims, distinguishable by the
cockle-shell attached to their clothes, vagabonds, beggars, peddlers
loaded with their bundles of goods. Among the latter a man of tall
stature, with light blonde hair and beard, carried on his back a bundle
surmounted with a cross and covered with coarse pictures representing
human bones, such as skulls, thighs, arms, and fingers. This man, named
Harold the Norman, devoted himself, like many other descendants of the
pirates of old Rolf,[B] to the trade of relics, selling to the faithful
the bones which they stole at night from the seigniorial gibbets. By the
sides of Harold marched two monks, who called each other Simon and
Jeronimo. The cowl of the frock of Simon was pulled over his head and
completely concealed his face; but that of Jeronimo, thrown back over
his shoulder, exposed the monk's dark and lean visage, whose thick
eye-brows, as black as his beard, imparted to it a savage hardness.
A few steps behind these priests, mounted on a fine white mule, of
well-fed form and skin sleek and shining like silver, came a merchant of
Nantes, named from his great wealth, Bezenecq the Rich. Still in the
vigor of years, of open, intelligent and affable mien, he wore a hood of
black felt, a robe of fine blue cloth, gathered around his waist by a
leathern belt, from which hung an embroidered purse. Behind him, and on
a part of the saddle contrived for such service, rode his daughter
Isoline, a lass of about eighteen years, with blue eyes, brown hair,
white teeth and a face like a rose of May, as pretty as she was
attractive. Isoline's long pearl-grey robe hid her little feet; her
traveling cloak, made of a soft green fabric, enveloped her elegant and
supple waist; under the hood of the mantle, lined in red, her fresh
visage was partially seen. The feelings of tender solicitude between
father and daughter could be divined by the looks and smiles of
affection that they often exchanged, as well as by the little attentions
that they frequently bestowed upon each other. The serenity of unalloyed
happiness, the sweet pleasures of the heart, could be read upon their
visages, which bore the impress of radiant bliss. A well-clad servant,
alert and vigorous, led on foot a second mule, loaded with the baggage
of the merchant. On either side of the saddle hung a sword in its
scabbard. In those days, one never traveled unarmed. Bezenecq the Rich
had conformed to the usage, although that good and worthy townsman was
of a nature little given to strife.
The travelers had arrived at a cross-road where the highway of Nantes to
Angers forked off. At the juncture of the two roads there rose a
seigniorial gibbet, symbol and speaking proof of the supreme
jurisdiction exercised by the lords in their domains. That massive pile
of stones bore at its top four iron forks fastened at right angles,
gibbet-shaped. From the gibbet that rose over the western branch of the
road three corpses hung by the neck. The first was reduced to the
condition of a skeleton; the second was half putrified. The crows,
disturbed in their bloody quarry by the approach of the travelers, still
circled in the air over the third corpse, that of a young girl,
completely stripped, without even the shred of a rag. It was the body of
Pierrine the Goat, tortured and executed in the early morning of that
day, as threatened by Garin the Serf-eater. The thick black hair of the
victim fell over her face, pinched with agony and furrowed with long
traces of clotted blood that had flowed from her eyeless sockets. Her
teeth still held a little wax figure, two or three inches long, clad in
a bishop's gown with a miniature mitre on its head, made out of a bit of
gold foil. The witches, to carry out their diabolical incantations,
often had several of these little figures placed between the teeth of
the hanged at the moment when they expired. They called this magic
"spell throwing." Beside this gibbet rose the seigniorial post of
Neroweg VI, lord and count of the lands of Plouernel. The post indicated
the boundaries of the domain traversed by the western road, and was
surmounted by a red escutcheon, in the middle of which were seen three
eagle's talons painted in yellow--the device of the Nerowegs. Another
post, bearing for emblem a dragon-serpent of green color painted on a
white background, marked the eastern route which traversed the domains
of Draco, Lord of Castel-Redon, and flanked another gibbet with four
patibulary forks. Of these only two were furnished; from one hanged the
corpse of a child of fourteen years at the most, from the other the
corpse of an old man, both half pecked away by the crows. Isoline, the
daughter of Bezenecq the Rich, uttered a cry of horror at the sight of
these bodies, and huddling close to the merchant, behind whom she was on
horseback, whispered in a low voice: "Father! oh, father! Look at those
bodies. It's a horrible spectacle!"
"Look not in that direction, my child," answered sadly the townsman of
Nantes, turning around to his daughter. "More than once on our road
shall we make these mournful encounters. The patibulary forks are found
on the confines of every seigniorial estate. Often even the trees are
decked out with hanging bodies!"
"Oh, father," replied Isoline, whose face, so full of smiles a minute
before, had painfully saddened, "I fear this encounter may be of sad
omen to our voyage!"
"Beloved daughter," the merchant put in with suppressed agony, "be not
so quick to take alarm. No doubt we live in days when it is impossible
to leave the city and undertake a long trip with safety. It is that
that kept me from paying a visit in the city of Laon to my good brother
Gildas, whom I have not seen for many years. It is unfortunately a long
way to Picardy, and I have not dared to venture on such a ride. But our
trip will hardly take two days. We should not apprehend a sad issue to
this visit to your grandmother, who wishes to see and embrace you before
she dies. Your presence will sweeten her sorrow at the loss of your
mother, whom she mourns as grieviously to-day as when my beloved wife
was taken from me. Pick up courage and calm your mind, my child."
"I shall pick up courage, father, as you wish. I shall surmount my idle
terrors and my childish fears."
"Were it not for the imperious duty that made us undertake this journey,
I would say to you: 'Let's return to our peaceful home in Nantes, where
you are happy and gay from morning to evening.' If your smile cheers my
soul," Bezenecq added in a voice deeply moved, "every tear you drop
falls upon my heart!"
"Behold me," said Isoline. "Would you say I look apprehensive, alarmed?"
And saying this she pressed against the merchant her charming face, that
had recovered its serenity and confidence. The townsman contemplated for
a moment in silence the beloved features of his daughter. A tear of joy
then gathered in his eye, and endeavoring to subdue his emotion, he
cried out: "The devil take these crupper saddles! They prevent one even
from embracing his own child with ease!" Whereupon the young girl, with
a movement full of gracefulness, threw her arms on her father's
shoulders, and drew her rosy face so close to Bezenecq's that he had but
to turn his head to kiss the lassie on her forehead and cheeks, which he
did repeatedly with ineffable happiness.
During this tender exchange of words and carresses between the merchant
and his daughter, the other travelers, before proceeding upon either of
the two routes that opened before them, had gathered in the middle of
the crossing to consider which to take. Both roads led to Angers. One of
them, that marked by the post surmounted with a serpent-dragon, after
making a wide circuit, traversed a sombre forest; it was twice as long
as the other. Each of the two roads having its own advantages and
disadvantages, several of the travelers insisted upon the road of the
post with the three eagle's talons. Simon, the monk whose face was
almost wholly concealed under his cowl, strove, on the contrary, to
induce his companions to take the other road. "Dear brothers! I conjure
you;" cried Simon, "believe me ... do not cross the territory of the
seigneur of Plouernel.... He has been nick-named 'Worse than a Wolf' and
the reprobate but too well justifies the name.... Every day stories are
heard of travelers whom he arrests and plunders while crossing his
grounds."
"My dear brother," put in a townsman, "I can testify, like you, that the
keeper of Plouernel is a wicked man, and his donjon a terrible donjon.
More than once from the ramparts of our city of Nantes have we seen the
men of the Count of Plouernel, bandits of the worst stripe, pillage,
burn, and ravage the territory of our bishop, with whom Neroweg was at
war over the possession of the ancient abbey of Meriadek."
"Is that the abbey where the prodigious miracle of about four hundred
years ago happened?" inquired another bourgeois. "Saint Meroflede,
abbess of the monastery, summoned by the soldiers of Charles Martel to
surrender the place, invoked heaven, and the miscreants, overwhelmed by
a shower of stones and fire, were asphyxiated in the fumes of burning
sulphur and pitch, whither they were dragged by horned, clawed and hairy
demons, frightful to behold. And so it happened that the venerable
abbess died in the odor of sanctity."
"An ineffable odor that has lasted down to our own days. The common
people entertain a particular devotion for the chapel of Saint
Meroflede, which has been raised on the borders of a large lake, close
by the very place where the miracle was accomplished."
"The chapel is never empty of the faithful. The offerings furnish a
large revenue to the incumbent. As the abbess was of the house of the
Nerowegs, the seigneur of Plouernel laid claim to, and sought to
reacquire the property of the chapel. Hence the wars between the count
and the Bishop of Nantes. Those were fearful wars, my friends. They
happened at the season when the bishop was marrying his last daughter,
whom he gave for a dower the benefice of Saint Paterne. It was a
beautiful wedding. The wife and the daughter of his grace the bishop
were beautifully ornamented. The young bride wore a necklace of
inestimable value."
The moment the name of the Bishop of Nantes was mentioned, Simon the
monk pulled down the cowl of his cloak, trying to hide his face
completely.
"Sure enough, my beloved companions," interjected another townsman, "we
know that the Sieur 'Worse than a Wolf' is a brigand. But do you imagine
that the Sieur Draco, seigneur of Castel-Redon, is a lamb? It is as
perilous to cross the territory of the one as of the other, and yet
there is no other way out. The road to the east, barred by a river, runs
out upon a bridge that is guarded by the men of the seigneur of
Castel-Redon; the road to the west, bordered by vast swamps, runs out
upon a path guarded by the men of the seigneur of Plouernel. By taking
the shorter of the two routes we reduce by one-half the chances of
danger."
"This worthy man is right," said several voices. "Let's follow his
advice."
"Dear brothers, look out what you do!" cried Simon the monk. "The
seigneur of Plouernel is a monster of ferocity. He is given up to
sorcery with a female magician, his concubine ... a Jewess! He stands
excommunicated; he is a pagan."
"To the devil with the Jews!" exclaimed Harold the Norman, merchant of
relics. "The Jews have all been hanged, burned, drowned, strangled,
quartered, when they were hunted down in all the provinces, like wild
beasts. There can not be one of them left alive in our land of Gaul."
"Since the execution of the Orleans heretics, who perished by fire,"
resumed the monk Jeronimo, "never was an extermination of unclean
animals more meritorious than that of those accursed Jews, who
instigated the Saracens of Palestine to destroy the Temple of Solomon at
Jerusalem. Death to the Jews!"
"What say you, dear brother?" inquired a townsman. "Did the Jews of this
land of Gaul instigate the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem?"
"Yes, my brother. The abominable mischiefs of those Jews defy time and
space. But patience! Soon will the day come when, by divine will, no
longer will it be isolated pilgrims that will travel to Jerusalem to
there mourn and pray at the tomb of our Lord Jesus Christ. It will be
Christianity in mass that will march under arms to the Holy Land, in
order to exterminate the infidels and deliver the sepulchre of the
Saviour of the world from their sacrilegious presence. Death to all
miscreants!"
Bezenecq the Rich, who had just approached the group of debating
travelers, and ascertained the subject of their discussion, apprehensive
lest his daughter take new alarm, suggested: "Meseems we had better take
the shorter route. As to your fears, they are exaggerated. When we shall
have paid the toll-collectors of the seigneur of Plouernel for the right
to travel over his roads and cross his burgs and villages, what else can
he demand of us? We are neither his serfs nor his villeins.'
"Can you, a grey beard, talk like that?" interjected Simon the monk. "Do
you imagine these devilish seigneurs care aught for justice or
injustice?"
"But I do care a deal about that!" replied Bezenecq the Rich. "If the
seigneur of Plouernel should do me violence, me a bourgeois of Nantes, I
would appeal to William IX, Duke of Aquitaine, of whom the seigneur of
Plouernel stands seized, the same as William IX holds of Philip I, King
of the Franks. Each of these seigneurs has his suzerain."
"Which would be like appealing from the wolf to the tiger," replied
Simon, shrugging his shoulders. "You can not know William, Duke of
Aquitaine. That sacrilegious criminal sought to force Peter, the Bishop
of Poitiers, to give him absolution for his crimes by putting a dagger
to his throat. William abducted Malborgiane, the wife of the Viscount of
Castellerault, a shameless creature, whose picture he dares to carry
painted on his shield. William had the effrontery to answer Gerard, the
Bishop of Angouleme, who reproached him with this new act of adultery:
'Bishop, I shall return Malborgiane when you frizzle your hair!' The
prelate was bald. Such is the man to whom you would appeal from the
violent acts of the seigneur of Plouernel."
"That William is certainly a deep-dyed criminal;" put in Jeronimo, "but
that much justice must be done him that he approved himself the most
implacable exterminator of the Jews. Not one of those who lived on his
domains escaped death!"
"It is said that the mere sight of a Jew makes him pale with horror; and
that, libertine though he is, a Jewess, be she never such a beauty, be
she a maid like the Virgin Mary, would make him run away from her."
"But that does not prevent," insisted Simon the monk, "that if you rely
upon the Duke of Aquitaine for redress against the seigneur of
Plouernel, you will be acting like a lunatic. On that subject your
judgment is at fault."
"If William IX does not do us justice," rejoined Bezenecq the Rich, "we
shall appeal to King Philip. Oh! oh! we townsmen do not allow ourselves
to be tyrannized without protest! We know how to draw up a petition!"
"And what will King Philip care for your petition? That Sardanapalus!
that glutton! that idler! that double adulterer! and what's worse, that
dullard, whom the seigneurs, his large vassals, laugh at openly! It is
to him you will go for justice, if refused by the Duke of Aquitaine?
Moreover, even if the latter were so inclined, as the suzerain of the
seigneur of Plouernel, to punish him for wrongs done to you, would he
have the power?"
"Certainly!" exclaimed Bezenecq. "He would enter the domain of the
seigneur of Plouernel and besiege him in his castle."
Simon the monk shook his head sadly. "The seigneurs reserve their forces
to round up their domains and to revenge their own wrongs. Never do they
protect the cause of small folks, however just it be."
"We live, I know, in sad times; nor were the previous centuries much
better," observed the townsman with a sigh, casting an uneasy look upon
his daughter, who seemed again alarmed. "All the same, we should not
exaggerate to ourselves the dangers of the situation. We have to choose
between the two routes. Let's suppose the dangers of crossing them are
equal. Common sense bids us to take the shorter, and that we hurry our
steps."
"The shorter route is the more perilous," repeated Simon the monk, who,
more than anyone else, seemed to dread crossing the territory of the
seigneur of Plouernel.
"Oh! father," asked Isoline of the merchant, "have we really so many
dangers to fear?"
"No, no, my dear child. That poor monk's mind is upset with fear."
The Norman dealer in relics, having overheard the last words of Isoline,
approached her and said with much unction: "Pretty lassie, I have here
in my box of relics a superb tooth, that comes from the blessed jaw of a
holy man, who died in Jerusalem, a martyr to the Saracens. I shall let
you have that tooth for three silver deniers. This sacred relic will
protect you from all perils of the road." Saying which, Harold the
Norman was about to exhibit the marvellous tooth, when Bezenecq said
smiling to him, so as to reassure his daughter; "Not now, my friend; we
shall look at your relic later on. Do you claim that it protects one
against all the dangers of the road?"
"Yes, worshipful townsman. I swear it upon my eternal salvation; upon my
share of Paradise."
"Seeing that you carry about you that holy relic, you will not be
exposed to any accident; and seeing that we go with you, and are of your
company, we shall profit by the miraculous protection. All of which
should not hinder us, if you follow my advice, dear companions, to take
the shorter route. Let those who share my views follow me," he added
giving the spurs to his mule so as to put an end to the discussion, and
with that he took the road that led over the territory of the seigneur
of Plouernel. The majority of the travelers followed the example of
Bezenecq, because, for one thing, he spoke wisely; then also, he was
known to be rich, his daughter accompanied him, and he had too much at
stake to take an imprudent resolution. Those who shared the
apprehensions of the monk Simon, being reduced to a small number, dared
not separate from the bulk of the troop, and joined it after a moment's
hesitation. Likewise Simon the monk and Jeronimo, who feared risking
themselves alone on the other road. Harold the Norman remained behind an
instant, drew near one of the gibbets, pulled off the two legs and hands
of a corpse, that was reduced to a mere skeleton, and placed them in his
bag, counting upon selling them to the faithful for holy relics. He then
rejoined the travelers, who were proceeding along the road of the
seigniory of Plouernel.