BRENN--KARNAK.
The goldsmith remained a few moments at the threshold of the workshop
listening to the retreating steps of the intendant; he then closed and
bolted the door and went to the vault where Rosen-Aer was in hiding,
while Septimine ran to the window to see whether Berthoald was still in
sight. But the sight that presented itself to her eyes made her exclaim
with terror: "Great God, the young chief is lost!... The water has
reached the air-hole!"
"Lost!... My son!" cried Rosen-Aer in despair, rushing to the window
despite the old man's efforts to restrain her. "Oh, my son! To have seen
you again only to lose you.... Amael, Amael!... Answer your mother!"
"The woman will betray us ... if she is heard outside!" said the
fear-stricken old man, vainly endeavoring to drag Rosen-Aer from the
window bars to which the distracted woman clung, hysterically calling
out to her son. But Amael did not reappear. The flood had gained the
opening of the air-hole, and despite the width of the moat that
separated the two buildings, the muffled sound of the water was heard
pouring through the opening and falling into the cavern. Pale as death,
Septimine could not utter a word. In the frenzy of her despair,
Rosen-Aer sought to break the stout iron bars of the window, while she
sobbed aloud: "To know that he is there ... in agony ... dying ... and
we unable to save him!"
"Have hope!" cried the old man with tears in his eyes at the sight of
the mother's anguish; "hope!... I have been watching the moss-covered
stone at the corner of the air-hole. The water does not rise to it....
It has stopped rising.... See for yourselves!"
Septimine and Rosen-Aer dried their tears and looked at the stone that
Bonaik pointed out. In fact it was not submerged. Presently even the
noise of the water flowing down through the air-hole sounded with less
distinctness, and finally ceased altogether. The flood seemed checked.
"He is saved!" cried Septimine. "Thank God, the young chief will not
drown!"
"Saved!" stammered Rosen-Aer in a heart-rending tone of doubt. "And if
enough water has poured into the cavern to drown him.... Oh! If he were
still alive he would have answered my voice.... No, no! He is dying! He
is dead!"
"Master Bonaik, some one knocks," an apprentice said. "What shall I do?
Open?"
"Return to your hiding place," the old man said to Rosen-Aer, and as she
did not seem to hear, he added: "Are you determined to perish and have
us all perish with you, we who are ready to sacrifice ourselves for you
and your son?" Rosen-Aer left the window and returned to the vault,
while the old man walked to the door and inquired: "Who is there?"
"I," answered from the outside the voice of the apprentice who had gone
out with Ricarik; "I, Justin, I have executed your commissions, Father
Bonaik."
"Come in, quick," said the goldsmith to the lad who carried an empty
barrel on his shoulders and had in his hand a basket of provisions, the
wine pouch, and a large roll of rope and cord. Re-bolting the door, the
old man took the wine pouch out of the basket and going to the vault
where Rosen-Aer was hiding said to her: "Take a little wine to comfort
you."
But Amael's mother pushed the pouch aside, crying in despair: "My son!
My son! What has become of my son Amael?"
"Justin," the old man said to the apprentice, "give me the stones I told
you to pick up."
"Here, Master Bonaik, are they. I filled my pockets with them."
The old man picked out a small stone and went to the window, saying: "If
the unfortunate man is not drowned, he will understand, when he sees
this stone drop into the cave, that it is a signal." Father Bonaik took
accurate aim and threw the stone through the air-hole. Rosen-Aer and
Septimine awaited the result of Bonaik's attempt in mortal anguish. Even
the apprentices observed profound silence. A few seconds of intense
anxiety passed. "Nothing," murmured the old goldsmith with his eyes
fixed upon the air-hole.
"He is dead!" cried Rosen-Aer, held by Septimine in her arms. "I shall
never more see my son!"
The old man threw a second stone. Another interval of anxiety ensued.
All held their breath. A few seconds later, as Rosen-Aer raised herself
on tip-toe, she cried: "His hands! I see his hands! He is holding to the
bar of the air-hole. Thanks, Hesus! Thanks! You have saved my son!" and
the woman fell upon her knees in an attitude of prayer.
Bonaik thereupon saw the pale face of Amael, framed in his long black
hair that now streamed with water, rise between the iron bars of the
air-hole. The old man made him a sign to withdraw quickly, while saying
in a low voice as if he expected to be heard by the prisoner: "Now, hide
yourself, disappear and wait!" and turning to Rosen-Aer: "Your son has
understood me. No imprudence. Be calm." Bonaik then went to his
work-bench, took a piece of parchment from a little roll that he used to
trace his models on, and wrote these words:
* * * * *
"If the water has not invaded the cavern so that you cannot stay there
without danger until night, then give three pulls to the string at the
end of which will be attached the stone tied in this note. This cord can
then serve as a means of communicating. When you see it shake get ready
for further information. Until then do not show yourself at the
air-hole. Courage!"
* * * * *
Having written these words, the goldsmith rolled the stone in the
parchment, happily impermeable to water, and tied both in a knot to one
end of the string, at about the middle of which he attached a piece of
iron in order that the body of the rope might be held under water, and
thus the means of communication between the workshop and the cavern
remain invisible. Bonaik slung the stone through the air-hole, retaining
in his hand the other end of the string. Almost immediately after, three
pulls given to the string announced to Bonaik that Amael could remain
until evening without danger in his prison, and that he would follow the
orders of the old man. Hope revived the spirits of Rosen-Aer. In the
fulness of her thanks she took the goldsmith's hands and said to him:
"Good father, you will save him, will you not? You will save my son?"
"I hope so, poor woman! But let me collect my thoughts.... At my age,
you know, such experiences are trying. In order to succeed, we must be
prudent. The task is difficult.... We cannot be too cautious."
While the goldsmith, leaning on his elbows at his work-bench, held his
head in his hands, and the apprentices remained silent and uneasy,
Rosen-Aer, struck by a sudden recollection, said to Septimine: "My
child, you said my son had been good to you, like an angel from
heaven.... All that concerns you interests me. Where did you meet him?"
"Near Poitiers, at the convent of St. Saturnine.... My family and I,
touched with pity for a young prince, a boy, who was kept confined in
the monastery, wished to help him to escape; all was discovered, they
meant to punish me in a shameful, infamous manner," Septimine said
blushing; "and they decided to sell me and separate me from my father
and mother.... It was at that moment that your son, a favorite of
Charles, the Chief of the Franks, interceded in my behalf and took me
under his protection--"
"My son, say you, dear child?"
"Yes, madam, the seigneur Berthoald."
"You call him Berthoald?"
"That is the name of the young Frankish chief who is locked up in that
cavern--"
"My son Amael with the name of Berthoald! My son a favorite of the
Frankish chief!" cried Rosen-Aer struck with amazement. "My son, who was
raised in horror for the conquerors of Gaul, those oppressors of our
race! My son one of their favorites! No, no.... It is impossible!"
"Live a hundred years, and never shall I forget what happened at the
convent of St. Saturnine--the touching kindness of the seigneur
Berthoald towards me, whom he had never seen before. Did he not obtain
my liberty from Charles, and also the liberty of my father and mother?
Was he not generous enough to give me gold to meet my family's wants?"
"I am lost in the attempt to penetrate this mystery. The troop of
warriors, that brought us slaves in their train, did indeed stop at the
abbey of St. Saturnine," replied Rosen-Aer in great agony, and she
added: "but if he whom you call Berthoald obtained your freedom from the
chief of the Franks, how come you to be a slave here, my poor child?"
"The seigneur Berthoald trusted the word of Charles, and Charles trusted
the word of the abbot of the convent. But after the departure of the
chief of the Franks and your son, the abbot, who had previously sold me
to a Jew named Mordecai, kept his bargain with the Jew.... In vain did I
beseech the warriors whom Charles left behind in possession of the
monastery, and as a guard over the little prince, to stand by me. I was
torn away from my family. The Jew kept the gold that your son had
generously given me, and brought me to this country. He sold me to the
intendant of this abbey that was donated by Charles to the seigneur
Berthoald, as I learned at the convent of St. Saturnine."
"This abbey was donated to my son!... He a companion in arms of these
accursed Franks!... He a traitor! a renegade! Oh, if you speak truly,
shame and perdition upon my son!"
"A traitor! A renegade!... The seigneur Berthoald! The most generous of
men! You judge your son too severely!"
"Listen, poor child, and you will understand my sorrow.... After a great
battle, delivered near Narbonne against the Arabs, I was taken by the
warriors of Charles. The booty and slaves were divided by lot. I and my
female fellow prisoners were told that we belonged to the chief
Berthoald and his men."
"You, a slave of your own son!... But, God, he did not know it!"
"Yes, the same as I did not know that my new master, the young Frankish
chief Berthoald, was my son Amael."
"And probably your son, who marched at the head of his troop, did not
see you on the journey."
"We were eight or ten female slaves in a covered cart. We followed the
army of Charles. Occasionally the men of chief Berthoald visited us, and
... but I shall spare your blushes, poor child, and shall not dilate
upon their infamous conduct!" added Rosen-Aer shuddering at the
disgusting and horrible recollection. "My age protected me from a shame
that, however, I was determined to escape by death.... My son never
joined in those orgies, frequently stained with blood and moistened in
tears--the men beat the girls to the point of shedding their blood when
they sought to resist being outraged. In that way we arrived in the
vicinity of the convent of St. Saturnine. We stopped there several
hours. The Jew Mordecai happened to be at the monastery. Learning, no
doubt, that there were slaves to buy in the train of the army, he came
to us accompanied by some men of the band of Berthoald. You were sold,
poor child; you know the disgraceful examination that these dealers in
Gallic flesh submit the slaves to."
"Yes, yes; I had to undergo the shame before the monks of the abbey of
St. Saturnine when they sold me to the Jew," answered Septimine, hiding
her face, purple with shame.
Rosen-Aer proceeded:
"Women and young girls, despite their prayers and resistance, were
stripped of their clothes, profaned and spoiled by the looks of the men
who wanted either to sell or to buy us. My age could not spare me this
general disgrace--" and breaking out into tears and wringing her arms in
despair, the mother of Amael added amidst moans: "Such are the Franks
whose companion of war my son is!"
"It is horrible!"
"The baseness confounds my senses and makes my heart to sicken. At the
age of fifteen my son disappeared from the valley of Charolles, where he
lived free and happy ... before the Saracen invasion. What happened
since? I do not know."
Hearing the name of the valley of Charolles, Bonaik, who had remained
steeped in thought, trembled and listened to the conversation between
Septimine and the mother of Amael, who proceeded to say: "Perhaps the
Jew holds the secret of my son's life."
"That Jew?... How?"
"When, despite the pain it gave me, the Jew came to inspect me, I had to
undergo the fate of the rest. I was stripped of my clothes.... Oh, may
my son never know of my shame! The thought alone would haunt him as a
perpetual remorse through life, if he should live," Rosen-Aer
interjected in a low voice. "While I underwent the fate of my companions
in slavery ... the Jew observed with a start on my left arm these two
words traced in indelible letters: '_Brenn_,' '_Karnak_.'"
"'_Brenn_,' '_Karnak_'!" cried the old goldsmith.
"The custom of doing so was adopted in my family several generations
back, because, alack, in those troubled days of continuous war, families
were exposed to being rent apart and dispersed far and wide. 'Twas an
indelible sign which might help them to recognize one another."
Rosen-Aer had hardly pronounced these words when, drawing near her in
deep emotion, Bonaik cried: "Are you of the family of Joel, the brenn of
the tribe of Karnak?"
"Yes, father!"
"Did you live in Burgundy in the valley of Charolles, once ceded to
Loysik, the brother of Ronan, by King Clotaire I?"
"But, good father, how do you know all that?"
For only answer, the old man rolled up the sleeve of his blouse and
pointed with his finger to two words indelibly traced on his left arm:
"_Brenn_," "_Karnak_."
Rosen-Aer remained stupified, and recovering said: "You also?... You
also.... You, good father.... Are you of the family of Joel?"
"One of my ancestors was Kervan, the uncle of Ronan. That is my
affiliation."
"Does your family live in Brittany, near Karnak?"
"My brother Allan or his children remained at the cradle of our stock."
"And how did you fall into slavery?"
"Our tribe crossed the frontier and came, according to their custom from
time immemorial, to trade arms for the vines of the Franks near the
county of Rennes. I was then fifteen, and accompanied my father on his
journey. A troop of Franks attacked us. I was separated during the fight
from my father, was captured and taken far away into bondage. Sold from
one master to another, accident brought me to this country where I am
now twelve years. Alack! Often have my eyes wandered towards the
frontier of our old Brittany, ever free! My advanced age coupled to the
habit of a profession that I love and that consoles me, have kept me
from thinking of escape. And so we are relatives!... The unhappy young
man yonder, near us, imprisoned in the cavern, is of our blood?... But
how did he become chief of this Frankish troop that the inundation has
just swallowed up?"
"I was telling this poor child that a Jew, a dealer in slaves, having
noticed these two words--'_Brenn_,' '_Karnak_'--on my arm seemed
astonished, and said to me: 'Have you not a son who must be about
twenty-five years old, and who carries like you, those two words traced
on his arm?' But despite the horror that the Jew inspired me with, his
words revived in me the hope of finding my son again. 'Yes,' I answered
him, 'ten years ago my son disappeared from the place where we lived.'
'And you lived in the valley of Charolles?' the Jew asked. 'Do you know
my son?' I cried. But the infamous man refused to answer me, and he
walked away casting a cruel look upon me."
"And you have seen him since?" asked Septimine.
"Never again. The carts resumed their march to this country, where I
arrived with my fellow female slaves. All the women must have perished
this morning ... and without the efforts of this brave girl I would have
perished also."
"The Jew Mordecai," replied the goldsmith reflecting, "that dealer in
the flesh of Gauls, a great friend of the intendant Ricarik, arrived
here a few days ago. He was at the convent of St. Saturnine when the
donation of this abbey was made to your son and his band. He must,
undoubtedly, have run ahead to warn the abbess, and she, accordingly,
made her preparations of defence against the warriors who came to
dispossess her."
"The Jew was in a great hurry to arrive here after his departure from
the convent of St. Saturnine, where he took me from," replied Septimine.
"We were only three slaves and he packed us on his light wagon that was
drawn by two horses. He must have arrived here two or three days ahead
of the troop of the seigneur Berthoald, who must have been delayed on
his march by his large baggage."
"So that the Jew must have notified Meroflede in advance, and must also
have revealed to her the secret of the alleged Frankish chief being of
the Gallic race," observed Bonaik. "Hence the terrible vengeance of the
abbess, who must have had your son cast into that subterranean prison,
expecting to expose him to certain death. The thing now is how to save
him, and to protect ourselves from the vengeance of Meroflede. To remain
here after your son's escape would be to expose these poor apprentices
and Septimine to death."
"Oh, good father! What shall we do?" put in Septimine, joining her
hands. "No one can penetrate into the building under which the seigneur
Berthoald is imprisoned."
"Call him Amael, my child," said Rosen-Aer bitterly. "The name of
Berthoald constantly reminds me of a shame that I would forget."
"To extricate Amael out of the cavern is not an impossible feat," said
the old goldsmith, raising his head. "I have just been thinking it over.
We have a fair chance of success."
"But, good father," asked Rosen-Aer, "what about the iron bars at the
window of this workshop, and those at the air-hole of the cave in which
my son is confined? And then that large and deep moat? What obstacles!"
"These are not the most difficult obstacles to surmount. Suppose night
has set in and Amael is with us, free. What then?"
"Leave the abbey," said Septimine; "escape ... we shall all flee--"
"And how, my child? Do you forget that with nightfall the gate of the
jetty is locked? A watchman is there on guard. But, even if we cleared
the gate, the inundation covers the road. It will take two or three days
for the waters to withdraw. Until then this abbey will remain surrounded
by water like an island."
"Master Bonaik," said one of the young apprentices, "there are the
fishing boats."
"Where are they usually fastened, my boy, at what part of the pond?"
"On the side of the chapel."
"To reach them we would have to cross the interior court of the
cloister, and its door is every evening bolted and barred from within!"
"Alack!" exclaimed Rosen-Aer, "must we renounce all hope of escape?"
"Never give up hope. Let us first think of Amael. Whatever may happen,
once he is out of the cavern, his fate will not be worse. Now, my lads,"
the goldsmith added, addressing the apprentices, "what we are about to
attempt is grave ... your lives and ours are at stake. You have no
choice but to help us or betray us. To betray us would be a base act.
Nevertheless your only interest in this flight is the uncertain hope of
recovering your freedom. Do you prefer to betray us? Say so frankly, and
now.... In that event I shall not undertake anything, and the fate of
the worthy woman and her son is sealed.... If, on the contrary, we
succeed with your help to save Amael and leave this abbey, this is my
plan: I am told it is about four days' march from here to Armorica, the
only territory in all Gaul that is still free. Arrived in Brittany, we
shall take the road to Karnak. There we shall find my brother or his
descendants. My tribe will receive us all as children of its own family.
From goldsmith's apprentices you will become apprentices in field-labor,
unless you should prefer to pursue your trade in some town of Brittany,
only no longer as slaves but as free artisans. Reflect ripely, and
decide. The day is slipping by. Time is precious."
Justin, one of the apprentices, consulted with his companions in a low
voice, and then answered: "Our choice is not doubtful, Master Bonaik. We
shall join you in restoring a son to his mother; hap what hap may, we
shall share your fate."
"Thank you, my generous boys!" said Rosen-Aer, with her eyes full of
tears. "Alack! All I can offer you in exchange for your noble conduct is
the gratitude of a mother!"
"Now," said the goldsmith, who seemed to have regained the agility and
vivacity of his youth, "no more words! To work! Two of you will see to
the sawing of the bars of the window. But do it so that they remain in
position."
"We understand, Father Bonaik," said Justin; "the bars will remain in
position; all that will be needed to throw them down will be a slight
tap of the hammer when you tell us."
"There is no fear of being seen from without. The opposite building has
no windows facing us."
"But how are the bars of the air-hole to be sawed?"
"The prisoner will do that himself with the aid of this file that I
shall throw over to him wrapped in another note directing him what to
do." Saying this the old man sat down upon his work-bench and wrote the
following lines which Septimine, leaning over his shoulders, read aloud
as fast as he wrote:
* * * * *
"Saw off with this file the iron bars of the air-hole, keeping them,
however, in position. When it is dark remove them. Three pulls given to
the string, one end of which you hold, will announce to us that you are
ready. You will then draw towards the air-hole an empty barrel that we
shall have tied to the end of the string."
* * * * *
"What! Good father! You had so much presence of mind as to think of all
these means of escape and prepare for them? How grateful my heart is to
you!"
"We must find means of escape," answered the old man, starting to write;
"the lives of us all are now at stake----"
"And we who are of the trade, we really believed you were preparing
these articles for the cast," said Justin. "This is a fine trick! The
wicked Ricarik will himself have furnished us the barrel and ropes."
Septimine continued to read as Bonaik wrote:
* * * * *
"When the barrel is near enough to the air-hole, you will take firm hold
of a rope that is wound around the barrel and throw yourself into the
water. You will push the barrel, and we will pull it gently toward the
window, which you will then be able to scale easily with our help. We
shall consider the rest."
* * * * *
"Oh, good father," exclaimed Rosen-Aer tenderly, "thanks to you, my son
is saved!"
"Alack! Not so fast, poor woman! I told you before, to take him out of
the cavern is possible; but after that the need will be to get out of
this accursed convent.... Well, we shall try!" and he proceeded to write
these last lines:
* * * * *
"Perhaps you can swim; no imprudence! The best swimmers get drowned.
Reserve your strength so as to be able to help your mother to escape
from this abbey. When you receive this parchment tear it up in little
bits; the same with the first, throw them into the darkest corner of
your prison because it is possible that you may be sent for and taken
from there before evening."
* * * * *
"Oh, God!" exclaimed Rosen-Aer joining her hands in terror. "We never
thought of that. Such a misfortune is possible."
"We must foresee every eventuality," replied the old man closing his
letter with these words:
"Do not despair, and place your hope in Hesus, the God of our fathers!"
"Oh!" murmured Rosen-Aer in distress, "the faith of his fathers, the
teachings of his family, the sufferings of his race, and the hatred for
the stranger--he has forgotten it all!"
"But the sight of his mother will have brought all back again to him,"
answered the old man. Saying this he gave a pull to the string to notify
Amael. The latter answered the signal in the same way. Bonaik then
wrapped the file in the parchment and threw it to the other side of the
moat. The aim was again accurate. The missive, together with the file,
flew through the air-hole and dropped on the floor of the cavern. After
having informed himself on these further instructions from the old man,
Amael showed himself behind the bars. His eager eyes seemed to ask for
his mother.
"He is looking for you," said Septimine to Rosen-Aer; "show yourself to
him; do not deny him this consolation."
The Gallic matron sighed, and leaning upon Septimine took two steps
towards the window. There, with a solemn and resigned mien, she raised a
finger to heaven, as if to say to her son to trust the God of his
fathers. At the sight of his mother and Septimine, the sweet image of
whom had never left him since he first saw her at the convent of St.
Saturnine, Amael joined his hands, and raised them above his head. His
face indicated at once resignation, respect and happiness.
"And now, my boys," the goldsmith said to the young apprentices, "take
your files and start filing off the bars of the window; I and one of you
shall place the crucible on the brasier and melt the metal. Ricarik may
come back. He must be made to believe that we are busy at the cast. The
door is bolted inside. You, Rosen-Aer, remain near the entrance of the
vault so as to escape into it quickly should that accursed intendant
take it into his head to return here, a probable thing. His early
morning round being done, we hardly ever see him again, thanks to God!
But the least imprudence may be fatal."