THE MOUSE-TRAP.
Dawn was about to succeed the night in which Broute-Saule was killed by
Berthoald. Profoundly asleep and with his hands pinioned behind his
back, the young chief lay upon the floor of Meroflede's bedchamber.
Wrapped in a black cloak, her face pale and half veiled by her now loose
thick red hair that almost reached the floor, the abbess proceeded to
the window, holding in her hand a lighted torch of rosin. Leaning over
the sill whence the horizon could be seen at a distance, the abbess
waved her torch three times, while intently looking towards the east
which began to be tinted with the approaching day. After a few minutes,
the light of a large flame, that rose from a distance behind the
retreating shades of night, responded to Meroflede's signal. Her
features beamed with sinister joy. She dropped her torch into the moat
that surrounded the monastery, and then proceeded to awaken Berthoald by
shaking him rudely. Berthoald was with difficulty drawn from his
lethargy. He sought to take his hand to his forehead, but found that he
was pinioned. He raised himself painfully upon his leaden feet, and
still unclear of mind he contemplated Meroflede in silence. The abbess
extended her bare arms towards the horizon, that dawn was feebly
lighting, and said: "Do you see yonder, far away, the narrow road that
crosses the pond and prolongs itself as far as the outer works of the
abbey?"
"Yes," said Berthoald, struggling against the strange torpor that still
paralyzed his mind and will, without thereby wholly clouding his
intellect; "yes, I see the road surrounded by water on all sides."
"Did not your companions in arms camp on that road during the night?"
"I think so," replied the young chief, seeking to collect his confused
thoughts; "last evening ... my companions--"
"Listen!" put in the abbess nervously and placing her hand upon the
young man's shoulder. "Listen ... what do you hear from the side on
which the sun is about to rise?"
"I hear a great rumbling noise ... that seems to draw nearer towards us.
It sounds like the rush of waters."
"Your ear does not deceive you, my valiant warrior;" and leaning upon
Berthoald's shoulder: "Yonder, towards the east, lies an immense lake
held in by dikes and locks."
"A lake? What of it?"
"The level of its waters is eight to ten feet above those of the
ponds.... Do you understand what will follow?"
"No, my mind is heavy ... I hardly remember ... our charming night ...
but why am I pinioned?"
"For the purpose of checking your joy when, as will soon be the case,
you will have recovered your senses.... Now, let us continue our
confidential chat. You will understand that the moment the dikes are
broken through and the locks opened, the water will rise in these ponds
to the extent that they will submerge the narrow road on which your
companions encamped for the night with their horses and the carts that
held their booty and slaves.... Now, watch.... Do you notice how the
water is rising? It is now up to the very edge of the jetty.... Within
an hour, the jetty itself will be entirely submerged. Not one of your
companions will have escaped death.... If they seek to flee, a deep
trench, cut at my orders over night, will stop their progress.... Not
one will escape death.... Do you hear, my handsome prisoner?"
"All drowned!" murmured Berthoald, still under the dominion of a dull
stupor; "all my companions drowned----"
"Oh, does not yet that new piece of confidential news wake you up?...
Let us pass to another thing," and the abbess proceeded with a voice of
ringing triumph: "Among the female slaves, taken from Languedoc, that
your band brought in its train, there was a woman ... who will drown
with the rest, and that woman," said Meroflede, emphasizing each word in
the hope of each being a dagger in Berthoald's heart, "is--your--mother!"
Berthoald trembled violently, leaped up in his bonds, and vainly sought
to snap them. He uttered a piercing cry, cast a look of despair and
terror upon the immense sheet of water that, tinted with the first rays
of the rising sun, now extended in every direction. The wretched man
called aloud: "Oh, my mother!"
"Now," said Meroflede with savage joy, "the water has almost completely
invaded the causeway. The tent-cloths that cover the carts can hardly be
seen. The flood still rises, and at this very hour your mother is
undergoing the agonies of death ... agonies that are more horrible than
death itself."
"Oh, demon!" cried the young man, writhing in his bonds. "You lie! My
mother is not there!"
"Your mother's name is Rosen-Aer, she is forty years of age; she lived
one time in the valley of Charolles in Burgundy."
"Woe! Woe is me!"
"Fallen into the hands of the Arabs at the time of their invasion of
Burgundy, she was taken to Languedoc as a slave. After the last siege of
Narbonne by Charles, your mother was captured in the vicinity of the
town together with other women. When the division of the booty took
place, Rosen-Aer having fallen to the lot of your band was brought as
far as here.... If still you should doubt, I shall give you one more
token. That woman carries on her arm, like you, traced in indelible
letters the two words: '_Brenn_' and '_Karnak_'.... Are these details
accurate enough?"
"Oh, my mother!" cried the unfortunate Berthoald casting upon the waters
of the pond a look of most poignant pain.
"Your mother is now dead.... The jetty has disappeared under the waters,
and still they rise.... Aye, your mother was drowned in the covered
cart, where she was held confined with the other slaves."
"My heart breaks," murmured Berthoald, crushed by the weight of pain and
despair: "My suffering is beyond endurance!"
"Are you so soon at the end of your strength?" cried Meroflede with a
peal of infernal laughter. "Oh! no, no! You have not yet suffered
enough. What! You stupid slave! You Gallic renegade! Cowardly liar, who
brazenly deck yourself with the name of a noble Frank! What, did you
imagine vengeance did not boil in my veins because you saw me smile last
evening at the death of my ancestor, who was killed by a bandit of your
race! Aye! I smiled because I thought how at daybreak I would have you
witness from a distance the death agonies of your own mother! I was but
preparing my vengeance."
"Monster of lewdness and ferocity!" cried Berthoald, making superhuman
efforts to break his bonds. "I must punish you for your crimes!... Yes,
by Hesus, I shall throttle you with my own hands!"
The abbess realized the impotence of Berthoald's fury, shrugged her
shoulders and continued: "Your ancestor, the bandit, set fire a century
and a half ago to the castle of my ancestor, Count Neroweg, and killed
him with an axe. I reply to the fire with the inundation, and I drown
your mother! As to the fate that awaits you, it will be terrible!"
"Did my mother know that I was the chief of the Franks who took her
prisoner?"
"My vengeance lacked only that!"
"But who, miserable woman, could have told you what you know about my
mother?"
"The Jew Mordecai."
"How did he know her? Where did he see her?"
"At the halt that you made at the convent of St. Saturnine with Charles
Martel; it was there that the Jew recognized you."
"God was merciful to me! My mother did not live to know my shame. Her
death would have been doubly terrible.... And now, monster, deliver me
of your presence and of life. I am in a hurry to die!"
"Have patience! I have prepared for you a refined punishment, and a
prolonged agony."