The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps
by Eugène Sue · English · Gutenberg #33868 · 462,137 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps
Author: Eugène Sue
Translator: Daniel De Leon
Release date: October 17, 2010 [eBook #33868]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33868
Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
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THE CASQUE'S LARK
THE FULL SERIES OF
The Mysteries of the People
" OR "
History of a Proletarian Family
Across the Ages
By EUGENE SUE
_Consisting of the Following Works:_
THE GOLD SICKLE; or, _Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen._
THE BRASS BELL; or, _The Chariot of Death._
THE IRON COLLAR; or, _Faustina and Syomara._
THE SILVER CROSS; or, _The Carpenter of Nazareth._
THE CASQUE'S LARK; or, _Victoria, the Mother of the Camps._
THE PONIARD'S HILT; or, _Karadeucq and Ronan._
THE BRANDING NEEDLE; or, _The Monastery of Charolles._
THE ABBATIAL CROSIER; or, _Bonaik and Septimine._
THE CARLOVINGIAN COINS; or, _The Daughters of Charlemagne._
THE IRON ARROW-HEAD; or, _The Buckler Maiden._
THE INFANT'S SKULL; or, _The End of the World._
THE PILGRIM'S SHELL; or, _Fergan the Quarryman._
THE IRON PINCERS; or, _Mylio and Karvel._
THE IRON TREVET; or, _Jocelyn the Champion._
THE EXECUTIONER'S KNIFE; or, _Joan of Arc._
THE POCKET BIBLE; or, _Christian the Printer._
THE BLACKSMITH'S HAMMER; _or, The Peasant Code._
THE SWORD OF HONOR; or, _The Foundation of the French Republic._
THE GALLEY SLAVE'S RING; or, _The Family Lebrenn._
Published Uniform With This Volume By
THE NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
28 CITY HALL PLACE NEW YORK CITY
THE CASQUE'S LARK
:: OR ::
VICTORIA, THE MOTHER OF THE CAMPS
A Tale of the Frankish Invasion of Gaul
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH
By DANIEL DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY 1909
Copyright, 1909, by the
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
INDEX
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE v
INTRODUCTION 1
PART I--FOREIGN FOES.
I. SCHANVOCH AND SAMPSO 21
II. ON THE RHINE 26
III. THE HORDES OF THE FRANKS 46
IV. THE PRIESTESS ELWIG 55
V. NEROWEG THE TERRIBLE EAGLE 69
VI. THE FLIGHT 83
VII. SHADOWS ACROSS THE PATH 94
VIII. CAPTAIN MARION 99
IX. VICTORIA THE GREAT 107
X. TETRIK 114
XI. VICTORIN 127
XII. TO BATTLE 143
XIII. THE BATTLE OF THE RHINE 156
XIV. THE HOMEWARD RIDE 173
PART II--DOMESTIC TRAITORS.
I. GATHERING SHADOWS 185
II. THE CATASTROPHE 195
III. THE MORTUARY CHAMBER 208
IV. FUNERAL PYRES 229
V. ASSASSINATION OF MARION 233
VI. THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 247
VII. THE VISION OF VICTORIA 268
VIII. CRIME TRIUMPHANT 274
IX. KIDDA, THE BOHEMIAN GIRL 280
EPILOGUE 288
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
The first four stories of Eugene Sue's series of historic novels--_The
Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian Family Across the
Ages_--are properly introductory to the wondrous drama in which, as
indicated in the preface to the first story of the series, "one family,
the descendants of a Gallic chief named Joel, typifies the oppressed;
one family, the descendants of a Frankish chief named Neroweg, typifies
the oppressor; and across and adown the ages, the successive struggles
between oppressors and oppressed--the history of civilization--is thus
represented in a majestic allegory." That wondrous drama opens with
this, the fifth of the stories--_The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, the
Mother of the Camps_.
Here, for the first time, does a descendant of Joel, the Breton chief,
encounter a Neroweg, the representative of the conquering race. Here
they cross swords for the first time, their descendants meeting again
and again in the course of the subsequent narratives, almost always in
deadly encounter, each typical of the advancing stage of civilization in
which the succeeding encounters occur.
In point of time, the scene of this story is about the third century of
the Christian era. The great historic epoch which it describes is that
in which, the star of the Roman Empire being in the decline and the
Empire's hold upon Gaul having been greatly relaxed, the flood of the
barbarian migration of nations flowed westward from the primeval
forests and frozen fields of Germania, attempting to cross the Rhine and
enter Gaul. Foremost among these hordes were the savage and warlike
Franks, led by a number of independent chiefs. The present story
describes the two forces--Franks and Gauls, the latter supported by the
Romans--facing each other, frequently crossing swords in bloody
encounters and holding each other in check. Out of this material, into
which the thin thread of the initial introduction of Christianity in
Gaul is woven in the woof, Sue constructed the present superb
narrative--a fit overture for the following and successive fourteen
acts.
DANIEL DE LEON
Milford, Conn. August, 1909.
INTRODUCTION.
I, Schanvoch, a descendant of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak; I,
Schanvoch, now a freeman, thanks to the valor of my father Ralf and the
bold Gallic insurrections that continued unabated from century to
century; I, Schanvoch, write the following narrative two hundred and
sixty-four years after my ancestress Genevieve, the wife of Fergan,
witnessed in Judea the death of the poor carpenter Jesus of Nazareth.
I write the following account thirty-four years after Gomer, the son of
Judicael and grandson of Fergan, who was a slave like his father and
grandfather, wrote to his son Mederik that he had nothing to add to the
family annals but the monotonous account of his life as a slave.
Neither did my ancestor Mederik contribute aught to our family history,
and his son Justin contented himself with having a stranger's hand enter
these short lines:
"My father Mederik died a slave, fighting as a Son of the Mistletoe for
the freedom of Gaul; he told me that he was driven to revolt against the
foreign oppression by the narrative of the bravery of our free ancestors
and by the description of the sufferance of our enslaved fathers. I, his
son Justin, a colonist, and no longer a slave of the fisc, have caused
this fact to be entered upon our family parchments, which I shall
faithfully transmit to my son Aurel, together with their accompanying
emblems, the gold sickle, the little brass bell, the fragment of the
iron collar and the little silver cross, all of which I have carefully
preserved."
Aurel, Justin's son and a colonist like his father, was not any more
literate than the latter, and left no record whatever. After him, again
a stranger's hand inserted these lines in our family annals:
"Ralf, the son of Aurel the colonist, fought for the freedom of his
country. Ralf having become absolutely free, thanks to the Gallic arms
and the holy war preached by our venerable druids, found himself obliged
to resort to a friend's help in order to enter the death of his father
Aurel upon our family parchments. Happier than myself, my son Schanvoch
will not be forced to avail himself of a stranger in order to enter in
our family's archives the death of myself, the first male descendant of
Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, who again regained complete
freedom. As several of my ancestors have done before me, I here declare
that it was the history of our ancestors' valor and martyrdom that
induced me to take up arms against the Romans, our masters and secular
oppressors."
These family scrolls, together with their accompanying relics, I shall
leave to you, my dear little Alguen, the son of my beloved wife Ellen,
who gave you birth this day four years ago.
I choose this day, the anniversary of your birth, as a day of happy
augury, in order to start, for your benefit and the benefit of our
descendants, the narrative of my life and my battles, my joys and my
sorrows, obedient to the last wishes of our ancestor Joel, the brenn of
the tribe of Karnak.
You will grieve, my son, when you learn from these archives that, from
the death of Joel down to that of my great-grandfather Justin, seven
generations, aye, seven whole generations, were subjected to intolerable
slavery. But your heart will be cheered when you learn that my
great-grandfather had, from a slave, become a colonist or serf attached
to the glebe of Gaul--still a servile condition but greatly above that
of slavery. My own father, having regained his full freedom, thanks to
the formidable insurrections of the Sons of the Mistletoe that from
century to century were conjured up at the voice of the druids, the
tireless and heroic defenders of the freedom of oppressed Gaul, has
bequeathed to me freedom, that most precious of all wealth. I shall, in
turn, transmit it to you.
By dint of constantly struggling for it, and also of stubborn
resistance, we Gauls have succeeded in successively reconquering almost
our full former freedom. A last and frail bond still holds us to Rome,
now our ally, after having formerly been our pitiless master. When that
last and frail bond will be snapped, we shall have regained our absolute
independence, and we shall resume our former place at the head of the
great nations of the world.
Before acquainting you with the details of my life and time, my son, I
must fill certain voids that are left in the history of our family
through the omissions of those of our ancestors, who, either through
illiteracy or the hardness of the times, were prevented from joining
their respective accounts to our archives. Their lives must have been
the life of all the other Gauls, who, the fetters of slavery
notwithstanding, have, step by step and from century to century,
conquered through revolt and battle the deliverance of our country.
You will find in the last lines written by our ancestor Fergan, the
husband of Genevieve, that despite the vows taken by the Sons of the
Mistletoe and despite innumerable uprisings, one of the most formidable
of which was chieftained by Sacrovir, the worthy emulator of the Chief
of the Hundred Valleys, the Roman yoke that Caesar imposed upon Gaul
remained unshaken. In vain did Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth,
prophesy that the chains of the slave would be broken. The slaves still
dragged their blood-stained chains. Nevertheless, our old race,
weakened, mutilated, unnerved or corrupted though it was by slavery,
never once was submissive, and allowed only short intervals to pass
without endeavoring to shake off the yoke. The secret associations of
the Sons of the Mistletoe covered the country, and furnished intrepid
soldiers to each succeeding revolt against Rome.
After the heroic attempt of Sacrovir, the account of whose sublime death
you will find in the narrative of our ancestor Fergan, the weak and
timid weaver-slave, other insurrections broke out during the reigns of
the Emperors Tiberius and Claudius; they increased in force during the
civil wars that rent Italy under the reign of Nero. At about that time,
one of our heroes, Vindex, as intrepid a patriot as Sacrovir or the
Chief of the Hundred Valleys, long held the Roman arms in check.
Civilis, another Gallic patriot, taking his stand upon the prophecies of
Velleda--one of our female druids, a virile woman, wise in council and
worthy compeer of our brave and wise mothers--roused almost all Gaul to
revolt and gave the first serious wound to the power of Rome. Finally,
during the reign of the Emperor Vitellius, a poor field slave like our
ancestor Guilhern set himself up as the messiah and liberator of Gaul,
just as Jesus of Nazareth proclaimed himself the Messiah of Judea, and
pursued with patriotic ardor the task of liberation that was started by
the Chief of the Hundred Valleys and continued after him by Sacrovir,
Vindex, Civilis and so many other heroes. That field slave's name was
Marik. He was then barely twenty-five years of age; robust, intelligent
and gifted with heroic bravery he joined the Sons of the Mistletoe. Our
venerable druids, always persecuted, had traversed Gaul inciting the
lukewarm, restraining the impatient, and preparing all for the hour of
the insurrection. It broke out. At the head of ten thousand slaves,
field laborers like himself and armed with their scythes and forks,
Marik engaged the Roman troops of Vitellius under the walls of Lyons.
That first attempt miscarried; the insurgents were cut to pieces by the
Roman army that greatly exceeded them in numbers. But so far from
feeling overwhelmed, this defeat intensified the ardor of the revolted
people. Whole populations rose in rebellion at the voice of the druids
that called them to the holy war. The combatants seemed to spring out of
the entrails of the earth, and Marik saw himself again at the head of a
numerous army. Endowed by the gods with a military instinct, he
disciplined his troops, inspired them with courage and a blind
confidence in him, and marched at their head towards the banks of the
Rhine, where, sheltered behind its trenches, lay the reserve of the
Roman army. Marik attacked it, beat it, and compelled whole legions that
he took prisoner to drop their own ensigns and substitute them with our
ancient Gallic cock. Those Roman legions had, due to their long sojourn
in our country, virtually become Gauls; carried away by the military
ascendency of Marik, they readily joined him, combatted under him
against the fresh Roman columns that were sent from Italy, and either
annihilated or dispersed them. The hour of Gaul's deliverance was about
to sound--but at that moment Marik fell through cowardly treason into
the hands of the monster Vespasian, then Emperor of Rome. Riddled with
wounds the hero of Gaul was delivered to the wild beasts in the circus,
like our own ancestor Sylvest.
The martyr's death exasperated the population. Fresh insurrections broke
out forthwith all over Gaul. The words of Jesus of Nazareth, declaring
that the slave is the equal of his master, began to penetrate our own
country, filtering through on the lips of itinerant preachers. The
flames of hatred for the foreign domination shot up with renewed vigor.
Attacked from all sides in Gaul, harrassed on the other side of the
Rhine by innumerable hordes of Franks, barbarous warriors that issued
from the depths of the northern forests and seemed but to await the
propitious moment to pour into Gaul, the Romans finally capitulated to
us. At last we harvested the fruits of so many heroic sacrifices! The
blood shed by our fathers for the previous three centuries watered our
deliverance. Indeed, the words of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys were
prophetic:
"Flow, flow thou blood of the captive!
Drop, drop thou dew of gore!
Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"
Yes, my son, those words were prophetic. It was with that refrain on
their lips that our fathers fought and overcame the foreign oppressor.
Rome, at last, yielded back to us a part of our ancient freedom. We
formed Gallic legions commanded by our own officers; our provinces were
once more governed by magistrates of our own choice. Rome reserved only
the right to appoint a "Principal" over Gaul, the suzerainty over which
she was to retain. We accepted, while waiting and striving for better
things--and these better things were not long in coming. Frightened by
our continual revolts, our tyrants had been slowly moderating the rigor
of our slavery. Terror was to force from them that which they
relentlessly refused as a matter of right and justice to the voice of
suppliant humanity. First the master was no longer allowed, as he was in
the days of Sylvest and several of his descendants, to dispose over the
life of his slaves as one disposes over the life of an animal. Later, as
their fear increased, the masters were forbidden from inflicting
corporal punishments upon their slaves, except with the express
authorization of a magistrate. Finally, my child, that horrible Roman
law, that, at the time of our ancestor Sylvest and of the five
generations that followed him, declared in its ferocious language that
the slave does not exist, that "he has no head" (_non caput habet_) that
shocking law was, thanks to the dread inspired by our unceasing revolts,
modified to the point that the Justinian code declared:
"Freedom is a natural right; it is the statute law that has created
slavery; it has also created enfranchisement, which is the return to
natural freedom."
Alack! It is distressing to notice that the sacred rights of humanity
can not triumph except at the cost of torrents of blood and of
unnumbered disasters! But who is to be cursed as the true cause of all
such evils? Is it not the oppressor, seeing that he bends his fellow-men
under the yoke of a frightful slavery, lives on the sweat of the brow of
his fellow-men, depraves, debases and martyrizes his fellow-beings,
kills them to satisfy a whim or out of sheer cruelty, and thus compels
them to reconquer by force the freedom that they have been deprived of?
Never forget this, my son, if, once subjugated, the whole Gallic race
had shown itself as patient, as timid, as resigned as did our poor
ancestor Fergan the weaver, our slavery never would have been abolished!
After vain appeals to the heart and reason of the oppressor, there is
but one means left to overthrow tyranny--revolt--energetic, stubborn,
unceasing revolt. Sooner or later right triumphs, as it triumphed with
us! Let the blood that our triumph has cost fall upon the heads of those
who enslaved us.
Accordingly, my son, thanks to our innumerable insurrections, slavery
was at first replaced by the state of the colonist, or serfdom, the
regime under which my great-grandfather Justin and my grandfather Aurel
lived. Under that system, instead of being forced to cultivate under the
whip and for the exclusive benefit of the Roman masters the lands that
they had plundered us of by conquest, the colonist had a small share of
the harvest that he gathered. He could no longer be sold as a draft
horse, along with his children; he could no longer be submitted to the
torture or killed; but they were, from father to children, compelled to
remain attached to the same domain. If the domain was sold, the colonist
likewise changed hands under the identical conditions of toil. Later the
condition of the colonists was further improved; they were granted the
rights of citizenship. When the Gallic legions were formed, the soldiers
that composed them became completely free. My father Ralf, the son of a
colonist, gained his freedom in that manner; I, the son of a soldier,
brought up in camp, was born free; and I shall bequeath that freedom to
you, as my father bequeathed it to me together with the duty to
preserve it for your descendants.
When you will read this narrative, my son, after you will have become
acquainted with the manifold sufferings of our ancestors, who were
slaves for so many generations, you will appreciate the wisdom of the
wish expressed by our ancestor Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak.
You will admire his sagacity in expecting that, by piously preserving
the memory of its bravery and of the independence that it once enjoyed,
the Gallic race would be able to draw from the horror for Roman
oppression the strength to overthrow it.
At this writing I am thirty-eight years of age. My parents are long
dead. Ralf, my father, a soldier in one of our Gallic legions, in which
he enrolled at the age of eighteen in the south of Gaul, came into this
region, near the western banks of the Rhine, along with the army. He was
in all the battles that were fought with the ferocious hordes of the
Franks, who, attracted by the fertility of our Gaul and by the wealth
contained in our borders, encamped on the opposite shore of the river,
ever ready to attempt a new invasion.
About four years ago a descent of the insular population of England was
feared in Brittany. On that occasion several legions, the one in which
my father enlisted among them, were ordered into that province. During
several months he was quartered in the city of Vannes, not far from
Karnak, the cradle of our family. Having had one of his friends read to
him the narratives of our ancestors, Ralf visited with pious respect the
battle field of Vannes, the sacred stones of Karnak, and the lands that
we were plundered of in Caesar's time by the Roman conquerors. The lands
were held by a Roman family; colonists, sons of the Breton Gauls of our
tribe and who had formerly been in bondage, now cultivated the lands
that their ancestors one time owned. The daughter of one of those
colonists loved my father; her love was reciprocated; her name was
Madalene; she was one of those proud and virile Gallic women, that our
ancestress Margarid, the wife of Joel, was a type of. She followed my
father when his legion left Brittany to return to the banks of the
Rhine, where I was born in the fortified camp of Mayence, a military
city that our troops occupied. The chief of the legion to which my
father belonged was the son of a field laborer. His bravery won him the
post. On the day after my birth that chief's wife died in child-bed of a
baby girl--a girl who, some day perhaps, may yet, from the retreat of
her humble home, reign over the world as she reigns to-day over Gaul.
To-day, at the time that I write, Victoria, by virtue of her
distinguished wisdom, her eminent qualities, the benign influence that
she exercises over her son Victorin and over our whole army, is, in
point of fact, empress of Gaul.
Victoria is my foster-sister. Prizing the solid qualities of mind and
heart that my mother was endowed with, when Victoria's father became a
widower, he requested my mother to nurse his little babe. Accordingly,
she and I grew up like brother and sister. We never since failed in the
fraternal affection of our childhood. From her earliest age Victoria was
serious and gentle, although she greatly delighted in the blare of
trumpets and the sight of arms. She gave promise to be some day of that
august beauty that mingles calmness, grace and energy, and that is
peculiar to certain women of Gaul. You will see medals that have been
struck in her honor when she was still a young maid. She is there
represented as Diana the huntress, with a bow in one hand and a torch
in the other. On a later medal, struck about two years ago, Victoria is
represented with her son Victorin in the guise of Minerva accompanied by
Mars. At the age of ten she was sent by her father to a college of
female druids. Being now again freed from Roman persecution, thanks to
the new birth of Gallic freedom, the druids, male and female, again
attended to the education of children as they did of yore.
Victoria remained with these venerable women until her fifteenth year.
She drew from that patriotic and strict tuition an ardent love for her
country, and information on all subjects. She left the college equipped
with the secrets of former times, and, it is said, possessing, like
Velleda and other female druids, the power of seeing into the future. At
that period of her life the proud and virile beauty of Victoria was
sublime. When she met me again she was happy and she did not conceal her
joy. So far from declining through our long separation from each other,
her affection for me, her foster-brother, had increased.
I must at this point make an admission to you, my son; I am free to make
it because you will not read these lines until after you will be a man.
You will find a good example of courage and abnegation in my confession.
When Victoria returned in her dazzling beauty of fifteen years I was of
the same age and although hardly of the age of puberty myself, I fell
distractedly in love with her. I carefully concealed my feelings, out of
friendship as well as by reason of the respect that, despite the
fraternal attachment of which she every day gave me fresh proof, that
serious young maid, who brought with her from the college of the female
druids an indescribably imposing, pensive and mysterious appearance,
inspired in me. I then underwent a cruel trial. Ignorant of the feelings
of my heart, as she ever will be, at fifteen and a half Victoria gave
her hand to a young military chief. I came near dying of a slow
consuming illness caused by my secret despair. So long as my life seemed
in danger, Victoria did not leave the head of my couch. A tender sister
could not have attended me with more devoted and touching care. She
became a mother. Although a mother, she ever accompanied her husband, to
whom she was passionately devoted, whenever called to war. By force of
reflection I succeeded at last in overcoming, if not my love, at least
its violent manifestations, the pain it gave me, the senselessness of
the passion. But there remained in me a sense of boundless devotion
towards my foster-sister. She asked me to remain near her and her
husband as a horseman in the body of cavalrymen that ordinarily act as
escorts to the Gallic chiefs, and either take down in writing or convey
their military orders. My foster-sister was barely eighteen years of age
when, in a severe battle with the Franks, she lost on the same day both
her father and her husband. A widow with her son, for whom she foresaw a
glorious future, bravely verified by himself since then, Victoria never
left the camp. The soldiers, accustomed ever to see her in their midst,
with her child in her arms, and walking between her father and her
husband, knew that more than once her profoundly wise advice prevailed
in the councils of the chiefs as the advice of our mothers of old often
prevailed in the councils of our forefathers. They came to look as a
good omen upon the presence of this young woman, who was trained in the
mysterious science of the druids. At the death of her father and husband
they begged her not to leave the army, declaring to her with naive
affection that thenceforth her son Victorin should be "Son of the Camps"
and she the "Mother of the Camps." Touched by so much affection,
Victoria remained with the troops, preserving her influence over the
chiefs, directing them in the government of Gaul, sedulous in imparting
a manly education to her son, and living as modestly as the wife of an
officer.
Shortly after her husband's death, my foster-sister told me that she
would never marry again, it being her intention to consecrate her life
entirely to Victorin. The last and insane hope that I nursed when I saw
her a widow and free again, was dashed. With time I recovered my senses.
I suppressed my ill-starred love and gave no thought but to the service
of Victoria and her son. A simple horseman in the army, I served my
foster-sister as her secretary. Often she confided important state
secrets to me. At times she even charged me with confidential embassies
to the military chiefs of Gaul.
I taught Victorin to ride, to handle the lance and the sword. Soon I
came to love him as an own son. A kinder and more generous disposition
than that of the lad could not be imagined. Thus he grew up among the
soldiers, who became attached to him by a thousand bonds of habit and of
affection. At the age of fourteen he made his first campaign against the
franks, who were fast becoming as dangerous enemies to us as the Romans
once were. I accompanied him. Like a true Gallic woman his mother
remained on horseback and surrounded by the officers, on a hill from
which the battle field could be seen on which her son was engaged. He
comported himself bravely and was wounded. Being thus from early youth
habituated to the life of war, the youth developed great military
talents. Intrepid as the bravest of the soldiers, skilful and cautious
as a veteran captain, generous to the full extent that his purse allowed
it, of a joyful disposition, open and kind to all, he gained ever more
the attachment of the army that soon divided with him its adoration for
his mother.
The day finally arrived when Gaul, already almost independent, demanded
to share with Rome the government of our country. The power was then
divided between a Gallic and a Roman chief. Rome appointed Posthumus,
and our troops unanimously acclaimed Victorin as the Gallic chief and
general of the army. Shortly after, he married a young girl by whom he
was dearly loved. Unfortunately she died within the year, leaving him a
son. Victoria, now a grandmother, devoted herself to her son's child as
she had done before to himself, and surrounded the babe with all the
cares that the tenderest solicitude could inspire.
My early resolve was never to marry. I was nevertheless gradually
attracted by the modest graces and the virtue of the daughter of one of
the centurions of our army. She was your mother, Ellen, whom I married
five years ago.
Such has been my life until this day, when I start the narrative that is
to follow. Certain remarks of Victoria decided me to write it both for
your benefit and the benefit of our descendants. If the expectations of
my foster-sister, concerning several incidents in this narrative, are
eventually realized, those of our relatives who in the centuries to come
may happen to read this story will discover that Victoria, the Mother of
the Camps, was gifted, like Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, and
Velleda, the female druid and companion of Civilis, with the holy gift
of prevision.
What I am here about to narrate happened a week ago. In order to fix the
date with greater accuracy I certify that it is written in the city of
Mayence, defended by our fortified camp on the borders of the Rhine, on
the fifth day of the month of June, as the Romans reckon, of the seventh
year of the joint principality of Posthumus and Victorin in Gaul, two
hundred and sixty-four years after the death of Jesus of Nazareth, the
friend of the poor, who was crucified in Jerusalem under the eyes of our
ancestress Genevieve.
The Gallic camp, composed of tents and light but solid barracks, is
massed around Mayence, which dominates it. Victoria lodges in the city;
I occupy a little house not far from the one that she inhabits.
PART I.
FOREIGN FOES.
CHAPTER I.
SCHANVOCH AND SAMPSO.
The morning of the day that I am telling of, I quitted my bed with the
dawn, leaving my beloved wife Ellen soundly asleep. I contemplated her
for an instant. Her long loose hair partly covered her bosom; her sweet
and beautiful head rested upon one of her folded arms, while the other
reclined on your cradle, my son, as if to protect you even during her
sleep. I lightly kissed both your foreheads, fearing to awake you. It
required an effort on my part to refrain from tenderly embracing you
both again and again. I was bound upon a venturesome expedition;
perchance, the kiss that I hardly dared to give you was the last you
were ever to receive from me. I left the room where you slept and
repaired to the contiguous one to arm myself, to don my cuirass over my
blouse, and take my casque and sword. I then left the house. At our
threshold I met Sampso, my wife's sister, as gentle and beautiful as
herself. She held her apron filled with flowers of different colors;
they were still wet with the dew. She had just gathered them in our
little garden. Seeing me, she smiled and blushed surprised.
"Up so early, Sampso?" I said to her. "I thought I was the first one
stirring. But what is the purpose of these flowers?"
"Is it not to-day a year ago that I came to live with my sister Ellen
and you--you forgetful Schanvoch?" she answered with an affectionate
smile. "I wish to celebrate the day in our old Gallic fashion. I went
out for the flowers in order to garland the house-door, the cradle of
your little Alguen, and his mother's head. But you, where are you bound
to this morning in full armor?"
At the thought that this holiday might turn into a day of mourning for
my family I suppressed a sigh, and answered my wife's sister with a
smile that was intended to allay suspicion.
"Victoria and her son charged me yesterday with some military orders for
the chief of a detachment that lies encamped some two leagues from here.
It is the military custom to be armed when one has such orders in
charge."
"Do you know, Schanvoch, that you must arouse jealousy in many a
breast?"
"Because my foster-sister employs my soldier's sword during war and my
pen during truces?"
"You forget to say that that foster-sister is Victoria the Great, and
that Victorin, her son, entertains for you the respect that he would
have for his mother's brother. Hardly a day goes by without Victoria's
calling upon you. These are favors that many should envy."
"Have I ever sought to profit by these favors, Sampso? Have I not
remained a simple horseman, ever declining to be an officer, and
requesting the only favor of fighting at Victorin's side?"
"Whose life you have already twice saved when he was at the point of
perishing under the blows of those barbarous Franks!"
"I did but my duty as a soldier and a Gaul. Should I not sacrifice my
life to that of a man who is so necessary to our country?"
"Schanvoch, we must not quarrel; you know how much I admire Victoria;
but--"
"But I know your uncharitableness towards her son," I put in with a
smile, "you austere and severe Sampso!"
"Is it any fault of mine if disorderly conduct finds no favor in my
eyes--if I even consider it disgraceful?"
"Certes, you are right. Nevertheless I can not avoid being somewhat
indulgent towards the foibles of Victorin. A widower at twenty, should
he not be excused for yielding at times to the impulses of his age? Dear
but implacable Sampso, I let you read the narrative of my ancestress
Genevieve. You are gentle and good as Jesus of Nazareth, why do you not
imitate his charity towards sinners? He forgave Magdalen because she had
loved much. In the name of the same sentiment pardon Victorin!"
"There is nothing more worthy of forgiveness than love, when it is
sincere. But debauchery has nothing in common with love. Schanvoch, it
is as if you were to say to me that my sister and I could be compared
with those Bohemian girls who recently arrived in Mayence."
"In point of looks they might be compared with you or Ellen, seeing that
they are said to be ravishingly beautiful. But the comparison ends
there, Sampso. I trust but little the virtue of those strollers, however
charming, however brilliantly arrayed they may be, who travel from town
to town singing and dancing for public amusement--even if they indulge
not in worse practices."
"And for all that, I make no doubt that, when you least expect it, you
will see Victorin the general of the army, one of the two Chiefs of
Gaul, accompany on horseback the chariot in which these Bohemian girls
promenade every evening along the borders of the Rhine. And if I should
feel indignant at the sight of the son of Victoria serving as escort to
such creatures, you would surely say to me: 'Forgive the sinner, just as
Jesus forgave Magdalen the sinner.' Go to, Schanvoch, the man who can
delight in unworthy amours is capable of--"
But Sampso suddenly broke off.
"Finish your sentence," I said to her, "express yourself in full, I pray
you."
"No," she answered after reflecting a moment; "the time has not yet come
for that. I would not like to risk a hasty word."
"See here," I said to her, "I am sure that what you have in mind is one
of those ridiculous stories about Victorin that for some time have been
floating about in the army, without its being possible to trace the
slanders to their source. Can you, Sampso, you, with all your good sense
and good heart, make yourself the echo of such gossip, such unworthy
calumnies?"
"Adieu, Schanvoch; I told you I was not going to quarrel with you, dear
brother, on the subject of the hero whom you defend against all comers."
"What would you have me do? It is my foible. I love his mother as an own
sister. I love her son as if he were my own. Are you not as guilty as
myself, Sampso? Is not my little Alguen, your sister's son, as dear to
you as if he were your own child? Take my word for it, when Alguen will
be twenty and you hear him accused of some youthful indiscretion, you
will, I feel quite sure, defend him with even more warmth than I defend
Victorin. But we need not wait so long, have you not begun your role of
pleader for him, already? When the rascal is guilty of some misconduct,
is it not his aunt Sampso whom he fetches to intercede in his behalf? He
knows how you love him!"
"Is not my sister's son mine?"
"Is that the reason you do not wish to marry?"
"Surely, brother," she answered with a blush and a slight embarrassment.
After a moment's silence she resumed:
"I hope you will be back home at noon to complete our little feast?"
"The moment my mission is fulfilled I shall return. Adieu, Sampso!"
"Adieu, Schanvoch!"
And leaving his wife's sister engaged in her work of garlanding the
house-door, Schanvoch walked rapidly away, revolving in his mind the
topic of the conversation that Sampso had just broached.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE RHINE.
I had often asked myself why Sampso, who was a year older than Ellen,
and as beautiful and virtuous as my wife, had until then rejected
several offers of marriage. At times I suspected that she entertained
some secret love, other times I surmised she might belong to one of the
Christian societies that began to spread over Gaul and in which the
women took the vow of virginity, as did several of our female druids. I
also pondered the reason for Sampso's reticence when I asked her to be
more explicit concerning Victorin. Soon, however, I dropped all these
subjects and turned my mind upon the expedition that I had in charge.
I wended my way towards the advance posts of the camp and addressed
myself to an officer under whose eyes I placed a scroll with a few lines
written by Victorin. The officer immediately put four picked soldiers at
my disposal. They were chosen from among a number whose special
department was to manoeuvre the craft of the military flotilla that was
used in ascending or descending the Rhine in order, whenever occasion
required, to defend the fortified camp. Upon my recommendation the four
soldiers left their arms behind. I alone was armed. As we passed a clump
of oak trees I cut down a few branches to be placed at the prow of the
bark that was to transport us. We soon arrived at the river bank, where
we found several boats that were reserved for the service of the army,
tied to their stakes. While two of the soldiers fastened on the prow of
the boat the oak branches that I had furnished them with, the other two
examined the oars with expert eyes in order to assure themselves that
they were in fit condition for use. I took the rudder, and we left the
shore.
The four soldiers rowed in silence for a while. Presently the oldest of
them, a veteran with a grey moustache and white hair, said to me:
"There is nothing like a Gallic song to make time pass quickly and the
oars strike in rhythm. I should say that some old national refrain, sung
in chorus, renders the sculls lighter and the water more easy to cleave
through. Are we allowed to sing, friend Schanvoch?"
"You seem to know me, comrade?"
"Who in the army does not know the foster-brother of the Mother of the
Camps?"
"Being a simple horseman I thought my name was more obscure than it
seems to be."
"You have remained a simple horseman despite our Victoria's friendship
for you. That is why, Schanvoch, everybody knows and esteems you."
"You certainly make me feel happy by saying so. What is your name?"
"Douarnek."
"You must be a Breton!"
"From the neighborhood of Vannes."
"My family also comes from that neighborhood."
"I thought as much, your name being a Breton name. Well, friend
Schanvoch, may we sing a song? Our officer gave us orders to obey you
as we would himself. I know not whither you are taking us, but a song is
heard far away, especially when it is struck up in chorus by vigorous
and broad-chested lads. Perhaps we must not draw attention upon our
bark?"
"Just now you may sing--later not--we shall have to advance without
making any noise."
"Well, boys, what shall we sing?" said the veteran without either
himself or his companions intermitting the regular strokes of their
oars, and only slightly turning his head towards them, seeing that,
seated as he was on the first bench, he sat opposite to me. "Come, make
your choice!"
"The song of the mariners, will that suit you?" answered one of the
soldiers.
"That is rather long," replied Douarnek.
"The song of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys?"
"That is very beautiful," again replied Douarnek, "but it is a song of
slaves who await their deliverance; by the bones of our fathers, we are
now free in old Gaul!"
"Friend Douarnek," said I, "it was to the refrain of that slaves'
song--'Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of
gore!' that our fathers, arms in hand, reconquered the freedom that we
enjoy to-day."
"That is true, Schanvoch, but that song is very long, and you warned us
that we were soon to become silent as fishes."
"Douarnek," one of the soldiers spoke up, "sing to us the song of Hena
the Virgin of the Isle of Sen. It always brings tears to my eyes. She is
my favorite saint, the beautiful and sweet Hena, who lived centuries and
centuries ago."
"Yes, yes," said the other soldiers, "sing the song of Hena, Douarnek!
That song predicts the victory of Gaul--and Gaul is to-day triumphant!"
Hearing these words I was greatly moved, I felt happy and, I confess it,
proud at seeing that the name of Hena, dead more than three hundred
years, had remained in Gaul as popular as it was at the time of Sylvest.
"Very well, the song of Hena it shall be!" replied the veteran. "I also
love the sweet and saintly girl, who offered her blood to Hesus for the
deliverance of Gaul. And you, Schanvoch, do you know the song?"
"Yes--quite well--I have heard it sung--"
"You will know it enough to repeat the refrain with us."
Saying this Douarnek struck up the song in a full and sonorous voice
that reached far over the waters of the Rhine:
"She was young, she was fair,
And holy was she.
To Hesus her blood gave
That Gaul might be free.
Hena her name!
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!
"--Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,--
Said her father Joel,
The brenn of the tribe of Karnak.
--Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,
Since you are at home this night
To celebrate the day of your birth!--
"--Blessed be the gods, my sweet girl,--
Said Margarid, her mother.
--Blessed be your coming!
But why is your face so sad?--
"--My face is sad, my good mother;
My face is sad, my good father,
Because Hena your daughter
Comes to bid you Adieu,
Till we meet again.--
"--And where are you going, my sweet daughter?
Will your journey, then, be long?
Whither thus are you going?--
"--I go to those worlds
So mysterious, above,
That no one yet knows,
But that all will yet know.
Where living ne'er traveled,
Where all will yet travel,
To live there again
With those we have loved.--"
And myself and the three other oarsmen replied in chorus:
"She was young, she was fair,
And holy was she.
To Hesus her blood gave,
That Gaul might be free.
Hena her name!
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"
Douarnek then proceeded with the song:
"Hearing Hena speak these words,
Sadly gazed upon her her father
And her mother, aye, all the family,
Even the little children,
For Hena loved them very dearly.
"--But why, dear daughter,
Why now quit this world,
And travel away beyond
Without the Angel of Death having called you?--
"--Good father, good mother,
Hesus is angry.
The stranger now threatens our Gaul so beloved.
The innocent blood of a virgin
Offered by her to the gods
May their anger well soften.
Adieu, then, till we meet again,
Good father, good mother,
Adieu till we meet again,
All, my dear ones and friends.
These collars preserve, and these rings
As mementoes of me.
Let me kiss for the last time your blonde heads,
Dear little ones. Good bye till we meet.
Remember your Hena, she waits for you yonder,
In the worlds yet unknown.--"
And the other oarsmen and I replied in chorus to the rythmical sound of
the oars:
"She was young, she was fair,
And holy was she.
To Hesus her blood gave
That Gaul might be free.
Hena her name.
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"
Douarnek proceeded:
"Bright is the moon, high is the pyre
Which rises near the sacred stones of Karnak;
Vast is the gathering of the tribes
Which presses 'round the funeral pile.
"Behold her, it is she, it is Hena!
She mounts the pyre, her golden harp in hand,
And singeth thus:
"--Take my blood, O Hesus,
And deliver my land from the stranger.
Take my blood, O Hesus,
Pity for Gaul! Victory to our arms!--
And it flowed, the blood of Hena.
"O, holy Virgin, in vain 'twill not have been,
The shedding of your innocent and generous blood.
Bowed beneath the yoke, Gaul will some day rise erect,
Free and proud, and crying, like thee,
--Victory and Freedom!"
And Douarnek, along with the three other soldiers, repeated in a low
voice, vibrating with pious admiration, this last refrain:
"So it was that she offered her blood to Hesus,
To Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul!
She was young, she was fair,
And holy was she,
Hena her name!
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"
I alone did not join in the last refrain of the song. I was too deeply
moved!
Noticing my emotion and my silence, Douarnek said to me surprised:
"What, Schanvoch, have you lost your voice? You remain silent at the
close of so glorious a song?"
"Your speech is sooth, Douarnek; it is just because that song is
particularly glorious to me--that you see me so deeply moved."
"That song is particularly glorious to you? I do not understand you."
"Hena was the daughter of one of my ancestors."
"What say you!"
"Hena was the daughter of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, who
died, together with his wife and almost all his family, at the great
battle of Vannes--a battle that was fought on land and water nearly
three centuries ago. From father to son, I descend from Joel."
"Do you know, Schanvoch," replied Douarnek, "that even kings would be
proud of such an ancestry?"
"The blood shed for our country and for liberty by all of us Gauls is
our national patent of nobility," I said to him. "It is for that reason
that our old songs are so popular among us."
"When one considers," put in one of the younger soldiers, "that it is
now more than three hundred years since Hena, the saintly maid,
surrendered her own life for the deliverance of the country, and that
her name still reaches us!"
"Although it took the young virgin's voice more than two centuries to
rise to the ears of Hesus," replied Douarnek, "her voice did finally
reach him, seeing that to-day we can say--Victory to our arms! Victory
and freedom!"
We had now arrived at about the middle of the river, where the stream is
very rapid.
Raising his oar, Douarnek asked me:
"Shall we enter the strong current? That would be a waste of strength,
unless we are either to ascend or descend the river a distance equal to
that that now separates us from the shore."
"We are to cross the Rhine in its full breadth, friend Douarnek."
"Cross it!" cried the veteran with amazement. "Cross the Rhine! And what
for?"
"To land on the opposite shore."
"Do you know what that means, Schanvoch? Is not the army of those
Frankish bandits, if one can honor those savage hordes with the name of
army, encamped on the opposite shore?"
"It is to those very barbarians that I am bound."
For a few moments all the four oars rested motionless in their oarlocks.
The soldiers looked at one another speechless, as if they could not
believe what they heard me say.
Douarnek was the first to break the silence. With a soldier's unconcern
he said to me:
"Is it, then, a sacrifice that we are to offer to Hesus by delivering
our hides to those hide-tanners? If such be the orders, forward! Bend to
your oars, my lads!"
"Have you forgotten, Douarnek, that we have a truce of eight days with
the Franks?"
"There is no such thing as a truce to those brigands."
"As you will notice, I have made the signal of peace by ornamenting the
prow of our bark with green boughs. I shall proceed alone into the
enemy's camp, with an oak branch in my hand."
"And they will slay you despite all your oak branches, as they have
slain other envoys during previous truces."
"That may happen, Douarnek; but when the chief commands, the soldier
obeys. Victoria and her son have ordered me to proceed to the Frankish
camp. So thither I go!"
"It surely was not out of fear that I spoke, Schanvoch, when I said that
those savages would not leave our heads on our shoulders, nor our skins
on our bodies. I only spoke from the old habit of sincerity. Well, then,
my lads, fall to with a will! Bend to your oars! We have the order from
our mother--the Mother of the Camps--and we obey. Forward! even if we
are to be flayed alive by the barbarians, a cruel sport that they often
indulge in at the expense of their prisoners."
"And it is also said," put in the young soldier with a less unperturbed
voice than Douarnek's, "it is also said that the priestesses of the
nether world who follow the Frankish hordes drop their prisoners into
large brass caldrons, and boil them alive with certain magic herbs."
"Ha! Ha!" replied Douarnek merrily, "the one of us who may be boiled in
that way will at least enjoy the advantage of being the first to taste
his own soup--that's some consolation. Forward! Ply your oars! We are
obeying orders from the Mother of the Camps."
"Oh! We would row straight into an abyss, if Victoria so ordered!"
"She has been well named, the Mother of the Camps and of the soldiers.
It is a treat to see her visiting the wounded after each battle."
"And addressing them with her kind words, that almost make the whole
ones regret that they have not been wounded, too."
"And then she is so beautiful. Oh, so beautiful!"
"Oh! When she rides through the camp, mounted on her white steed, clad
in her long black robe, her bold face looking out from under her casque,
and yet her eyes shining with so much mildness, and her smile so
motherly! It is like a vision!"
"It is said for certain that our Victoria knows the future as well as
she knows the present."
"She must have some charm about her. Who would believe, seeing her, that
she is the mother of a son of twenty-two?"
"Oh! If the son had only fulfilled the promise that his younger years
gave!"
"Victorin will always be loved as he has been."
"Yes, but it is a great pity!" remarked Douarnek shaking his head sadly,
after the other soldiers had thus given vent to their thoughts and
feelings. "Yes, it is a great pity! Oh! Victorin is no longer the child
of the camps that we, old soldiers with grey moustaches, knew as a baby,
rode on our knees, and, down to only recently, looked upon with pride
and friendship!"
The words of these soldiers struck me with deeper apprehension than
Sampso's words did a few hours before. Not only did I often have to
defend Victorin with the severe Sampso, but I had latterly noticed in
the army a silent feeling of resentment towards my foster-sister's son,
who until then, was the idol of the soldiers.
"What have you to reproach Victorin with?" I asked Douarnek and his
companions. "Is he not brave among the bravest? Have you not watched his
conduct in war?"
"Oh! If a battle is on, he fights bravely, as bravely as yourself,
Schanvoch, when you are at his side, on your large bay horse, and more
intent upon defending the son of your foster-sister than upon defending
yourself. '_Your scars would declare it, if they could speak through the
mouths of your wounds_,' as our old proverb says!"
"I fight as a soldier; Victorin fights as a captain. And has not that
young captain of only twenty-two years already won five great battles
against the Germans and the Franks?"
"His mother, well named Victoria, must have contributed with her counsel
towards his victories. He confers with her upon his plans of campaign.
But, anyhow, it is true, Victorin is a brave soldier and good captain."
"And is not his purse open to all, so long as there is anything in it?
Do you know of any invalid who ever vainly applied to him?"
"Victorin is generous--that also is true."
"Is he not the friend and comrade of the soldiers? Is he ever haughty?"
"No, he is a good comrade, and always cheerful. Besides, what should he
be proud about? Are not his father, his glorious mother and himself from
the Gallic plebs, like the rest of us?"
"Do you not know, Douarnek, that often it happens that the proudest
people are the very ones who have risen from the lowest ranks?"
"Victorin is not proud!"
"Does he not, during war, sleep unsheltered with his head upon the
saddle of his horse, like the rest of us horsemen?"
"Brought up by so virile a mother as his, he was bound to grow up a
rough soldier, as he is."
"Are you not aware that in council he displays a maturity of judgment
that many men of our age do not possess? In short, is it not his
bravery, his kindness, his good judgment, his rare military qualities as
a soldier and captain that caused him to be acclaimed general by the
army, and one of the two Chiefs of Gaul?"
"Yes, but in electing him, all of us knew that his mother Victoria would
always be near him, guiding him, instructing him, schooling him in the
art of governing men, without neglecting, worthy matron that she is, to
sew her linen near the cradle of her grandson, as is her thrifty habit."
"No one knows better than I how precious the advices of Victoria to her
son are to our country. But what is it, then, that has changed? Is she
not always there, watching over Victorin and Gaul that she loves with
equal and paternal devotion? Come, now, Douarnek, answer me with a
soldier's frankness. Whence comes the hostility that, I fear, is ever
spreading and deepening against Victorin, our young and brave general?"
"Listen, Schanvoch. I am, like yourself, a seasoned soldier. Your
moustache, although younger than mine, begins to show grey streaks. Do
you want to know the truth? Here it is: We are all aware that the life
of the camp does not make people chaste and reserved like young girls
who are brought up by our venerated female druids. We also know,
because we have emptied many a cup, that our Gallic wines throw us into
a merry and riotous humor. We know, furthermore, that when he is in a
garrison, the young soldier who proudly carries a cockade on his casque
and caresses his brown or blonde moustache, does not long preserve the
friendship of fathers who have handsome daughters, or of husbands who
have handsome wives. But, for all that, you will have to admit,
Schanvoch, that a soldier who is habitually intoxicated like a brute,
and takes cowardly advantage of women, would deserve to be treated to a
hundred or more stripes laid on well upon his back, and to be
ignominiously driven from camp. Is not that so?"
"That is all very true, but what connection has it with Victorin?"
"Listen, friend Schanvoch, and then answer me. If an obscure soldier
deserves such treatment for his shameful conduct, what should be done to
an army chief who disgraces himself in such fashion?"
"Do you venture to say that Victorin has offered violence to women and
that he is daily drunk?" I cried indignantly. "I say that you lie, or
those who carried such tales to you lied. So, these are the unworthy
rumors that circulate in the camp against Victorin! And can you be
credulous enough to attach faith to them?"
"Soldiers are not quite so credulous, friend Schanvoch, but they are
aware of the old Gallic proverb--'The lost sheep are charged to the
shepherd.' Now, for instance, you know Captain Marion, the old
blacksmith?"
"Yes, I know the brave fellow to be one of the best officers in the
army."
"The famous Captain Marion, who can carry an ox on his shoulders," put
in one of the soldiers, "and who can knock down the same ox with a blow
of his fist--his arm is as heavy as the iron mace of a butcher."
"And Captain Marion," added another oarsman, "is a good comrade, for all
that, despite his strength and military renown. He took a simple
soldier, a former fellow blacksmith, for his 'friend in war,' or, as
they used to say in olden times, took the 'pledge of brotherhood' with
him."
"I am aware of the bravery, modesty, good judgment and austerity of
Captain Marion," I answered him, "but why do you now bring in his name?"
"Have a little patience, friend Schanvoch, I shall satisfy you in a
minute. Did you see the two Bohemian girls enter Mayence a few days ago
in a wagon drawn by mules covered with tinkling bells and led by a Negro
lad?"
"I did not see the women, but have heard them mentioned. But I must
insist upon it, what has all this got to do with Victorin?"
"I have reminded you of the proverb--'The lost sheep are charged to the
shepherd.' It would be idle to attribute habits of drunkenness and
incontinence to Captain Marion, would it not? Despite all his
simpleness, the soldier would not believe a word of such slanders; not
so? While, on the other hand, the soldier would be ready to believe any
story of debauchery about the said Bohemian strollers, and he would
trust the narrator of the tale, do you understand?"
"I understand you, Douarnek, and I shall be frank in turn. Yes, Victorin
loves wine and indulges in it with some of his companions in arms. Yes,
having been left a widower at the age of twenty, only a few months
after his marriage, Victorin has occasionally yielded to the headlong
impulses of youth. Often did his mother, as well as myself, regret that
he was not endowed with greater austerity in morals, a virtue, however,
that is extremely rare at his age. But, by the anger of the gods! I, who
have never been from Victorin's side since his earliest childhood, deny
that drunkenness is habitual with him; above all I deny that he ever was
base enough to do violence to a woman!"
"Schanvoch, you defend the son of your foster-sister out of the goodness
of your heart, although you know him to be guilty--unless you really are
ignorant of what you deny--"
"What am I ignorant of?"
"An adventure that has raised a great scandal, and that everybody in
camp knows."
"What adventure?"
"A short time ago Victorin and several officers of the army went to a
tavern on one of the isles near the border of the Rhine to drink and
make merry. In the evening, being by that time drunk as usual, Victorin
violated the tavern-keeper's wife, who, in her despair, threw herself
into the river and was drowned."
"The soldier who misdemeaned himself in that manner," remarked one of
the oarsmen, "would speedily have his head cut off by a strict chief."
"And he would have deserved the punishment," added another oarsman. "As
much as the next man, I would find pleasure in bantering with the
tavern-keeper's wife. But to offer her violence, that is an act of
savagery worthy only of those Frankish butchers, whose priestesses,
veritable devil's cooks, boil their prisoners alive in their caldrons."
I was so stupefied by the accusation made against Victorin that I
remained silent for a moment. But my voice soon came to me and I cried:
"Calumny! A calumny as infamous as the act would have been. Who is it
dares accuse Victoria's son of such a crime?"
"A well informed man," Douarnek answered me.
"His name! Give me the liar's name!"
"His name is Morix. He was the secretary of one of Victoria's relatives.
He came to the camp about a month ago to confer upon grave matters."
"The relative is Tetrik, the Governor of Gascony," I said with increased
stupefaction. "The man is the incarnation of kindness and loyalty; he is
one of Victoria's oldest and most faithful friends."
"All of which renders the man's testimony all the more reliable."
"What! He, Tetrik! Did Tetrik confirm what you have just said?"
"He communicated it to his secretary, and confirmed the occurrence,
while deploring the shocking excesses of Victorin's dissoluteness."
"Calumny! Tetrik has only words of kindness and esteem for Victoria's
son."
"Schanvoch, I have served in the army for the last twenty-five years.
Ask my officers whether Douarnek is a liar."
"I believe you to be sincere; only you have been shamefully imposed
upon."
"Morix, the secretary of Tetrik, narrated the occurrence not to me only
but to other soldiers in the camp for whose wine he was paying. We all
placed confidence in his words, because more than once did I myself and
several others of my companions see Victorin and his friends heated with
wine and indulging in crazy feats of arms."
"Does not the ardor of courage heat up young heads as much as wine?"
"Listen, Schanvoch, I have seen--with my own eyes--Victorin drive his
steed into the Rhine saying that he would cross the river on horseback;
and he would certainly have been drowned had not another soldier and I
rushed into a boat and fished him half drunk out of the water, while the
current carried his horse away. And do you know what Victorin then said
to us? 'You should have let me drink; the white wine of Beziers runs in
this stream.' What I am telling you now is no calumny, Schanvoch, I saw
it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears."
Despite my attachment to Victorin I could not but reply to the soldier's
testimony, saying: "I knew him to be incapable of an act of cowardice
and infamy; but I also knew him to be capable of certain acts of
extravagance and hotheadedness."
"As to myself," replied another soldier, "more than once, as I mounted
guard near Victorin's house which is separated from Victoria's by a
little plot of flowers, have I seen veiled women leave his place at
early dawn. They were of all colors and sizes, blondes and brunettes,
tall and short, some robust and stout, others slender and thin. At
least, that was the impression that the women left upon me, unless the
gloaming deceived my sight, and it was always the same woman."
"I notice that you are too sincere to make any answer to that, friend
Schanvoch," Douarnek said to me; indeed, I could raise no objection
against the latter accusation. "You must, therefore, not feel surprised
at our trust in the words of Tetrik's secretary. You must admit that the
man who in a drunken fit takes the Rhine for a stream of Bezier's wine,
and from whose house a procession of women is seen to issue in the
morning, is quite capable, in a fit of inebriety, of doing violence to a
tavern-keeper's wife."
"No!" I cried. "A man may be afflicted with the faults of his years in
an aggravated degree, without therefore being an infamous fellow, a
criminal!"
"See here, Schanvoch, you are the personal friend of our mother
Victoria. You love Victorin as if he were your own son. Say to him--'The
soldiers, even the grossest and most dissolute among them, do not like
to see their own vices reproduced in the chief whom they have chosen. By
your conduct, the army's affection is daily withdrawn more and more from
you and is centering wholly upon Victoria.'"
"Yes," I answered thoughtfully, "and the process started since Tetrik,
the Governor of Gascony, the relative and friend of Victoria, made his
last visit to our camp. Until then our young chief was generally
beloved, despite his little foibles."
"That is true. He is so good, so brave, so kind to all! He sat his horse
so well! He had so bold a military bearing! We loved the young captain
as an own child! We knew him as a babe, and rode him on our knees when
still a little fellow, during the watches in the camp! Later we shut our
eyes to his foibles, because parents are ever indulgent! But there can
be no room for indulgence towards baseness!"
"And of this baseness," I replied, now more and more forcibly struck by
the circumstance, which, recalling certain incidents to my mind,
awakened a vague suspicion in me, "and of these acts of baseness there
is no evidence other than the word of Tetrik's secretary?"
"The secretary repeated to us his own master's words."
During this conversation, to which I lent increasing attention, our
bark, ever moving forward under the vigorous strokes of the four
oarsmen, had traversed the Rhine and reached the opposite shore. The
soldier's backs were turned to the bank on which we were about to land.
I was so wholly absorbed in what I had just learned regarding the army's
increasing disaffection towards Victorin, that I never once thought of
casting my eyes upon the shore to which we were drawing near. Suddenly a
sharp whizz struck our ears. I cried out: "Throw yourselves down flat
upon your benches!"
It was too late. A volley of long arrows flew over our boat. One of the
oarsmen was instantly killed, while Douarnek, whose back was still
turned to the shore received one of the arrows in the back.
"This is the way the Franks receive parliamentarians during a truce,"
remarked the veteran without dropping his oar, and even without turning
around. "This is the first time I have been hit in the back. An arrow in
the back does not become a soldier. Pull it out quick, comrade," he
added, addressing the oarsman who sat behind him.
But despite his intrepidity, Douarnek managed his oar with less vigor.
Although the wound that he received was not serious, his face betrayed
the pain that he felt; the blood flowed copiously.
"I told you so, Schanvoch," he proceeded to say. "I told you that your
foliage of peace would prove a poor rampart against the treachery of the
Frankish barbarians. Fall to, my lads! We must now row all the harder,
seeing we are only three left. Our comrade yonder, who is bumping his
nose against his bench, with his limbs stiffened, can no longer count as
an oarsman!"
Douarnek had not finished his sentence before I dashed forward to the
prow of the bark, and passing over the corpse of the soldier who lay
dead across his bench seized one of the oak branches and waved it over
my head as a signal of peace.
A second volley of arrows, that came flying from behind an embankment of
the river, was the only answer to my appeal. One of the missiles grazed
my arm, another broke off its point against my iron casque; but none of
the soldiers was hit. We were then only a short distance from the shore.
I threw myself into the water, swam a little distance, and as soon as my
feet struck ground called out to Douarnek:
"Pull the bark safely beyond the reach of the arrows and drop anchor,
then wait for me. If I am not back after sunset, return to camp and
inform Victoria that I have either been made prisoner or killed by the
Franks. She will take my wife Ellen and my son Alguen under her
protection."
"I do not at all like the idea of leaving you alone in the hands of
those barbarians, friend Schanvoch," answered Douarnek; "but to stay
where we can be killed would be to deprive you of all possible means of
return to our camp, should you be lucky enough to escape with your life.
Courage, Schanvoch! We shall await the evening!"
And the bark pulled away, while I clambered up the embankment.
CHAPTER III.
THE HORDES OF THE FRANKS.
I had hardly reached the shore, always holding the green oak branch
aloft, when I saw a large number of Franks, belonging to the hordes of
their army, rush forward from behind the rocks where they had lain in
ambush. They carried black bucklers and wore casques made of black
calves' skin. Their arms, legs and faces were dyed black in order to
escape detection when they march in the shadow of the forests or
contemplate an attack in the night. Their appearance was rendered all
the more hideous and strange, seeing that their chiefs were tattooed
with a bright red on their foreheads, their cheeks and around their
eyes. My long sojourn along the Rhine enabled me to speak the Frankish
tongue with sufficient fluency.
The black warriors emitted savage yells, surrounded me from all sides
and threatened me with their long knives, the blades of which also were
blackened in the fire.
"A truce has been concluded, several days ago," I cried out to them; "I
have come in the name of the chief of the Gallic army with a message to
the chiefs of your hordes. Lead me to them. You surely will not kill an
unarmed man?"
Saying this I drew my sword and threw it away. The barbarians
immediately precipitated themselves upon me, redoubling their cries for
my blood. Some of them unwound the cords of their bows, and, despite
all my remonstrances, threw me to the ground and bound me fast.
"Let us flay him," said one. "We shall carry his skin to the chief
Neroweg, the Terrible Eagle. It will serve him as a bandage to wrap his
legs in."
I was well aware that the Franks often skinned their enemies alive with
great dexterity, and that the chiefs of their hordes decked themselves
triumphantly with such human spoils. The proposition that I be skinned
alive was received with shouts of approval; those who held me down began
to cast about for a convenient place to perform the operation; others
started to sharpen their knives upon the pebbles.
At this juncture, the warrior in command of the band approached me. The
man was horrible to behold. A bright red tattoo encircled his eyes and
streaked his cheeks. The marks looked like bleeding wounds, standing off
strongly against his blackened face. His hair, raised after the Frankish
style over his forehead and tied in a knot on top of his head, fell back
like the plume of a helmet over his shoulders, and was of a coppery
yellow, due to the lime-water that those barbarians used in order to
impart a warm bright color to their hair and beard.[1] Around his neck
and his wrists he wore a necklace and bracelets of rough wrought tin.
His raiment consisted of a casque of black calfskin; strips of black
calfskin fastened with criss-cross bandelets, covered his thighs and
lower extremities. A sword and a long knife hung from his belt. After
fixedly looking at me for a moment, he raised his hand and letting it
down on my shoulder said:
"I shall take and keep this Gaul for Elwig. He is my prisoner."
Muffled growls from several of the other black warriors greeted these
words of their chief, who, raising his voice, proceeded to say:
"I, Riowag, will take this Gaul to the priestess Elwig. Elwig needs a
prisoner for her auguries."
The chief's decision was acquiesced in by the majority of the black
warriors; the growls ceased; and a mob of voices repeated in chorus:
"Yes, yes; the Gaul must be kept for Elwig!"
"He must be taken to Elwig!"
"It is many days since she consulted our tutelary deities!"
"And we," cried one of the black warriors who had bound me, "we object
to having the prisoner delivered to Elwig. We want to flay him and
present his skin in token of homage to the chief Neroweg, the Terrible
Eagle; he will reward us with some present."
There is small choice between being skinned alive and being boiled in a
brass caldron. I did not feel called upon to manifest my preferences,
and took no part whatever in the debate. Already those who wished to
flay me cast savage glances at those who insisted that I be boiled, and
carried their hands to their knives, when one of the black warriors
proposed a compromise to the chief:
"Riowag, do you want to deliver the Gaul to the priestess Elwig?"
"Yes," answered the chief; "yes, I want to, and it shall be done as I
order!"
"And the rest of you," proceeded the conciliatory black warrior, "you
wish to offer the Gaul's skin to the chief Neroweg?"
"That is what we propose to do!"
"Very well, you can be accommodated, both."
A profound silence fell all around at these conciliatory words. The
black warrior proceeded:
"First, flay him alive, you will then have his skin; after that Elwig
will boil his body in her caldron."
The compromise seemed at first to satisfy both parties, but Riowag, the
captain of the band, objected:
"Do you not know that Elwig needs a living prisoner to render her
auguries certain? You would be giving her only a corpse if you first
flay the Gaul."
And he added in a terrific voice:
"Would you expose yourselves to the anger of the gods of the nether
world by depriving them of a victim?"
At this threat a shudder ran through the surrounding black warriors, and
the party that demanded my skin seemed about to yield to a superstitious
terror.
The peacemaker, the warrior who had proposed that I be first flayed and
then boiled, now spoke again:
"Some of you wish to present the Gaul as an offering to the great
Neroweg, others of you wish to present him to the priestess Elwig. Now
do you not see that to give to the one is to give to the other also? Is
not Elwig Neroweg's sister?"
"And he would be the first to surrender the Gaul to the gods of the
nether world, in order to render them propitious to our arms!" put in
Riowag.
The captain of the black warriors pointed thereupon at me, and added
imperiously:
"Take the Gaul on your shoulders and follow me!"
"We want to have his spoils," said one of the black warriors who were
the first to seize me. "We want his casque, his cuirass, his blouse, his
belt, his shirt. We want everything, down to his shoes!"
"The booty belongs to you," answered Riowag. "You will have it so soon
as Elwig will have stripped the Gaul preparatorily to throwing him into
her caldron."
"We shall go with you, Riowag," replied the black warriors who made the
arrest, "otherwise others than ourselves will take possession of the
plunder from the Gaul."
My perplexity was now at an end. I knew my fate. I was to be boiled
alive. I would have gladly looked a useful or brave death in the face;
but the death that awaited me seemed so barren and absurd, that I
decided to make one more effort to save my life. Addressing the captain
of the black warriors, I said:
"Your conduct is unjust. Frankish warriors have often come to the Gallic
camp to solicit an exchange of prisoners. Those Franks have always been
respected. A truce is now in force between us, during a truce only spies
who furtively enter the camp are put to death. I have come in open
daylight, with a green bough in my hand, and in the name of Victorin,
the son of Victoria. I am the carrier of a message from them for the
chiefs of the Frankish army. Take care! If you act without orders from
them, they will be sorry for not having heard me, and they may make you
pay dearly for your treachery towards a soldier, who comes unarmed,
during a truce, and in broad daylight, with the bough of peace in his
hand."
Riowag's answer to my words was a sign to his band. I was immediately
raised up by four black warriors who placed me on their shoulders and
carried me off in the tracks of their captain, who marched with a solemn
air in the direction of the Frankish camp.
At the moment when the barbarians raised me on their shoulders, I
overheard one of those who wished to flay me alive say to one of his
companions in a mocking tone:
"Riowag is Elwig's lover; he wishes to make a present of the prisoner to
his mistress."
These words enabled me to realize that Riowag, the captain of the band
of black warriors, being the lover of the priestess Elwig, gallantly
made her a present of my person, just as in our country bridegrooms
offer a dove or a sheep to the young girl whom they love.
You will be astonished, my child, to find in this narrative that I have
used words that sound almost droll in describing events that were so
threatening to my life. Do not imagine that this is due to the
circumstance that at the hour when I write these lines, I had escaped
all danger. No. Even when the danger was most imminent--a danger from
which I was almost miraculously delivered--I had full control of my
spirit, and the old Gallic sense of humor, a thing so natural to our
race, however long it lay torpid under the weight of the shame and the
trials of slavery, revived in me as it did with so many others when we
once more tasted the boon of freedom. The observations that you will
encounter, and which I have reproduced as they occurred to me at times
when death seemed inevitable, were sincere, they proceeded from my faith
in that belief of our fathers that man never dies, that when he leaves
this world he enters others in which he proceeds to live.
Carried upon the shoulders of the four black warriors, I traversed a
section of the Frankish camp. The vast bivouac which was arranged
without order, consisted of huts for the chiefs and tents for the
soldiers. It was a sort of gigantic village of savages. Here and there
lay their innumerable war chariots sheltered under rude sheds made of
the trunks of trees. Their indefatigable small, lean, rough-coated and
shaggy-maned horses, that they managed with a halter of cord for only
bridle, were, as is the custom with these barbarians, tied to the wheels
of the chariots or to the trunks of trees, the bark of which they gnawed
at. The Franks themselves, barely clad in skins of animals, their hair
and beard greasy with suet, presented an aspect that was repulsive,
stupid and ferocious. Some of them were stretched out at full length in
the warm rays of that sun that they started in search of from the depths
of their dark northern forests. Others found amusement in the hunt for
vermin over their hairy bodies; these barbarians lived in such filth
that, although they were in the open air, their encampment exhaled a
fetid odor.
At the sight of these undisciplined hordes, ill armed but innumerable,
and whose forces were incessantly recruited by fresh migrations that
poured down in mass from the glacial regions of the north to swoop upon
the fertile and laughing fields of our Gaul as upon a prey, certain
words of sinister omen that escaped the lips of Victoria came to my
mind. Nevertheless supreme contempt speedily filled me for those
barbarians, who, three or four times superior to our own armies in point
of numbers, never had been able, despite many a bloody battle delivered
for a number of years, to invade our soil, but found themselves every
time driven back to the other side of the Rhine, our natural frontier.
While crossing a section of the encampment on the shoulders of the four
black warriors who carried me, I was pursued by insults, threats and
cries for my blood from the Franks who saw me pass. Several times was
the escort that accompanied me obliged, upon orders from Riowag, to use
their arms in order to prevent my being slain on the spot.
Thus we arrived at last near a thick wood. I observed in passing a large
and more carefully constructed hut than the others, before which a
yellow and red banner was planted. A large number of horsemen clad in
bearskins, some in the saddle, others on foot near their mounts and
leaning on their long lances, were posted around the habitation, thereby
indicating clearly enough that it was occupied by one of the leading
chiefs of their hordes. Again I sought to persuade Riowag, who now
marched beside me, but still grave, silent and solemn, to conduct me
first to that one of the chiefs whose banner I saw, after which, I said
to him, they might kill me if they so pleased. My requests were vain. We
entered the thick wood, and arrived at a large clearing, to the center
of which I was taken. At a little distance I noticed a natural grotto,
formed of large blocks of grey rock, from between which saplings and
stately chestnut trees shot upwards. A stream of living water that
trickled over the ledges of rock fell into a sort of natural basin. Not
far from the cavern stood a brass pan, rather narrow and of about the
length of a man. The opening or mouth of the infernal caldron was
furnished with a net of iron chains. The latter was undoubtedly meant to
keep the victim, who was thrown in to be boiled alive, from jumping out.
Four large boulders supported the pan, under which a bundle of large
logs of kindling wood lay ready. Human bones, bleached and strewn
hither and thither over the ground, imparted to the spot the appearance
of a charnel house. Finally, in the center of the clearing, rose a
colossal statue; it was surmounted with three heads rudely carved with
axes and adjusted to the enormous tree-trunk that, though shapeless, was
intended to represent a gigantic body. The aspect of the statue was
grotesque and repulsive.
Riowag made a sign to the four black warriors who carried me to stop and
deposit me at the foot of the statue. He thereupon entered the grotto
alone while the warriors of the escort called out aloud:
"Elwig! Elwig!"
"Elwig! Priestess of the underground gods!"
"Rejoice, Elwig, we bring you a prisoner for your caldron!"
"You will now be able to prophesy to us!"
CHAPTER IV.
THE PRIESTESS ELWIG.
I expected to see some hideous old hag; I was mistaken. Elwig was young,
tall and endowed with savage beauty. Her grey eyes, shielded under a
pair of naturally reddish eyebrows of the same color as her hair,
glistened like the steel of the long knife that she was armed with. Her
eagle-beaked nose and high forehead imparted to her an aspect at once
savage and imposing. She was clad in a long tunic of a somber hue. Her
bare neck and arms were heavily laden with copper necklaces and
bracelets, that clinked upon one another as she walked, and upon which
she cast coquettish glances as she approached me. On her thick reddish
hair, that fell upon and parted on both sides of her shoulders, she wore
a scarlet coif that was a ridiculous imitation of the charming headgear
used by the women of Gaul. In short, I thought I noticed in the strange
creature the evidence of that mixture of puerile pride and vanity so
peculiar to barbarous peoples.
Standing a few paces from her, Riowag seemed to contemplate the
priestess with profound admiration. Despite his black dye and the red
tattoo under which his face disappeared, his features seemed to me to
betoken a violent love, and his eyes sparkled with joy when, twice in
succession, pointing at me, Elwig turned her face to her lover with a
smile upon her lips, in token, no doubt, of thankfulness for the
offering that he brought her. I also noticed on the bare arms of the
infernal priestess two tattoo marks that brought back to my mind some
reminiscences of the war we had been waging with the Franks.
One of the two marks represented two talons of a bird of prey; the
other, a red serpent.
With her knife in her hand, Elwig again turned towards me and fastened
her large grey eyes upon me with ferocious satisfaction, while the black
warriors contemplated her with looks of fear and superstition.
"Woman," I said to the priestess, "I came here unarmed, an oak branch in
my hand, and bearing a message of peace to the grand chiefs of your
hordes.--I was fallen upon and bound fast.--I am in your power--you can
kill me--if such be your pleasure--but before you do, have me presented
to one of your chiefs.--The interview that I request is of as much
importance to the Franks as to the Gauls. It is Victorin himself and his
mother Victoria the Great who have sent me hither."
"You are sent by Victoria?" cried the priestess with a singular air.
"Victoria, who is said to be so very beautiful?"
"Yes, I am sent by her who is called the Mother of the Camps."
Elwig reflected, and after a long silence she raised her hands over her
head, brandished her knife, and pronounced some mysterious words in a
voice that sounded at once threatening and inspired. Thereupon she
motioned to the black warriors to retire.
They all obeyed, walking slowly back towards the thicket that surrounded
the clearing.
Only Riowag remained a few steps from the priestess. Turning towards him
she pointed with an imperious gesture towards the wood in which the
other black warriors had disappeared. Seeing that the captain did not
obey her summons, she raised her voice, and again pointed to the wood.
Riowag then obeyed and left in turn.
I remained alone with the priestess. I was left bound, lying at the foot
of the statue of the under gods. Elwig squatted down upon her haunches
near me and asked:
"You were sent by Victoria to speak with the Frankish chiefs?"
"I said so before."
"You are one of Victoria's officers?"
"I am one of her soldiers."
"Does she cherish you?"
"She is my foster-sister, I am as a brother to her."
These words seemed to cause Elwig to reflect anew. She remained silent
for a while, and then resumed:
"Would Victoria weep over your death?"
"As one would weep over the death of a faithful servant."
"She surely would give much to save your life?"
"Is it ransom you want?"
Elwig again relapsed into silence, and resumed with a mixture of
embarrassment and cunning that struck me forcibly:
"Let Victoria come and ask my brother for your life. He will grant it to
her.--But listen, Victoria has a great reputation for beauty; handsome
women love to deck themselves with the Gallic jewelry that is so
celebrated.--Victoria must have superb ornaments, seeing she is the
mother of the chief of your country.--Tell her to cover herself with her
richest jewelry; it will please my brother's eyes.--He will be all the
more gracious, and will grant your life to her."
I immediately surmised the snare that the priestess of hell was laying
for me with the clumsy cunning natural to barbarians. Wishing to make
certain, I observed without referring to her last words:
"It seems that your brother is a powerful chief."
"He is more than a chief," Elwig answered proudly; "he is a king."
"We also, in the days of our barbarism, had kings. What is your
brother's name?"
"Neroweg, surnamed the Terrible Eagle."
"You carry on your arms two figures, one representing a red serpent, the
other the talons of a bird of prey. What do those emblems mean?"
"The fathers of our fathers in our royal family have always worn these
signs of valor and subtlety. The eagle's talons denote valor; the
serpent subtlety. But let us drop my brother," added Elwig with somber
impatience. My digression seemed to displease her. "Will you induce
Victoria to come here?"
"One word more on your royal brother.--Does he not carry on his forehead
the identical symbols that you carry on your arms?"
"Yes," she replied with increasing impatience. "Yes, my brother carries
an eagle's talon over each eye-brow, and the red serpent on a head-band
over his forehead. Kings wear a head-band. But we have spoken enough of
Neroweg--quite enough--"
I thought I noticed on Elwig's features an ill dissembled sentiment of
hatred when she pronounced his name. She proceeded:
"If you do not wish to die, write to Victoria to come to our camp
ornamented with her most precious jewels. She shall repair alone to a
place that I shall designate to you--a secluded spot that I know--I
shall come for her and shall lead her to my brother to solicit your life
from him--"
"Victoria to come alone to this camp?--I have come hither, relying upon
the sacredness of the truce;--I carried the bough of peace in my hand,
and yet one of my companions was killed, another was wounded, and to cap
the climax of treachery, I am delivered to you bound hand and foot to be
put to death--"
"Victoria may bring a small escort with her."
"Which would be unquestionably massacred by your men!--The scheme is too
transparent!"
"You, then, wish to die!" cried the priestess gnashing her teeth in
actual or simulated rage, and threatening me with her knife. "The fire
will be shortly kindled under the caldron.--I shall have you plunged
alive into the magic water, and you shall boil in it until you are
dead.--Once more, and for the last time, make your choice.--Either you
shall die in tortures, or you will write to Victoria to repair to our
camp decked in her richest ornaments!--Choose!" she added with redoubled
fury and again threatening me with her knife. "Choose--or you die!"
I knew there was no more thievish, covetous or vainglorious race than
this breed of Franks. I noticed that Elwig's large grey eyes glistened
with cupidity every time she mentioned the magnificent ornaments, that,
as she imagined, the Mother of the Camps surely possessed. The
ridiculous accoutrement of the priestess; the profusion of valueless
gewgaws that she wore with a savage woman's coquetry, in order, no
doubt, to appear pleasing to the eye of Riowag, the captain of the black
warriors; above all, her persistence in demanding of me that Victoria
come to the Frankish camp covered with rich jewels;--everything
justified the conclusion that Elwig aimed at drawing my foster-sister
into an ambush in order to slay her and rob her of her jewels. The
clumsy scheme did not do credit to the ingenuity of the priestess of the
nether regions. Nevertheless, her cupidity might be turned to my
service. I answered her in a tone of indifference:
"Woman, you mean to kill me if I do not induce Victoria to come here?
You are free to kill me--boil my flesh and bones--you will thereby lose
more than you think for, seeing that you are the sister of Neroweg, the
Terrible Eagle, one of the greatest kings of all your hordes!"
"What would I lose?--"
"Magnificent Gallic ornaments!"
"Ornaments!--What ornaments?" cried Elwig doubtfully, although her eyes
snapped with greed.
"Do you imagine that, in sending her foster-brother to convey a message
to the kings of the Franks, Victoria the Great did not prepare, as a
pledge of truce, rich presents for the wives and sisters who accompany
them, and for those whom they left behind in Germany?"
Elwig leaped to her feet with one bound, hurled her knife away, clapped
her hands, and emitted loud peals of laughter that sounded like a crazy
woman's transports. Thereupon she crouched down again beside me, and
said in a voice broken with childish breathlessness:
"Presents? You bring presents with you?--Where are they?"
"Yes, I bring with me presents fit to dazzle an empress--gold necklaces
studded with carbuncles, ear pendants of pearls and rubies, gold
bracelets, belts and crowns that are so loaded with precious stones
that they glitter in all the colors of the rainbow.--All these
masterpieces of our most skilled Gallic goldsmiths I have brought with
me for presents.--And seeing that your brother Neroweg, the Terrible
Eagle, is the most powerful king of all your hordes, the bulk of all
those riches--those bracelets, those necklaces and other jewels--would
have fallen to you."
Elwig listened to me open-mouthed, her hands clasped together, without
endeavoring to hide either the admiration or unbridled greed that the
enumeration of such treasures kindled in her breast. Suddenly, however,
her features assumed an expression of mingled doubt and anger. She rose,
ran to her knife, and returning with it in her hands, raised it over me
crying:
"You either lie, or you are mocking me!--Where are those treasures?"
"In a safe place.--I foresaw that I might be killed and plundered before
I was able to fulfil the orders of Victoria and her son."
"Where did you put that treasure in safety?"
"It remained in the bark that brought me to this side of the river.--My
companions rowed back from the shore and cast anchor beyond the reach of
the arrows of your hordes."
"We also have barks moored at the other end of the camp. I shall order
your companions to be pursued--I shall have the treasures!"
"You deceive yourself!--As soon as my companions see the enemy's barks
approach from a distance, they will suspect foul play. Seeing that they
have a long lead, they will be able to regain the opposite shore of the
Rhine without any danger whatever.--Such will be the only fruit of the
treachery practiced by your people upon me.--Come, woman! Have me
boiled for your infernal auguries! Perhaps my bones, bleached in your
caldron, may be transformed into magnificent ornaments!"
"I want the treasures!" replied Elwig struggling against her lingering
suspicions. "Since you did not carry the jewels about you, when would
you have given them to the kings of our hordes?"
"When I left the jewels in the bark I expected I would be received as an
envoy of peace, and that as such I would be escorted back to the river
bank. My companions would then have returned to the shore to receive me,
and I would have taken the presents out of the bark and distributed them
among the kings in the name of Victoria and her son."
The priestess looked upon me for a while with darkling eyes. She seemed
to yield alternately to mistrust and to the promptings of cupidity.
Finally, however, the latter sentiment evidently prevailed. She took a
few steps away, and with a strong voice pronounced the bizarre name of a
person who was not until then upon the scene.
Almost instantly a hideous old hag with grey hair and clad in a
blood-bespattered robe issued from the cavern. She was, no doubt, the
active priestess at the inhuman sacrifices. She exchanged a few words in
a low voice with Elwig and forthwith vanished in the surrounding wood,
in the direction that the black warriors had followed.
Again dropping on her haunches beside me, the priestess said in a low
and muffled voice:
"Since you wish to speak with my brother, King Neroweg, I have sent for
him.--He will soon be here--but you shall not mention a word to him
concerning the jewels."
"Why keep him in the dark concerning them?"
"Because he would keep them to himself."
"What!--He!--Your own brother!--Would he not share the jewels with you,
his sister?"
A bitter smile contracted Elwig's lips. She resumed:
"My brother came near cutting off my arm with a blow of his axe a few
weeks ago, simply because I merely wished to touch part of his booty."
"Is that the way brothers and sisters behave towards one another among
the Franks?"
"Among the Franks," Elwig answered with a face of deepening rancor, "the
mother, sister and wives of a warrior are his first slaves."
"His wives!--Has he, then, several?"
"As many as he can capture and feed--the same as he has as many horses
as he can buy."
"What! Does not a sacred and eternal union join the husband to the
mother of his children, as with us Gauls?--What! Sisters, wives and
mothers--all are slaves? Blessed of the gods is Gaul, my own country,
where our mothers and wives, venerated by all, proudly take their seat
in the nation's councils and where their advice, often wiser than that
of their husbands and sons, not infrequently prevails."
Palpitating with cupidity, Elwig made no answer to me, and resumed the
thread of her dominant thoughts.
"You will, accordingly, not mention the jewels to Neroweg. He would keep
them all for himself. You will wait until it is dark to leave the camp.
I shall accompany you. You will give me the jewels, all the presents--to
me alone!"
And again bursting into almost insane peals of laughter, she added:
"Gold bracelets! Necklaces of pearls! Ear pendants studded with rubies!
Diadems full of precious stones! I shall look grand as an empress! Oh,
how beautiful I shall be in the eye of Riowag!"
Elwig thereupon cast disdainful glances at the copper bracelets that she
rattled as she shook her arms, and repeated:
"I shall look very beautiful to Riowag!"
"Woman," I said to her, "your advice is prudent. We shall have to wait
until it is night for us to leave the camp together and regain the river
bank."
And, to the end of still further enlisting Elwig's confidence in me by
seeming to take an interest in her vainglorious greed, I added:
"But if your brother sees you decked with such magnificent ornaments,
will he not take them away from you?"
"No," she promptly answered with a strange and sinister look. "No, he
will not take them!"
"If Neroweg the Terrible Eagle is of as violent a temperament as you
claim, if he came near cutting off your arm for having wished merely to
touch part of his booty," I suggested, surprised at her answer, and
anxious to fathom her thoughts, "what will prevent your brother from
seizing the jewels?"
Elwig held up to me her large knife with an expression of calm ferocity
that made me shiver, as she answered:
"When I shall have the treasure--to-night, I shall enter my brother's
hut--I shall share his bed, as usual--and when he is asleep I shall kill
him--"
"Your own brother!" I cried with a shudder and hardly believing what I
heard, although the insight that the priestess gave into the shocking
immorality prevalent among the Franks was nothing new to me. "How! You
share your own brother's bed?"
The priestess seemed no wise disconcerted by my question, and answered
with a somber mien:
"I have shared my brother's bed since the day that he violated me. It is
the fate of almost all the sisters of the Frankish kings who follow them
in war. Did I not tell you that their wives, their sisters and their
mothers are the first slaves of the warriors? What female slave is there
who, willingly or unwillingly, does not share her master's bed?"
"Hold your tongue, woman!" I cried interrupting her. "Hold your tongue!
Your monstrous words might draw a thunderbolt upon our heads!"
And without being able to add another word I contemplated the creature
with horror. Such a mixture of debauchery, greed, barbarism and, withal,
stupid frankness, seeing that Elwig unbosomed herself to me, a man whom
she then saw for the first time in her life, upon her fratricidal
intentions--that fratricide, preceded by incest, which this priestess of
a sanguinary cult was subjected to and who shared her brother's bed
while she at the same time surrendered herself to another man--all that
filled me with horror, notwithstanding I had often heard accounts of the
abominable morals of the barbarians beyond the Rhine.
Elwig seemed not to concern herself about the cause of my silence nor of
the evident disgust that she filled me with. She mumbled some
unintelligible words, and counted the copper bracelets that her arms
were loaded with. She presently said to me pensively:
"Do you think I shall have nine fine bracelets studded with precious
stones to replace these? Could they all go into a little bag that I
shall keep concealed under my robe when I return to the hut of the king,
my brother? Why do you not answer my questions?"
The cold, I should almost say naive, ferocity of the woman redoubled the
disgust that the monster inspired in me. Again I remained silent, and
she cried aloud:
"Why do you not answer me? You promised me the jewels!"
But seeming to be suddenly struck by a new thought she added with
terror:
"I told him all! Suppose he tells it all again to Neroweg! My brother
would kill us both, me and Riowag! The thought of the treasure bereft me
of my senses!"
And again she started to call, turning her face towards the cavern.
A second old hag, no less hideous than the first, hobbled out holding in
her hand the bone of an ox from which hung a partly boiled shred of meat
at which she gnawed with her toothless gums.
"Come quick to me," the priestess said to her, "and leave your bone
there."
The old hag obeyed unwillingly, grumbling like a dog whose meat is taken
away from him. She laid the bone on one of the projecting rocks at the
entrance of the grotto, and drew near, wiping her lips.
"Gather some dry, good branches and roots of trees and kindle a fire
with them under the brass caldron," the priestess said to the old woman.
The latter returned into the cavern, and brought out all the things that
she was ordered. Soon a bright fire burned under the caldron.
"Now," Elwig said to the old woman, pointing her finger at me as I lay
stretched out upon the earth at the feet of the statue of the
subterranean deity, with my hands pinioned behind my back and my feet
bound fast, "kneel down upon him."
I could make not the slightest motion. The old hag planted herself on
her knees upon my breast-plate, and said to the priestess:
"What must I do next?"
"Make him put out his tongue."
I then understood that, carried away at first by her savage greed into
making dangerous confidences to me, Elwig now reproached herself for
having heedlessly mentioned her amours and her fratricidal intentions,
and could think of no better way to compel my silence on these subjects
towards her brother than to cut off my tongue. The project was more
easily conceived than it could be executed. I clenched my teeth with all
my might.
"Tighten your fingers on his throat!" Elwig commanded the hag. "He will
then open his mouth and stick his tongue out. I shall then cut it off."
With her knees firmly planted upon my cuirass, the hag leaned forward so
close to me that her hideous face almost touched mine. I shut my eyes
with disgust. Presently I felt the crooked yet nervous fingers of the
priestess' assistant tighten at my throat. For a while I struggled
against suffocation and did not unlock my teeth; but, as Elwig had
foreseen, I soon felt almost smothered and unconsciously opened my
mouth. Elwig immediately thrust in her fingers in order to seize my
tongue. I bit her so savagely that she withdrew her hand screaming with
pain. At that moment I saw the black warriors and Riowag reissue from
the wood whither they had withdrawn at the priestess' orders. Riowag
approached on a run, but he stopped undecided what to do at the sight of
a troop of Franks who arrived from the opposite side and stepped into
the clearing. One of these called out in a hoarse and imperious voice:
"Elwig! Elwig!"
"The king, my brother!" gasped the priestess, who was on her knees
beside me.
It seemed to me that she looked for the knife that she had dropped
during her struggle with me.
"Fear not! I shall be dumb. You shall have the treasure all for
yourself," I whispered to Elwig, fearing lest, in her terror, the woman
plunge the knife into my throat. I sought to secure her support at all
hazard, and to contrive a means of escape by inciting her cupidity.
Whether Elwig trusted my word, or whether her brother's presence stayed
her hand, she cast a significant glance at me, and remained on her knees
at my side, with her head drooping upon her chest as if absorbed in
revery. The old hag having risen to her feet, my breast-plate was
relieved of her weight; I could again breathe freely; and I saw the
Terrible Eagle standing before me, escorted by several other Frankish
kings, as the chiefs of those marauding hordes styled themselves.
CHAPTER V.
NEROWEG THE TERRIBLE EAGLE.
The Frankish chief who stood before me was a man of colossal stature.
Due to the use of lime-water, his beard as well as his greasy hair, that
rose in a knot over his forehead, had turned coppery red. His hair, tied
with a leather thong on the top of his head, fell behind his shoulders
like the flowing crest of a casque. Above each of his bushy red eyebrows
I saw an eagle's talon tattooed in blue, while another scarlet tattoo
mark, representing the undulations of a serpent, spanned his forehead.
His left cheek was also ornamented with a red and blue tattoo that
consisted of transverse rays. On his right cheek, however, the savage
ornament disappeared almost wholly in the cavity of a deep scar that
began below the eye and was finally lost under his shaggy beard. Heavy
and coarsely-wrought gold medals, that hung from and distended his ears,
dropped upon his shoulders. A heavy silver chain, wound three times
around his neck, reached down to his semi-bare breast. Above his cloth
tunic he wore a jacket of some animal's hide. His hose, of the same
quality and as soiled as his tunic, were fastened by a leather belt from
which, on one side, hung a long sword, on the other an axe of sharp
stone. Wide strips of tanned skin criss-crossed upward over his hose,
from the ankle to the knees. He leaned upon a short pike that ended in a
sharp point. The other kings who accompanied Neroweg were tattooed,
clad and armed more or less after the same fashion. The features of all
bore the stamp of savage gravity.
Elwig, who remained on her knees at my side, sought to conceal her face
from Neroweg. He rudely touched his sister's shoulder with the point of
his pike, and addressed her harshly:
"Why did you send for me before boiling the Gallic dog for your
auguries? My flayers have promised me his skin."
"The hour is not favorable," answered the priestess abruptly with a
mysterious air. "The hour of night--of dark night is preferable to
sacrifice to the gods of the nether world. The Gaul, moreover, says, oh
mighty king, that he has a message from Victoria and her son."
Neroweg drew nearer and looked at me. At first his mien was one of
disdainful indifference; presently, however, as he examined me more
attentively, his features assumed an expression of hatred and of
triumphant rage; at last he cried as if he could not believe his own
eyes:
"It is he! He is the horseman of the bay steed! It is himself!"
"Do you know him?" Elwig asked her brother. "Do you know this prisoner?"
"Off with you!" was Neroweg's brusque answer. "Get you gone!"
He then proceeded to contemplate me with renewed interest and repeated:
"Yes, it is he; the horseman of the bay steed!"
"Did you ever meet him in battle?" again asked Elwig. "Answer me. Do
answer me!"
"Will you be gone!" repeated Neroweg now raising his pike over the head
of the priestess. "I told you before, be gone!"
My eyes at that moment caught sight of the group of black warriors. I
saw that their captain Riowag could hardly be restrained by his men from
drawing his sword, and revenging the insult offered to Elwig by Neroweg.
But so far from obeying her brother, and no doubt fearing that in her
absence I might reveal to the Terrible Eagle both her own fratricidal
projects and the secret of Victoria's presents which she coveted, Elwig
cried:
"No! No! I remain here! The prisoner belongs to me for my auguries. I
shall not go away. I shall keep him--"
The only answer that Neroweg vouchsafed his sister were several blows
with the handle of his pike, delivered over her back. He thereupon made
a sign, and several of the warriors who accompanied him violently drove
the priestess, together with the haggish old assistant, back into the
cavern at the mouth of which they posted themselves on guard, sword in
hand.
The black warriors who surrounded Riowag were put to their mettle in
order to prevent their captain from precipitating himself with drawn
sword upon the Terrible Eagle. The latter, thinking only of me, failed
to notice the fury of his rival, and addressed me in a voice trembling
with rage, while he kicked me with his feet:
"Do you recognize me, dog?"
"I recognize you, rapacious wolf."
"This wound," resumed Neroweg carrying his finger to the deep scar that
furrowed his cheek, "do you know who made this wound?"
"Yes, it is my handiwork. I fought you as a soldier."
"You lie! You fought me like a coward! You were two against one!"
"You were making a furious onset on the son of Victoria the Great. He
was wounded--his hand could hardly hold his sword--I dashed to his
help--and struck in Gallic fashion."
"You marked my face with your Gallic sword--dog!"
Saying this Neroweg struck me repeatedly with the handle of his pike, to
the great amusement of the other kings.
I remembered my ancestor Guilhern, chained like a slave and supporting
with dignity the cruel treatment of the Romans after the battle of
Vannes. I emulated his example. I merely said to Neroweg:
"You are striking an unarmed soldier who is bound fast and who, relying
upon the truce, came to you on an errand of peace--that is a coward's
act. You would not dare to raise your stick at me if I stood on my feet
and sword in hand."
The Frankish chief laughed, struck me again and said:
"He is a fool who, able to kill his enemy disarmed, does not exterminate
him. I would like to kill you twice over. You are doubly my enemy. I
hate you because you are a Gaul, I hate you because your race holds
Gaul, the country of sunshine, of good wine and beautiful women; then
also I hate you because you marked my face with a wound that is my
eternal shame. I shall therefore make you suffer so much that your pain
will be equal to two deaths, a thousand deaths, if I only could--you
Gallic dog!"
"The Gallic dog is a noble animal for war and for the hunt," I replied
to him; "the Frankish wolf, however, is an animal of rapine and carnage.
But it will not be long before the brave Gallic dogs will have chased
from their frontiers this pack of voracious wolves that have come
prowling from the northern forests. Be careful! If you refuse to listen
to the message that I have for you from Victoria and her valiant son--be
careful! Our army is numerous. It will be a war to the death that will
be waged between the Gallic dog and the Frankish wolf--a war of
extermination--and the Frankish wolf will be devoured by the Gallic
dog."
Grinding his teeth with rage, Neroweg seized the axe that hung from his
belt, and raising it in both hands was about to let it come crashing
down upon my head. I believed my last hour had come, but two of the
other kings held the arm of Elwig's brother, into whose ears they
whispered a few words that seemed to calm him. He held a short
conference with his companions and returned to me:
"What is the message that you bring from Victoria for the Frankish
kings?"
"The messenger of Victorin and Victoria can only speak on his feet,
unfettered, his head high--not stretched down on the ground, and bound
fast like the ox that expects the butcher's knife. Order my bonds to be
removed, and I shall speak--if not, not. You have heard me, brute that
you are!"
"Speak on the spot--unconditionally, you Gallic dog!--or tremble before
my anger!"
"No; I shall not speak!"
"I shall know how to make you speak!"
"Try it! You will find me unshakeable!"
Neroweg ordered one of the other kings to fetch a firebrand from under
the brass caldron. I was held down by the shoulders and feet, so as to
prevent me from making the slightest motion, while the Terrible Eagle
placed the firebrand upon my iron cuirass and heaped up others about it.
The brasier that he thus built upon my body seemed to amuse him greatly.
He laughed out aloud and said to me:
"You shall speak, or be broiled like a tortoise in its shell."
The iron of my cuirass soon began to heat under the coals which two of
the Frankish kings kept alive by blowing upon them. I suffered greatly
and cried:
"Oh! Neroweg! Neroweg! Cowardly assassin! I would gladly endure these
tortures, if I only could see myself once more sword in hand before you,
and put my mark upon your other cheek. Oh! You have said it--there is
room only for hatred and death between our two races!"
"What is Victoria's message?" the Terrible Eagle asked again.
I remained silent, despite the intense pain that I suffered. The iron of
my cuirass was growing hot all around.
"Will you speak?" the Frankish chief cried anew, evidently astonished at
my resistance.
"Victoria's messenger speaks erect and free," I answered. "If not, not!"
Whether the Frankish chief considered it desirable to know the message
that I brought, or whether he only yielded to the suggestions of his
companions, who were less ferocious than himself, one of them unbuckled
my casque, raised it off my head, took it to the stream that rippled
down the rocks at the mouth of the cavern, filled it and poured the cold
water upon my heated cuirass. By degrees it cooled off.
"Free him of his bonds," said Neroweg, "but surround him; and let him
instantly fall under your blows should he try to escape."
I slowly regained my strength while I was being unbound; the torture I
had just undergone almost caused me to faint. I drank some of the water
that remained in my casque, and stood up in the midst of the kings, who
surrounded me so as to cut off my retreat.
"Give us now your message," said Neroweg.
"A truce has been concluded between our two armies," I proceeded.
"Victoria and her son send to tell you: Since you issued from your
northern forests you have taken possession of the whole territory of
Germany on the right bank of the Rhine. That soil is as fertile as
Gaul's. Before your invasion it produced an abundance of everything.
Your acts of violence and cruelty have driven almost all its inhabitants
to flight. The soil, nevertheless, remains, ready and willing for the
husbandman. Why do you not cultivate it, instead of waging incessant war
against us and living on rapine? Is it the love for war that sways you?
We Gauls, better than anyone else, understand and appreciate the love
for martial display. We appreciate it, and make this proposition to you.
At each new moon, send one or two thousand of your picked warriors to
one of the large islands in the Rhine, which is our joint frontier. We
shall expedite thither an equal number of our warriors. The two sets
will be free to fight it out at their heart's content. But then, at
least, you Franks, on one side of the river, and we Gauls on the other
shall be able to cultivate our respective fields in peace, we shall be
able to work, to manufacture and to enrich our countries, without being
forever compelled to keep an eye upon the frontier, and a sword hanging
from the plow handle. If you refuse our proposition we shall then wage a
war of extermination against you, drive you from our frontiers, and
chase you back into your forests. When two nations are separated only by
a river they should be friends, or one of the two must destroy the
other. Choose! I await your answer."
Neroweg consulted with several of the kings who stood near him, and
presently answered me with marked insolence:
"The Frank is not one of those races, like the Gallic, who work by
cultivating the soil. The Frank loves war; but above all he loves the
warmth of the sun, good wine, fine weapons, brilliant clothes, gold and
silver goblets, rich necklaces, large and well built cities, superb
palaces after the fashion of the Romans, the beautiful Gallic women,
industrious slaves who mind the whip and work for their masters while
these drink, sing, sleep and make love or war. In their gloomy country
of the north, however, the Franks find neither sunshine nor good wine,
nor fine weapons, nor brilliant clothes, nor gold and silver goblets,
nor large and well built cities, nor superb palaces, nor beautiful
Gallic women--all these things are to be found among you, Gallic dogs!
We purpose and mean to take all that from you--we purpose and mean to
establish ourselves in your fertile country, and enjoy all the good
things that it contains, while the males of you will work for us under
the whip and the sharp sword that we shall hold over you, and the
females--your wives, sisters and daughters--will lie in our beds, will
weave our shirts and will wash our clothes. Do you understand, Gallic
dog?"
The other kings applauded Neroweg and accentuated their approval with
loud laughter and clatter of arms, joined to cries of:
"Yes--that is what we want--do you understand, Gallic dog?"
"I understand," I replied, unable to refrain from indulging in raillery
against such savage insolence. "I understand that you wish to conquer
and subjugate us as did the Romans for a time, after our own race
dominated and conquered the whole world for centuries in succession. But
you who so much love the sunshine, the goods, the country and the women
of other peoples, you seem to forget that, despite the universal power
that they acquired and despite their innumerable armies, even the Romans
were compelled to return to us one by one the rights that we enjoyed, so
that, at this hour, the Romans are no longer our conquerors, but our
allies. Now, then, seeing that you so much love the sunshine, the
country, the goods and wives of others, listen to my words: We, the
Gauls, alone and unaided by the Romans, will chase you from our
frontiers, or we shall exterminate you to the last man if you persist in
being bad neighbors and in proposing to plunder us of our old Gaul."
"Yes, we are plunderers!" cried Neroweg. "And, by the snows of Germany
we shall plunder you of your old Gaul! Our army is four times as large
as yours; you have your palaces, your cities, your wealth, your women,
your sun, your fertile earth to defend--we have nothing to defend and
everything to gain. We camp in our huts and sleep on the backs of our
horses; our only wealth is our sword; we have nothing to lose,
everything to gain. And we will gain everything, and we will subjugate
your race, you Gallic dog! It will be the end of Gaul!"
"Go and ask the Romans, whose army was even larger than yours, how many
foreign cohorts the sod of old Gaul has devoured! Even the greatest
battles that they, the conquerors of the world delivered, did not cost
them one-quarter the number of soldiers that our fathers, as insurgent
slaves, exterminated with their scythes and forks. Take care! Strong and
sharp is the sword of the Gallic soldier; trenchant is the scythe, heavy
the fork of the Gallic husbandman in the defense of hearth, family and
freedom! Take care! If you persist in remaining bad neighbors, the
Gallic scythe and fork will be enough to drive you back into your
snow-bound wilderness, ye people of sloth, of rapine and of carnage, who
desire to enjoy the fruits of the labors of others, who covet their
soil, their wives and their sunshine, and strive after these by means of
theft and massacre!"
"Dare you, Gallic dog, hold such language to us!" cried Neroweg grinding
his teeth. "You, a prisoner! You, under the points of our swords! under
the edge of the Frankish battle axe!"
"The moment seems to me opportune to say the truth to the enemies of
Gaul!"
"And I think the moment is opportune to put you through a thousand
deaths!" cried the Frankish king in a passion as towering as that of his
fellows. "Yes, you shall undergo a thousand deaths--and after that, my
sole answer to the audacious message of your Victoria will be to return
your head to her with the announcement in the name of Neroweg the
Terrible Eagle, that, before the sun shall have risen six times, I shall
capture herself in the midst of her own camp, shall take her to my bed,
and shall then pass her over to my men, that they may, in turn, enjoy
Victoria, the proud Gallic woman!"
I lost all control over myself at the ribald and ferocious insolence
flung at the woman whom I venerated above all others. I was unarmed, but
I picked up one of the now extinguished firebrands that lay at my feet
and which the Franks had used to torture me with; I seized the heavy
log, and swift as lightning struck Neroweg so sound a blow with it over
his head that he reeled back, stumbled and fell to the ground
unconscious.
Ten swords struck me almost simultaneously. But my casque and cuirass
protected me. In their blind rage the Frankish chiefs struck at random,
and cried:
"Death! Death to the dog of a Gaul!"
Only Riowag, the captain of the black warriors, did not join in the
attempt to avenge upon my person the blow I dealt to his rival, Neroweg.
On the contrary, he profited by the tumult to enter the cavern into
which Elwig had been driven back, the entrance of which was now left
free, seeing that the two kings, who, sword in hand, mounted guard
before it, rushed to the assistance of the Terrible Eagle, who lay
prostrate at a distance from them.
Immediately after Riowag entered the grotto, the priestess and her two
assistant hags rushed out. With streaming hair, haggard looks, and hands
raised heavenward they cried:
"The hour has come--the sun is setting--night approaches--death, death
to the Gaul! He struck the Terrible Eagle--death, death to the Gaul!
Bind him fast. We shall consult the subterranean gods in the magic water
in which he is to boil!"
"Yes--death!" cried the Franks rushing upon me and binding me fast
again. "He shall die under a prolonged agony! Death to the dog of a
Gaul!"
"We are the priestesses of the sacrifice!" Elwig and the two hags
protested in chorus, while they redoubled their bizarre contortions that
by degrees imposed the Frankish warriors with terror.
"Oh! you who struck my brother, the blood of my blood," Elwig screamed,
writhing her arms, and howling furiously she threw herself upon me in a
real or feigned transport of rage; "the gods of the nether world have
delivered you into my hands! Come--come--let us drag him into the
cavern," she added addressing the old hags, "we must season him for his
death with the proper tortures. Vengeance! Let our vengeance be
merciless!"
The confusion into which the Franks were thrown by the blow that I dealt
Neroweg kept them from interfering with Elwig and her two female
assistants. Several of the kings even joined her in dragging me into the
cavern, while the others were hurrying hither and thither or gathered
anxiously around the Terrible Eagle who lay prone upon the ground, pale,
motionless and his head bleeding.
"Our grand chief is not dead," said some; "his hands are warm and his
heart beats."
"Let us transport him to his hut."
"If he die we shall draw lots for his five black horses, his fine Gallic
sword with the gold handle, and also for his necklace and silver
bracelets."
"The horses and arms of Neroweg belong to the oldest chief!" cried one
of those who were holding up the head of the Terrible Eagle. "I am the
oldest. To me belong both horses and arms! To me also his tent and
chariots! To me his gold necklaces and silver bracelets!"
"You lie!" came from one of the chiefs at the feet of Neroweg. "His
horses, his tent and his arms belong to me as his war companion."
"No!" cried the others. "No! Everything that belongs to Neroweg must be
drawn lots for."
From the threshold of the cavern where I then was, I could see and hear
the dispute wax hot and the swords glisten, while Neroweg, who still
remained unconscious, was almost trampled under the feet of the enraged
disputants, as they leaped over his body to get at closer quarters with
one another. The conflict threatened to take a bloody turn when, leaving
me where I was, Elwig threw herself between the combatants, whom she
sought to separate, and shouted aloud:
"Shame and ill luck to those who contend over the spoils of a king who
is neither dead nor revenged! Shame and ill luck to those who contend
over the spoils of a brother before the very eyes of his sister! Shame
and ill luck to the impious men who disturb the quiet of a place that is
consecrated to the gods of the nether world!"
And with an inspired and dreadful mien, the priestess drew herself to
her full length, and throwing up her clenched fists above her head,
cried:
"My two hands are full of fearful misfortunes. Tremble!"
At these threats, the frightened barbarians involuntarily lowered their
heads, as if afraid of being struck with the mysterious ills that the
priestess held in her closed hands. They put their swords back into
their scabbards. Profound silence ensued.
"Carry the Terrible Eagle to his hut!" Elwig thereupon commanded. "The
sister will accompany her wounded brother. The Gallic prisoner will be
watched by Map and Mob who assist me at the sacrifices. Two of you will
remain at the mouth of the cavern, with your swords in your hands. Night
is drawing near. Elwig will presently return with Neroweg. The execution
of the prisoner will then begin, and I shall consult the auguries in the
magic waters in which he is to boil until death supervenes!"
My last hope was dashed. In contemplating to return with her brother,
Elwig must have doubtlessly renounced the project that her greed had
caused her to hatch. I had pinned my safety on that project. I was
bound firmly, hands and feet. My arms were pinioned behind my back; a
belt was strapped around my legs. I could hardly move a step. I slowly
followed the two hags into the grotto, at the entrance of which several
of the kings posted themselves, sword in hand. The deeper I penetrated
the cave, all the darker it grew. After having proceeded a little way,
one of the two hags said to me:
"You may lie down on the ground if you wish; the sun has gone down.
While waiting for Elwig's return, my companion and I shall keep the fire
alive under the caldron."
Saying this both the hags left me. I remained alone.
CHAPTER VI.
THE FLIGHT.
From the solitude and darkness in which I was left at the departure of
Elwig's sacrificial assistants, I could see the mouth of the cavern at
some distance. The opening grew darker and darker as dusk yielded to
night. Presently the gloom became complete, relieved only, from time to
time, by the flickering light that the flames of the fire, kept alive
under the huge brass caldron by the two hags, occasionally cast upon the
grotto's mouth.
I tried to snap my bonds. With my hands and feet free, I would have
endeavored to disarm one of the Franks who guarded the issue, and, sword
in hand, and protected by the darkness of the night, I would have
reached the river bank guided by the sound of the rushing waves. Perhaps
and notwithstanding the orders I gave him, Douarnek might not yet have
rowed back to camp. But all my efforts proved futile against the
bow-strings and the belt that held me fast. A muffled but increasing
rumbling of feet and voices began to announce to me the arrival and
assembling of a large number of people in the neighborhood of the cave.
They must he doubtlessly gathering to witness my execution and listen to
the auguries of the priestess.
I believed there was nothing left to me but to resign myself to my fate.
I turned my last thoughts to my wife and child.
Suddenly, from the thickest of the surrounding darkness I heard the
voice of Elwig two steps behind me. I started with surprise. I was
certain she did not enter by the mouth of the cavern.
"Follow me," she said.
At the same moment her feverish hand seized mine and held it firmly.
"How came you here?" I asked her stupefied, with hope re-rising in my
breast, and endeavoring to walk.
"The cavern has two issues," Elwig answered. "One of them is secret and
known to me only. It is by that entrance that I came in, while the kings
are waiting for me at the other entrance near the caldron. Come! Come!
Take me to the bark where the treasure lies, where you left the
necklaces, bracelets, diadems and other jewels!"
"My legs are tied," I said. "I can hardly put one foot before the
other."
Elwig did not answer, but I could feel that she was cutting with her
knife the leather strap and the bow-strings that bound my arms and legs.
I was free!
"And your brother," I inquired, following close upon her footsteps, "has
he regained consciousness?"
"Neroweg is still dazed, like a bull whom the butcher did not kill
outright. He awaits in his hut the hour of your execution. I am to
notify him in time. He wishes to see you suffer and die. Come, come!"
"The darkness is so intense that I can not see before me."
"Give me your hand."
"Should your brother tire of waiting," I observed as she almost dragged
me along through the windings of the secret issue, "and should he enter
the sacred wood with the other chieftains and not find either you or me
in the cavern, what will happen? Will they not immediately start in
pursuit of us?"
"Only I know this secret issue. When they miss both you and me from the
cave, my brother and the chiefs will believe that I made you descend to
the gods of the nether world. They will be all the more afraid of me.
Come! Come quick!"
While Elwig thus spoke I was following her through so narrow a passage
that I felt myself grazing the rocks on either side. The passage seemed
at first to dip down towards the bowels of the earth, but presently its
ascent became so steep and difficult for my legs, still numb from their
recent ligatures, that it was with difficulty I kept step with the
hurrying priestess. We had been for some time in the maze of the
underground cave when at last I felt the fresh air strike my face. I
imagined we were about to step into the open.
"To-night, after I shall have killed my brother in revenge for his
outrages upon me," Elwig explained to me in abrupt words, "I shall flee
with a king whom I love. He is waiting for us outside. He is strong,
brave and well armed. He will accompany us to your bark. If you deceived
me, Riowag will kill you--do you hear me, Gaul? You will fall under his
axe."
I was little affected by the threat--my hands were free--my only
uneasiness was whether Douarnek and the bark still waited for me.
A moment later we issued out of the cavern. The stars shone so brilliant
in the sky that once out of the wood in which we still were, I was
certain I would be able to see my way before me.
The priestess stopped for a moment and called:
"Riowag!"
"Riowag is here," answered a voice so close to me that I realized the
chief of the black warriors was near enough to be able to touch me.
Nevertheless, it was in vain that I sought to distinguish his black
shape in the dark. It became clearer to me than ever before how, by
rendering themselves undistinguishable in the dark, these men could not
choose but be dangerous foes in a night assault or ambuscade.
"Is it far from here to the river bank?" I asked Riowag. "You must know
the spot where I landed; you were the chief of the band that greeted me
with a volley of arrows."
"No, we have not far to go," Riowag answered.
"Shall we have to cross the camp?" I inquired, perceiving the lights of
the Frankish encampment at a little distance.
Neither of my two guides made any answer. They exchanged a few words in
a low voice, each took me by an arm, and they struck into a path that
led away from the camp. Soon the roar of the rushing waters of the Rhine
reached our ears. We drew rapidly near the shore. Finally from the
height of the embankment on which we stood, I could distinguish a bluish
sheet of water across the darkness--it was the river!
"We shall now ascend the beach about two hundred feet," said Riowag; "we
shall then be at the spot where you reached land under our arrows. Your
bark must be only a little distance from there. If you deceived us your
blood will redden the beach, and the waters of the Rhine will wash away
your corpse."
"Can we call out from the bank without being heard by the outposts of
the camp?" I asked the Frank.
"The wind blows off shore," Riowag answered with the sagacity of a
savage. "You can freely raise your voice and call; you will not be heard
at the camp, and your voice will surely travel to the middle of the
stream."
Riowag walked a few steps further and then stopped.
"It is here," he said, "where you reached land; your bark must be
anchored near by. I am a professional night warrior, and am able to see
through the dark, but I can not distinguish your bark."
"Oh! You deceived us! You deceived us!" murmured Elwig in a subdued
voice. "You will die for it!"
"It may be," I observed, "that, after having waited for me in vain, the
bark may have just left its anchorage. The wind will carry my voice far;
I shall call."
Saying this I raised our battle cry of rally, well known to Douarnek.
Only the sound of the waves made answer.
Doubtlessly Douarnek had followed my orders and rowed back to camp at
sunset.
I uttered our war cry a second time and louder than the first.
Again the only response was the rushing of the waves.
Meaning to gain time and prepare myself for defense, I said to Elwig:
"The wind blows off shore; it carries my voice to the river; but it
blows back the voices that may have answered my signal. Let us listen!"
While I spoke I strained my eyes to peer through the dark and discover
the weapons that Riowag was armed with. In his belt he carried a dagger;
in his hand his short, broad sword. Although he and his beloved were
close to me, one on each side, I could elude them with a bound, plunge
into the river, and escape by swimming. I was watching for my
opportunity when suddenly the distant and rhythmic sound of oars reached
my ears. My call was heard by Douarnek.
In the measure that the decisive instant approached, the suspense and
uneasiness of Elwig and her companion increased. To kill me would be to
renounce the possession of the treasure, which, I had clearly told them,
my soldiers would deliver only at my orders. But again, to allow the
latter to disembark would be to furnish me with auxiliaries and render
mine the stronger side. Elwig no doubt began to realize that her greed
had carried her too far. Seeing the bark draw nearer she said to me in
great excitement:
"The sacredness of the Gallic word is proverbial. You owe your life to
me. I hope you did not deceive me with a false promise."
That priestess of the nether world, the incestuous and blood-thirsty
monster, who had meant to cut out my tongue in order to make sure of my
silence, and who calmly contemplated adding fratricide to her other
crimes, had saved my life moved thereto only by base greed.
Nevertheless, I could not remain insensible to her appeal to Gallic
faith. I almost regretted the lie I had uttered, however excusable it
might be in view of the treachery that the Frankish warriors had
practiced towards me. At that critical moment I was, however, bound to
consider my own safety only. I jumped at Riowag, and after a violent
struggle in which Elwig did not venture to take a hand, out of fear that
she might wound her lover while seeking to strike me, I succeeded in
disarming the warrior. Soon as that was done I threw myself into a
posture of defense with the sword in my hand and cried:
"No, I have no treasure for you, Elwig, but if you fear to return to
your brother, follow me. Victoria will treat you kindly; you will not be
a prisoner; I give you my word; you may rely upon the faith of a Gaul."
Both the priestess and Riowag refused to listen; breaking out into wild
imprecations they made a furious rush at me. In the tussle that ensued I
killed the black warrior at the moment when he sought to stab me with
his dagger, and I was wounded in the hand in the attempt to wrench the
knife from Elwig's grasp. I had just succeeded and thrown the weapon
into the water when, attracted by the noise of the struggle, Douarnek
and one of the soldiers leaped upon the shore to hasten to my help.
"Schanvoch," Douarnek said quickly to me, "we did not follow your orders
and row back at sunset. We remained at our anchorage, resolved to wait
for you until morning. But thinking that you might issue at some other
spot than where you landed, we rowed up and down along the shore. When
we saw you this morning surrounded by those black devils, our first
impulse was to row straight to the bank and suffer death beside you. But
I recalled your orders, and we considered that for us to be killed was
to cut off your retreat. But here you are, hale and sound. Now take my
advice and let us return quickly to camp. These skinners of human bodies
are ill neighbors to dwell among."
While Douarnek was speaking to me, Elwig threw herself upon the corpse
of Riowag and rent the air with roars of rage interspersed with sobs.
However detestable the creature was, her paroxysm of grief touched my
heart. I was about to address her when Douarnek cried:
"Schanvoch, look at the torches approaching yonder!"
Saying this Douarnek pointed in the direction of the Frankish camp.
Luminous streaks were seen rapidly approaching through the dark.
"Your flight has been discovered, Elwig," I said to her, and sought to
tear her from her lover's corpse, which she held clasped in a close
embrace and over which she moaned piteously. "Your brother has started
in your pursuit--you have not a minute to lose--come!--come!--or you are
lost!"
"Schanvoch," Douarnek said to me as I vainly sought to drag away Elwig,
who seemed not to hear me and sobbed aloud, "the torches are carried by
armed horsemen! Listen to the clanging of their weapons! Listen to the
tramp of their horses! They cannot be further than six bow shots! I
beached the bark in order to reach you all the quicker! We shall have
barely time to put it afloat! Would you have us all killed? If that is
your purpose, say so, and we shall die like brave men; but if you mean
to flee, it is high time that you move!"
"It is your brother! It is death that is approaching!" I once more cried
to Elwig, whom I could not bring myself to abandon without one more
effort to save her. After all, she did save my life. A minute later and
she would be lost.
Seeing, however, that the priestess did not answer me, I cried to
Douarnek:
"Give me a hand--let us take her away by force!"
It was impossible to tear Elwig from the corpse of Riowag; she held it
in a convulsive embrace; the only alternative left was to carry off
both bodies. We tried it, but soon gave up the attempt.
In the meantime the Frankish horsemen were approaching so rapidly that
the light of their resinous torches projected itself as far as the
beach. It was too late to save Elwig. Our bark was with difficulty
pushed off; I took the rudder; Douarnek and the two remaining soldiers
bent vigorously to their oars.
We were still within easy bowshot from the shore when, by the light of
the torches that the troops carried, we saw the first hurrying Frankish
horsemen ride up. At their head I recognized Neroweg, the Terrible
Eagle, distinguishable by his colossal stature. He was closely followed
by several other horsemen, all shouting with concentrated rage. Neroweg
drove his horse up to the animal's neck into the river. His companions
did the same, while they brandished their long lances with one hand and
with the other their torches, whose ruddy reflections lighted far the
waters of the river and fell upon our swiftly speeding bark.
Seated near the rudder, my back was turned to the bank and I remarked
sadly to Douarnek:
"The miserable creature is killed by this time."
And propelled by the three vigorous oarsmen, our bark shot through the
water.
"Is that a man, a woman, or a demon that is following us?" cried
Douarnek a moment later, dropping his oar and rising on his feet in
order to look at the track that our bark left behind, and that was
lighted by the glimmer of the distant torches that the Frankish horsemen
continued to brandish even after they gave up the pursuit.
I also rose to my feet and looked in the same direction. A second later
I cried:
"Stop! Do not row! It is she! It is Elwig! Douarnek, hand me an oar! I
shall reach it to her! She seems to be exhausted!"
So said, so done. Fleeing from her brother and certain death, the
priestess had thrown herself into the water and must have swam after us
with extraordinary vigor. She seized the extremity of the oar with a
convulsive grasp; two strokes of the oars backed the bark to her; and
aided by one of the soldiers I was able to draw Elwig on board.
"Blessed be the gods!" I cried. "I would always have reproached myself
for your death."
The priestess made no answer; she let herself down on the bench of one
of the oarsmen, and shrinking into a heap with her face between her
knees, remained ominously silent. The oarsmen rowed vigorously on, and
from time to time I looked back at the receding river bank. The torches
of the Frankish horsemen glimmered fitfully, luminous spots through the
haze of the night and the vapors that rose from the river. The end of
our passage drew near; we began to distinguish the lights of our own
encampment on the opposite bank. Several times I addressed Elwig, but
received no answer. I threw over her shoulders and her clothes, wet with
the chilly waters of the Rhine, the thick night cloak of one of the
soldiers. In doing this I touched one of her arms; it was feverishly
warm. A stranger to all that happened in the bark, the woman did not
emerge from her savage silence. As I jumped ashore I said to Neroweg's
sister:
"I shall take you to-morrow to Victoria. Until then I tender you the
hospitality of my house. My wife and her sister will treat you like a
friend."
She made me a sign to lead the way, and she followed. Douarnek then
approached me and said in a low voice:
"If you take my advice, Schanvoch, after the she-devil, who I know not
for what reason swam after you, has dried and warmed herself at your
hearth, you will lock her up safely until morning. She might otherwise
strangle your wife and child during the night. There is nothing more
wily and ferocious than these Frankish women."
"It will be a wise precaution to take," I answered Douarnek.
And accompanied by Elwig, who, somber and silent, followed me like a
specter, I proceeded homeward.
CHAPTER VII.
SHADOWS ACROSS THE PATH.
The night was far advanced. I had reached within a few steps from my
house when I saw through the dark a man crouching on the sill of one of
the windows. He seemed to be peeping through the shutters. I gave a
start. It was the window of my wife's room.
I seized Elwig's arm and said to her in a low voice:
"Do not budge--wait--"
She stopped and stood motionless. Controlling my emotion I advanced
cautiously, seeking to avoid making the sand crunch under my feet. I
failed. My steps were heard; the man jumped down from the window sill
and fled. I rushed after him. Thinking that I meant to leave her in the
lurch, Elwig ran after me, overtook me and seized me by the arm, crying
with terror:
"If I am found alone in the Gallic camp I shall be killed!"
Despite all I could do, I could not disengage myself of Elwig's hold
until after the man had vanished from sight. He had too long a lead and
the night was too dark for me to endeavor to catch him. Surprised and
uneasy at the incident, I retraced my steps, and knocked at the door of
my house.
I could hear from within the voices of my wife and her sister, who
seemed uneasy at my prolonged absence. Although they knew not that I
had gone to the Frankish camp, they had not yet retired.
"It is I!" I cried to them. "It is I, Schanvoch!"
The door was no sooner opened than my wife, seeing me by the light that
Sampso held in her hand, threw herself into my arms, saying in a tone of
sweet and tender reproach:
"At last you are back! We began to feel alarmed about you, seeing you
were gone since early morning."
"And we, who counted upon you for our little feast," put in Sampso; "but
I suppose you met with old comrades in arms, and time passed quickly in
their company."
"Yes, I suppose the conversation was strung out over battles," added
Ellen still hanging on my neck, "and my dear Schanvoch forgot his wife,
just a little--"
Ellen was interrupted by a cry from Sampso. She did not at first notice
Elwig, who had remained in shadow near the door. At the sight, however,
of the savage creature--pale, sinister and motionless--my wife's sister
could not repress her surprise and involuntary fear. Ellen quickly
stepped back, noticed the presence of the priestess, and gazing at me as
much surprised as her sister, said:
"Schanvoch, who is that woman?"
"Why, sister," cried Sampso forgetting the presence of Elwig and looking
at me more closely, "look, the sleeves of Schanvoch's blouse are red
with blood--he is wounded!"
My wife grew pale, stepped quickly back to me and anxiously scanned my
face.
"Calm yourself," I answered; "my wounds are slight. I concealed from you
both the mission on which I was bound. I went to the camp of the Franks,
our savage foes. I carried a message from Victoria."
"To the camp of the Franks!" Ellen and Sampso cried terrified. "That
meant death!"
"And this is the being who saved my life," I said to my wife, pointing
at Elwig, who stood motionless at the door. "I must bespeak the
attention of you both in her behalf until to-morrow."
When they learned that I owed my life to the Frankish woman my wife and
her sister hastened toward Elwig, moved by a simultaneous impulse of
gratitude; but they almost immediately stopped short, intimidated and
even frightened by the sinister and impassive countenance of Elwig, the
priestess, who seemed not to see them, and whose mind probably hovered
over scenes far away.
"Give her some dry clothes, those that she has on are wet," I said to my
wife and her sister. "She does not understand Gallic; your thanks will
be lost upon her."
"Had she not saved your life," Ellen said to me, "I would think the
woman's face looks somber and threatening."
"She is a savage like the rest of her people. Get her some dry clothes,
and I shall take her to the little side room, where I shall lock her up
as a matter of precaution."
Sampso went into a contiguous room to fetch a tunic and mantle for
Elwig, while I said to my wife:
"Did you hear any noise at the window of your room to-night, shortly
before I came in?"
"None whatever--neither did Sampso; she did not leave me since evening;
we both felt uneasy at your absence. But why do you ask?"
I did not then answer my wife, seeing that Sampso at that moment
returned with the clothes that she had gone after. I took them, passed
them over to Elwig and said to her:
"My wife and her sister offer you these clothes. Yours are wet. Is there
anything else that you wish? Are you hungry, or thirsty? What would you
have?"
"I want solitude," was Elwig's answer, rejecting the proffered clothes
with a gesture; "I want the black night. Only that will suit me at
present."
"Very well--follow me," I said to her.
Leading the way, I opened the door of a little chamber, and raising the
lamp in order to light its interior, I said to the priestess:
"You see yonder couch--rest yourself, and may the gods render peaceful
to you the night that you are to pass under my roof."
Elwig made no answer; she threw herself upon the couch and covered her
face with her hands.
"And now," I said to my wife as I closed and locked the door, "these
duties of hospitality being attended to, I burn with the desire to
embrace my little Alguen."
I found you, my child, sleeping peacefully in your cradle. I covered you
with kisses, that were all the sweeter to me seeing I had that very day
feared never to see you again. Your mother and her sister examined and
bandaged my wounds. They were slight.
While Ellen and Sampso were attending to me, I spoke to them of the man
whom I had caught sight of on the window sill, and who seemed to be
peeping through the shutters. They were greatly astonished at my words;
they had heard no sound; they had been together since evening. While
talking over the matter, Ellen said to me:
"Did you hear the news?"
"No."
"Tetrik, the Governor of Gascony and relative of Victoria, arrived this
evening. The Mother of the Camps rode out on horseback to meet him. We
saw him go by."
"And did Victorin accompany his mother?"
"He rode beside her. That must be the reason that we did not see him
during the day."
The arrival of Tetrik gave me food for reflection.
Sampso left me alone with Ellen. It was late. Early the next morning I
was to report to Victoria and her son the result of my mission to the
camp of the Franks.
CHAPTER VIII.
CAPTAIN MARION.
Early in the morning I repaired to Victoria's residence. The humble
house of the Mother of the Camps was reached through a long narrow path,
skirted on either side by high ramparts that constituted the outer
fortifications of one of the gates of Mayence. I was about twenty paces
from the house when I heard behind me the following cries uttered in
terror:
"Save yourself! Save yourself!"
Looking back, I saw with no little fright a two-wheeled cart dashing
rapidly towards me. The cart was drawn by two horses whose driver had
lost control over them.
I could jump off neither to the right nor the left of the narrow path to
let the cart pass; its wheels almost grazed the opposite walls; I was
still too far from Victoria's residence to hope for escape in that
direction; however swiftly I might run, I would be overtaken by the
horses and trampled under their hoofs long before I could have reached
the door. There was nothing left for me to do but to face the runaways,
and, however hopeless the prospect, to seize them by the bit and attempt
to stop them. Accordingly, I rushed forward upon the animals with my
hands raised. Oh! A prodigy! Hardly did I touch the horses' reins when
they suddenly reared upon their haunches. It was almost as if my mere
gesture had sufficed to check their impetuous course. Happy at having
escaped what seemed certain death, but aware that I was not a magician,
endowed with the power to arrest a runaway team with a mere motion of my
hand, I asked myself while leaping back what the cause might be of the
extraordinary spectacle. I noticed that the horses still made violent
efforts to proceed on their career; they reared, tugged forward and
stretched out their necks, but were unable to advance, as if the cart's
wheels were locked, or some superior power restrained them.
My curiosity stirred to a high pitch, I drew near, and gliding between
the horses and the wall, succeeded in climbing over the dashboard of the
cart whose driver I found crouching under the seat, looking more dead
than alive. As the mystery seemed to deepen, my curiosity was pricked
still more. I ran to the rear of the vehicle and noticed with no slight
amazement that a large sized man, robust as a Hercules, was clinging to
two ornamental pieces that projected from the rear of the cart. It was
thanks to his weight, and to the superhuman resistance that his great
strength enabled him to offer, that the team was held back.
"Captain Marion!" I cried. "I should have known as much! There is none
other in the whole Gallic army able to hold back a cart going at full
speed."
"Tell that fool of a driver to pull in the reins. My wrists begin to
tire."
I was transmitting the orders to the driver who was beginning to recover
his senses, when I saw several soldiers, on guard at Victoria's
dwelling, pour out of the house attracted by the noise. They opened the
yard gate and thus offered a safe exit to the cart.
"There is no longer any danger," I said to the driver; "lead your horses
on. But whom does this conveyance belong to?"
"To Tetrik, the Governor of Gascony, who arrived yesterday at Mayence.
He stops at Victoria's house," answered the driver, while calming down
his horses.
While the cart proceeded into the yard of Victoria's residence, I walked
back towards the captain to thank him for his timely aid.
Marion had left his blacksmith's anvil for the army many years previous.
He was well known and generally beloved among the soldiers, as much for
his heroic courage and extraordinary strength, as for his exceptional
good judgment, his sound reasoning powers, the austerity of his morals,
and his extreme good fellowship. He now stood on the road, and with his
casque in his hand wiped the sweat off his brow. He wore a cuirass of
steel scales over his Gallic blouse, and a long sword at his side. His
dusty boots told of a recent and long ride on horseback. His large
sunburnt face, partly covered by a thick beard that began to be streaked
with grey, was open and pleasing.
"Captain Marion," I said to him, "I must thank you for having saved me
from being ground under the wheels of that cart."
"I did not know it was you who ran the risk of being trampled under the
hoofs of those horses like a dog! A stupid sort of a death for a brave
soldier like you, Schanvoch! But when I heard that devil of a driver
crying: 'Save yourself!' I surmised he was about to kill somebody and I
tried to hold the cart back. Fortunately my mother endowed me with a
good pair of wrists. But where is my dear friend Eustace?" added the
captain looking around.
"Whom do you refer to?"
"To a brave fellow, the old companion of my blacksmith days. Like me, he
left the hammer for the lance. The fortune of war served me better than
it did him. Despite his bravery, my friend Eustace has remained a simple
horseman, while I have been promoted to captain. But there he is,
yonder, with his arms crossed, and motionless as a signpost. Ho!
Eustace! Eustace!"
At the call, the companion of Captain Marion approached slowly, with his
arms crossed over his breast. He was a man of middle size and vigorous
frame. His pale blonde hair and beard, his bilious complexion, his harsh
and sullen physiognomy offered a striking contrast to the pleasant
exterior of the captain. I asked myself what singular affinity could
draw two men of such different appearance, and doubtless also such
dissimilar characters, into close and constant friendship.
"How is that, friend Eustace," the captain jokingly remarked to him,
"you remain yonder looking at me with crossed arms, while I am engaged
in holding back a runaway team?"
"You are strong," Eustace answered; "what aid can the flesh-worm bring
to the bull?"
"That man is certainly consumed with jealousy and hatred," I thought to
myself at hearing the answer and observing the sullen looks of the
captain's friend.
"There is no flesh-worm nor bull in the case, my friend Eustace,"
answered the captain with his habitual joviality and looking rather
flattered by the comparison; "but when the flesh-worm and the bull are
comrades, then, however strong the latter may be, or small the former,
the one does not forsake the other--union makes strength, says the
proverb."
"Captain," answered the soldier with a bitter smile, "did I ever forsake
you in the hour of danger? Have I not always fought at your side, since
we left the forge together?"
"I bear witness to the truth of that," cried Marion cordially, taking
Eustace by the hand. "As true as the sword you carry is the last weapon
I forged in order to give you a token of friendship, as it is engraved
on the blade, you have ever in battle 'marched in my shadow,' as the
saying goes in my country."
"What is there strange about that?" replied the soldier. "Beside you, so
brave and robust, I was what the shadow is to the body."
"By the devil! Look at the shadow! My friend Eustace!" the captain
exclaimed and laughed, and addressing me he added pointing at his
companion Eustace:
"Let me have two or three thousand shadows like that, and the first
battle that we fight on the other side of the Rhine, I shall bring back
a herd of Frankish prisoners."
"You are a captain of renown! I, like so many other poor waifs, are good
only to obey, to fight and to be killed. We are only meat for battles,"
replied the old blacksmith with an envious look and his lips slightly
losing their color.
"Captain," I said to Marion, "I presume you wish to see Victorin and his
mother?"
"Yes, I have a report to render to Victorin of a journey that my friend
and I have just made."
"I followed you as a soldier," Eustace said; "the name of an obscure
horseman must not be remembered before Victoria the Great."
The captain shrugged his shoulders with impatience and jokingly shook
his enormous fist at his friend.
"Captain," I insisted, addressing Marion, "let us hasten to Victoria. I
should have been with her since dawn. I am late."
"Friend Eustace," Marion said, starting to walk with me toward
Victoria's residence, "will you stay here, or wait for me at our
lodging?"
"I shall wait here at the door--that is a subaltern's place."
"Would you believe it, Schanvoch," Marion replied laughing, "would you
believe that it is nearly twenty years that lad and I live together and
quarrel like two brothers? He will not forget that I am a captain, and
will not treat me as a simple anvil-beater, as he formerly used to."
"I am not the only one, Marion, to realize the difference there is
between us," Eustace answered. "You are one of the most renowned
captains in the army--I am only one of the least of its soldiers."
Saying this Eustace sat down on a stone near the door, and bit his
nails.
"He is incorrigible," the captain remarked to me; and we two entered the
house of Victoria.
"Captain Marion must be strangely blinded by friendship," I thought to
myself, "to fail to perceive that his companion is consumed with
malevolent jealousy."
The residence of the Mother of the Camps was extremely simple. Captain
Marion having asked one of the soldiers on guard whether Victorin could
receive him, the soldier answered that he could give him no information
on that head, seeing that the young general had not spent the night in
the house.
Despite the camp life, Marion preserved great austerity of morals. He
seemed shocked to learn that Victorin had not yet returned home, and he
cast a dissatisfied look at me. I wished to excuse Victoria's son, and
said to him:
"Let us not be hasty in believing evil. Tetrik, the Governor of Gascony,
arrived yesterday at the camp. It may be that Victorin spent the night
in conference with him."
"So much the better. I would like to see that young man, who to-day is
chief of the Gauls, free himself from the claws of that pest of
profligacy that drives so many of us to evil deeds. As to myself, the
moment I see a woman's bonnet or a short skirt, I turn my head away as
if I saw the devil in person."
"Victorin improves, and he will improve still more with ripening years,"
I replied to the captain. "But what can we do--he is young--he loves
pleasure--and pretty girls."
"I also love pleasure, and furiously, too!" exclaimed the good captain.
"There is nothing that I delight more in, when my duties are done, than
to enter my lodging and empty a pot of cool beer with my friend Eustace,
while we chat over our old trade, or entertain ourselves furbishing our
weapons and good armor. Those are real pleasures! And notwithstanding
all the excitement that one finds in them, they are absolutely
honorable. Let us hope, Schanvoch, that Victorin may some day prefer
them to his immodest and diabolical orgies with the pretty girls, that
scandalize us."
"I am of your opinion, captain; hope is better than despair. But in the
absence of Victorin you may confer with his mother. I shall notify her
of your arrival."
Saying this I left Marion alone, and passing into a neighboring
apartment, encountered a serving-girl who led me to Victoria, the Mother
of the Camps, my foster-sister.
CHAPTER IX.
VICTORIA THE GREAT.
I wish, my son, for your benefit and the benefit of our descendants, to
trace here the portrait of that illustrious Gallic woman, one of the
purest glories of our country.
I found Victoria seated beside the cradle of her grandson Victorinin, a
handsome boy of two who lay profoundly asleep. Victoria had some
needlework in her hands, and was busy sewing, agreeable to her custom as
a good housekeeper. She was then, like myself, thirty-eight years of
age, but she would have been hardly taken for thirty. In her youth she
was appropriately compared to Diana, the huntress. In her mature years
she was no less appropriately compared to the antique Minerva. Tall,
well built, and virile, without thereby forfeiting the chaste graces of
womanhood, she was magnificently shaped. Her beautiful face, instinct
with a grave yet gentle expression, bore the impress of majesty under
the crown of black hair which she wore in two braids coiled over her
august forehead. Sent when still a little girl to a college of our
venerated female druids, and having taken at the age of fifteen the
mysterious vows that bound her indissolubly to the sacred religion of
our fathers, she ever since, and although married, preserved the black
garb of the female druids, which was also the habitual garb of the
matrons of old Gaul. Her long wide sleeves, open up to the elbows,
exposed a pair of arms as white and as strong as those of the valiant
Gallic women, who, as you will see in our family narratives, my son,
heroically fought the Romans at the battle of Vannes under the eyes of
our grandmother Margarid, and preferred death to the disgraces of
slavery.
In the middle of the chamber, and not far from the seat occupied by the
Mother of the Camps near her grandson's cradle, several rolls of
parchment, together with all that was necessary for writing, lay upon a
table. From the wall hung the two casques and swords of Victoria's
father and husband, both killed in the same battle. One of the two
casques was surmounted by the Gallic cock of gilt bronze, with his wings
partly spread, and holding under his feet a lark that he menaced with
his beak. The emblem was adopted by Victoria's father as a military
ornament after a heroic combat in which, at the head of only a handful
of men, he exterminated a Roman legion that bore a lark on its ensign.
Under the weapons stood a little brass vase in which seven twigs of
mistletoe were arranged. Gaul, you must remember, my son, reconquered
her religious liberty in recovering her independence. Close to the brass
vase and the twigs of mistletoe, a druid symbol, was a wooden cross, in
commemoration of the death of Jesus of Nazareth, for whom the Mother of
the Camps, without being a Christian, professed profound admiration. She
looked upon him as one of the sages who shed luster upon humanity.
Such, my son, was Victoria the Great, the illustrious Gallic woman whose
name our descendants will ever pronounce with pride.
When the Mother of the Camps saw me come in, she rose quickly and
approached me with gladness, saying in her sonorous and sweet voice:
"Welcome, brother! The mission was a dangerous one. Not seeing you back
before sunset, I did not wish to send any message to your house, lest I
alarm your wife by showing uneasiness at your prolonged absence. But
here you are; I feel happy to see you back again."
Saying this Victoria pressed my hand tenderly in hers.
The words that we spoke must have disturbed the slumber of Victoria's
grandson; he moved in his cradle and made a slight sound. Victoria
stepped quickly to him, and kissed the child on the forehead. She then
sat down, and placing the tip of her foot on a treadle below the cradle,
rocked it gently, while she continued her conversation with me.
"And the message?" she asked, "how did the barbarians receive it? Are
they ready for peace? Do they want war? Did they accept our
proposition?"
I was just about to begin giving my foster-sister a complete account of
my mission, when she interrupted me with a gesture, and, reflecting a
second, proceeded to say:
"Do you know that my dear relative Tetrik has been here since
yesterday?"
"I know it, sister."
"He is due here any moment. I prefer that you make the report to me
before him only."
"I shall do so. Can you receive Captain Marion? He came for a conference
with Victorin."
"Schanvoch, my son again spent the night out of the house!" remarked
Victoria plying her needle more quickly, an action that, with her,
always denoted deep annoyance.
"Having heard of your relative's arrival, I surmised that, possibly,
grave questions kept Victorin closeted with Tetrik during the night.
That is the theory I threw out to Captain Marion, and told him that
perhaps you would be ready to hear the report he has for your son."
Victoria remained silent for a moment; she then dropped her needlework
on her lap, raised her head and resumed in a tone of suppressed grief:
"Victorin has vices--his vices are smothering his good parts. Moths
destroy the best of grain."
"Have confidence and hope--age will mature him."
"During the last two years his vices grow upon him, his good parts
decline."
"His bravery, his generosity, his frankness have not degenerated."
"His bravery no longer is the calm and provident bravery that becomes a
general--it is becoming blind--headless. His generosity no longer
distinguishes between the worthy and the unworthy. His reasoning powers
decline--wine and debauchery are killing him. By Hesus! A drunkard and a
debauche! He, my son! One of the chiefs of Gaul, free to-day and,
perhaps, to-morrow, matchless among nations. Schanvoch, I am an
unfortunate mother!"
"Victorin loves me--I shall reprove him severely."
"Do you imagine that your remonstrances will accomplish what the prayers
of his own mother have failed to do? Of the mother who never left his
side all his life, following him with the army, often even into battle?
Schanvoch, Hesus punishes me--I have been too proud of my son!"
"And what mother would not have been proud of him the day when a whole
valiant army, of its own free choice, acclaimed as its chief the
general of twenty years of age, behind whom they saw--you, his mother!"
"What does it matter, if he dishonors me! And yet, my only ambition was
to make of my son a citizen, a man worthy of our fathers! Did I not,
when nourishing him with my milk, also nourish him with an ardent and
holy love for our Gaul that was coming to life again--and to freedom!
What was it that I asked; what was it that I always desired? To live an
obscure life and ignored, but devote my night-watches and my days, my
intelligence, my knowledge of the past, which enables me to understand
the present, and at times to peer into the future--in short, to devote
all the energies of my soul and of my mind to rendering my son brave,
wise, enlightened, worthy at all points of guiding the free men who
chose him their chief. And then, Hesus is my witness, proud as a Gallic
woman, happy as a mother of having given birth to such a man, I would
have enjoyed his glory and my country's prosperity in the seclusion of
my humble home. But to have a drunkard and debauche for a son! Oh, wrath
of heaven! Does not the giddy-headed boy understand that every excess
that he indulges in is a slap that he gives his mother in the face? If
he does not understand it, our soldiers do. Yesterday, as I crossed the
camp, three old horsemen rode towards me. Do you know what they said to
me? 'Mother, we pity you!'--and they rode off dejectedly. Schanvoch, I
tell you, I am an unhappy mother!"
"Listen to me. For some time since, our soldiers have been growing
dissatisfied with Victorin. I admit it, I understand it. The warrior
whom free men have chosen for their chief must be above excesses, and
must even be able to control the impulses of his age. That is true,
sister; and have I not often chided your son in your presence?"
"You have."
"Well, at this moment I take up his defense. These soldiers, whom we see
to-day so full of scruples on the score of slips that are frequent with
young chiefs, act, not so much in obedience to their own scruples, as in
obedience to perfidious incitements that emanate from some secret
enemy."
"What do you mean?"
"There are people who envy your son; they envy his influence over the
troops. In order to undo him, his defects are being exploited so as to
furnish a foundation for infamous calumnies."
"Who is jealous of Victorin? Who would have an interest in spreading
such calumnies?"
"It is especially during the last month, not so, that this hostility to
your son has manifested itself and has been on the increase?"
"Yes, yes; but whom do you suspect of inciting it?"
"Sister, what I am about to tell you is serious. It is a month ago that
one of your relatives, the Governor of Gascony, came to Mayence--"
"Tetrik!"
"Yes; he departed after a stay of a few days! Almost immediately after
Tetrik's departure the silent hostility towards your son began, and has
since steadily grown!"
Victoria looked at me in silence, as if she did not quite grasp the
bearing of my words. But a sudden thought seeming to flash through her
mind, she cried in a tone of reproach:
"What! You suspect Tetrik! My own relative and best friend, the wisest
of men, one of the most enlightened citizens of our age, a man who seeks
his delight in letters and displays no mean poetic talents! One of the
most useful men in the defense of Gaul, although he is not a man of war!
Tetrik, who in his government of Gascony repairs by dint of wisdom the
evils that civil war inflicted upon the province! Oh, brother, I
expected better things from your loyal heart and your good sense!"
"I suspect that man!"
"Oh, you iron-headed, inflexible nature! Why should you suspect Tetrik?
By what right? What has he done? By Hesus! If you were not my
brother--if I did not know your heart--I would think you are jealous of
my esteem for my relative!"
Victoria had barely uttered these last words, when she seemed to regret
having allowed them to escape her. She said:
"Forget these words!"
"They would greatly grieve me, sister, if the unjust doubt that they
express could blind you to the truth."
At this moment the servant entered and asked whether Tetrik could be
admitted.
"Let him in," answered Victoria, "let him in immediately."
Tetrik stepped into the room.
CHAPTER X.
TETRIK.
The personage who now entered the apartment was an undersized man of
middle age. His face was refined and gentle; an affable smile played
permanently around his lips. In short, his exterior bespoke so fully the
man of honor that, seeing him enter, Victoria could not refrain from
casting at me a look that still seemed to reproach me for my suspicions.
Tetrik walked straight to Victoria, kissed her on the forehead with
paternal familiarity and said:
"Greeting to you, Victoria!"
And approaching the cradle in which the grandson of the Mother of the
Camps still slept, the Governor of Gascony contemplated the child with
tenderness, and added, in a low voice, as if afraid to awaken him:
"Sleep, poor little one! You are smiling in your infantine dreams, and
you know not that, perhaps, the future of our beloved Gaul may rest upon
your head. Sleep, little fellow, predestined, no doubt, to carry out the
task that your glorious father has undertaken! A noble task that will
engage his efforts for many long years under the inspiration of your
august grandmother! Sleep, poor little one," Tetrik added, with eyes
dimmed with tears of tenderness, "the gods that are propitious to Gaul
will watch over you--you will grow up for the welfare of your country!"
While her relative wiped his moist eyes, Victoria again interrogated me
with her looks, as if asking me whether such was the language and the
physiognomy of a traitor, of a cowardly hypocrite, of a man who was a
perfidious enemy of the child's father.
Turning then to me, Tetrik said affectionately:
"Greeting to the best, the most faithful friend of the woman whom I most
love and venerate in the world; greeting to Victoria's foster-brother."
"Your speech is true. I am the obscurest but also the most devoted
friend of Victoria," I answered looking fixedly at Tetrik, "and it is
the duty of a friend to unmask scamps and traitors."
"I am of your opinion, friend Schanvoch," Tetrik answered with
simplicity. "A friend's first duty is to unmask scamps and traitors. I
fear the roaring lion with its jaws wide open less than the serpent that
creeps in the dark."
"Now, then, I, Schanvoch, have this to say to you, Tetrik. You are one
of the dangerous reptile that you have just mentioned. I consider you a
traitor! And I purpose to unmask your treason!"
"Schanvoch!" cried Victoria interrupting me in a reproachful tone.
"I perceive that the old Gallic love for raillery, one of our
franchises, has returned with our gods and our freedom," replied the
governor smiling.
And turning to Victoria he added:
"Our friend Schanvoch possesses the art of dry humor--the most amusing
of all--"
"My brother speaks seriously and out of an honorable impulse," the
Mother of the Camps broke in saying. "And I grieve thereat, since I
know that he is mistaken; but he is sincere in his error--"
Tetrik let his eyes wander alternately from Victoria to me with no
little amazement; for a moment he was silent; thereupon he said in a
serious and penetrating voice:
"All faithful friends are quick to suspect. Good Schanvoch, your
distrust is inexplicable to me; but it must have its reason. The attack
was frank, frank shall be the answer. Let us settle the question. What
is your charge against me?"
"About a month ago you came to Mayence. A man of your retinue, your
secretary, Morix by name and well supplied with money, gave the soldiers
to drink and at the same time endeavored to irritate them against
Victorin, saying to them that it was disgraceful that their general, one
of the two chiefs of regenerated Gaul, should be a drunkard and a
profligate. Did your secretary hold such language, yes or no? I wait for
your answer."
"Proceed, friend Schanvoch, proceed--"
"Your secretary told a story that, being subsequently spread through the
camp, has greatly irritated the soldiers against Victorin. This was the
story: A few months ago, Victorin and several officers went to a tavern
on one of the isles in the Rhine; after having drunk copiously,
Victorin, excited by the wine, violated the innkeeper's wife, and she
thereupon killed herself in despair--"
"Calumny!" cried Victoria. "I know and condemn my son's faults--but he
is incapable of such an infamous act!"
The governor listened to me without betraying the slightest emotion.
Presently he said with a smile and his habitual placidity of
countenance:
"So, then, good Schanvoch, it is your opinion that, obedient to orders
received from me, my secretary spread unworthy calumnies in the camp?"
"Yes. It is all done with your knowledge and consent."
"And what could be my motive?"
"You are ambitious--"
"And in what manner could such calumnies subserve my ambition?"
"If the dissatisfaction of the soldiers with Victorin, whom they
elected, continues, you would then use your influence with Victoria to
the end of inducing her to propose you to the soldiers as Victorin's
successor in the government of Gaul."
"A mother! Did you stop to consider that, good Schanvoch?" Tetrik
answered looking at Victoria. "A mother sacrifice a son to a friend!"
"In the greatness of her love for her country, Victoria would certainly
sacrifice her son to your elevation if the measure became necessary to
the welfare of Gaul. Am I mistaken, sister?"
"No," Victoria answered me evidently grieved at my accusations against
her relative; "in that you say the truth, but as to the inferences that
you draw therefrom, I reject them."
"And that heroic sacrifice, good Schanvoch," resumed the governor,
"Victoria is expected to make knowing that it was through my underground
calumnies that her son's reputation was blasted with the soldiers?"
"My sister would not have been aware of your intrigues had I not
unmasked them. Besides, more than once did I hear her say, and justly
say, that in case peace was established, it would be better for the
country if its chief, instead of being ever prone to battle, gave
serious thought to the healing of the wounds inflicted by the past
wars. She often mentioned you as one of the men who wisely prefer peace
to war."
"It is true, I hold that the sword, good to destroy, is impotent to
reconstruct," remarked Victoria; "and the freedom of Gaul once firmly
established, I would prefer to see my son give more thought to peace
than to war. It was, therefore, Schanvoch, that I commissioned you with
one last attempt with the Franks, looking to the restoration of peace."
"Allow that I interrupt you, Victoria," put in Tetrik, "and that I ask
our friend Schanvoch whether he has any other charges against me."
"I charge you with being either the secret agent of the Roman Emperor
Galien, or the agent of the chief of the new creed, Roman Catholicism."
"I!" cried the governor. "I the agent of the Christians!"
"I said the agent of the chief of the new creed. I refer to the Bishop
of Rome, who entitles himself 'Sovereign Pontiff.'"
"I the agent of Etienne, the Bishop of Rome, and fourteenth Pope of the
new church?--of that Pope, of whom Firmilien, the Bishop of Caesarea,
wrote to Cyprian, the presiding officer of the Spanish council, composed
of twenty-eight bishops: 'Would one believe that that man (Pope Etienne)
had a soul in his body? Evidently his body is but ill conducted, and his
soul is in a disordered condition. Etienne does not stick at calling his
brother Cyprian a false Christ, a false apostle, a fraudulent artisan;
in order to forestall having these things said of himself, he has the
audacity to make the accusation against others.' And can I be the agent
of that ambitious pontiff! Of that simoniacal bishop, who is given over
to all manner of vices!"
"Yes--unless that, deceiving at once both the Roman Emperor and the Pope
of Rome, you are serving both, ready to sacrifice the one or the other,
according as your ambition may require."
"That I serve the Romans is a thing that I am ready to admit," Tetrik
answered with his unalterable placidity. "However unjust your suspicion
towards me, it may be understood, as an instance of extreme patriotism.
We are well aware that, although we have succeeded, by force of arms, to
reconquer during nearly three centuries, inch by inch the full freedom
once enjoyed by old Gaul, the Roman Emperors have seen with sorrow our
country slip from their dominion. Accordingly, I can understand,
Schanvoch, how you might accuse me of desiring to arrive at power in
Gaul, with the end in view of sooner or later restoring the country to
the Romans, although in doing so I would be betraying it most
infamously. But is it imaginable that I act in the interest of the Pope
of the Christians, of those unhappy people who are everywhere persecuted
and martyrized? It is not a sane thought! What could I do for them? What
could they do for me?"
Schanvoch was about to answer. Victoria interrupted him with a gesture
and said to Tetrik while she pointed to the cross of black wood, the
emblem of the death of Jesus, that was placed near the brass vase with
the seven twigs of mistletoe, a druid symbol much in use among the
Gauls:
"Look at that cross, Tetrik, it tells you that, without infidelity to
our own gods, I nevertheless venerate him who said that no man has the
right to oppress his fellows; that the guilty merit pity and
consolation, not contempt and severity; and that the irons of the slave
should be stricken off. Blessed be these maxims, Tetrik; the wisest of
our druids have accepted them as holy; accordingly, you may judge how
dearly I love the gentle and pure morality of that young man of
Nazareth. But listen, Tetrik," Victoria added pensively, "there is
something unexplainable, strange and mysterious that makes me shudder.
Yes, many a time and oft, during my long watches beside the cradle of my
grandson, and when I pondered the present and the past, tormenting
thoughts crowded upon my mind concerning the future of our well-beloved
Gaul."
"And whence does your terror proceed?" Tetrik asked. "What is its
cause?"
"That for three successive centuries Rome was the implacable foe of
Gaul," Victoria answered; "that for so many centuries Rome was the
merciless scourge of the world!"
"Rome?" replied the governor. "Pagan Rome?"
"Yes. The tyranny that weighed down upon the world had its seat in
Rome," rejoined Victoria. "Now, then, I ask myself, by what strange
fatality have the bishops, the Popes of the new creed, who aspire to
reign over the universe by ruling the sovereigns of the world, been led
to establish the seat of their empire in Rome? Jesus of Nazareth branded
the high priests as liars and hypocrites. He preached above all,
humility, forgiveness, equality, fraternity among men, and lo! in his
apotheosized name, we now see a new hierarchy of high priests arising,
pretending to be the rulers of the world, and already, as Pope Etienne,
meriting the charges of ambition, deception and intolerance, even from
their fellow Christian bishops!"
"Is it you, Victoria, who hold such language?" Tetrik interrupted her
saying: "You so wise, so enlightened--can you fear the future of Gaul
to be endangered by those unhappy people who bear witness to their faith
by their martyrdom?"
"Oh!" cried the Mother of the Camps with exaltation. "I love, I admire
those poor Christians who die in torture while proclaiming the equality
of man before God, the liberation of the slaves, the community of goods,
love and forgiveness for the guilty! I love, I admire those poor
Christians who die on the scaffold and proclaim in the name of Jesus:
'Those are monsters of iniquity who hold their brothers in bondage, who
leave them to suffer in cold and hunger, instead of sharing with them
their bread and their cloak.' Oh! pity and veneration for those heroic
martyrs! But I stand in dread of those people who call themselves the
chiefs, the Popes of the Christians. Yes, I stand in dread of those high
priests who have fixed upon Rome as the seat of their mysterious
empire!--in that city, the center of the most frightful tyranny that has
ever crushed down the human race! I fear for the future of Gaul from
that quarter."
"Victoria," again Tetrik interrupted, saying: "You exaggerate the power
of those Christian pontiffs. Have not large numbers of them, persecuted
by the Roman Emperors, undergone martyrdom, like any other neophytes?"
"Every battle has its dead, and the Popes struggle with the Emperors in
order to wrench from these the dominion over the world! Among those
bishops there have been many who have spoken and died like Jesus. But if
there are some worthy pontiffs among them, and they are few, the
domination of the priests is not, for that, any the less dread a
visitation upon the people. Has not the government of our own priests
been despotic and merciless? Did not the druids leave the people for
over ten centuries steeped in crassest ignorance, governing them with
the instruments of barbarism--superstition and terror? Did not those
days of oppression and debasement last until the glorious and prosperous
epoch when, merged in the body of the nation as citizens, fathers and
soldiers, our druids took part in the common life of the people, in the
joys of the family, and in the national wars against the foreigner? What
I apprehend for the future of the nations is that some day there may be
established in Rome a murky alliance between the Pope and the most
powerful Emperors and Kings of the world! Unhappy will that day be for
the peoples! From such an alliance a frightful political and religious
tyranny will be born, and it will be watered with the blood of fresh
martyrs! Woe, then, to the peoples! They will once more be made to bend
under a pitiless theocratic yoke!"
As she uttered these words, Victoria seemed inspired by the prophetic
genius of the female druids of olden times. Tetrik listened to her in
silence, but instead of answering, he resumed with a smile:
"See how far we have wandered from the charges that our friend Schanvoch
has preferred against me--and yet, Victoria, your words, regarding the
apprehension that the Christian high priests, as you style them, fill
you with for the future, in a manner bring us back to the charges. So,
then, Schanvoch, the purpose of the perfidies that you charge me with is
to arrive at power in Gaul, to the end of betraying the country to pagan
or to Catholic Rome?"
"Yes, that is my opinion."
"Schanvoch, I shall not need many words for my defense. One of my
secretaries did seek to arouse the hostility of our soldiers against
Victorin. Your revelation comes rather late--"
"I learned the facts only yesterday."
"That is of no consequence," he replied, "that secretary was dismissed
by me just because I learned that, irritated at Victorin for having
railed at him several times, he sought to revenge himself by spreading
against the general calumnies that were even more ridiculous and odious.
But let us drop these petty matters. I am ambitious, you say, friend
Schanvoch! I aim at the government of Gaul, even if, in order to
accomplish my purpose, I should have to resort to unworthy intrigues!
Now, ask Victoria what errand brings me back to Mayence."
"Tetrik believes that the peace and prosperity of Gaul require that the
soldiers be induced to proclaim my son's son the heir of his father's
office. Tetrik believes he can count upon the consent of Emperor
Galien."
"Tetrik must, then, anticipate the speedy death of Victorin," I answered
looking fixedly at the governor.
He, however, whose eyes were rarely met, seeing he kept them habitually
lowered, answered:
"The Franks are on the other side of the Rhine--and Victorin is of
temerarious bravery. My ardent wish is that he may live many more years;
but death has no respect even for the most valuable life. It is my
opinion that Gaul would find a pledge of security for the future if it
knew that after Victorin the power would remain with the son of him whom
the army acclaimed its chief, especially seeing that the child would
have for his instructress Victoria, the Mother of the Camps."
"But in case Victoria were to die, who tells me, Tetrik, that you would
not have yourself appointed the child's tutor, exercise the power in his
name, and in that manner arrive at the government of Gaul?"
"Are you speaking seriously, Schanvoch?" Tetrik replied. "Ask Victoria
whether she needs my help in order to render her grandson worthy of her
and of the country? Do you imagine she is one of those weak women who
feel forced to share a glorious task with others? Is not the idolatry
that the soldiers entertain for her a sufficient guarantee that, in the
event of Victorin's premature death, she could preserve alone the
wardship of her grandson and govern in his name?"
Victoria shook her head thoughtfully and sadly, and said:
"I do not like your project of transmitting the office by inheritance,
Tetrik. What! Shall a child, still in his cradle, be designated to the
soldiers for their choice! Who knows what may become of this child?"
"Has he not you for his teacher?" asked Tetrik.
"Have I not been the teacher and instructress of Victorin also?" the
Mother of the Camps answered sadly. "And yet, despite all my vigilant
cares, my son has defects that serve as the basis for frightful
calumnies. But of these, I sincerely assure you, Tetrik, I hold you
guiltless; and I now hope that my brother Schanvoch will join me in
doing justice to your loyalty."
"I said so before, I repeat it now--I suspect this man!" I answered
Victoria.
She replied with impatience: "And I said so before and repeat it
now--you are a head of iron, a genuine Breton head, rebellious to all
reason, the moment a notion takes root in your brain."
Instinctively convinced of Tetrik's perfidy, but having no more proofs
against him, I said nothing more.
But Tetrik resumed with a smile, and without betraying the slightest
perturbation:
"Neither you nor I, Victoria, could convince our good Schanvoch of his
error. Let us leave that to an irresistible seductress--Truth. It will
with time furnish the evidence of my loyalty. We shall return later,
Victoria, to your repugnance in the matter of causing the army to
acclaim your grandson the heir of his father's office. I still expect to
overcome your scruples. But as I came in I saw one of your officers who
seemed to await his turn for an audience. Do you not think it well to
let him come in? It is Captain Marion, the old blacksmith, whom you
introduced to me at my first trip to the camp as one of the bravest men
in the army."
"His valor matches his disposition and good judgment," replied the
Mother of the Camps. "The man has a noble heart and is a faithful
friend. Despite his promotion, he has continued to love as a brother one
of the old companions of his trade, who remained a simple soldier."
"Even at the risk of being again taken for an iron head, I am of the
opinion that in the matter of this affection the good heart of Captain
Marion misleads his judgment. I can only hope, Victoria, that your
blindness may not be as complete as Captain Marion's."
"Do you mean that the faithful companion of Captain Marion is his
enemy?" queried Victoria. "You are singularly mistrustful to-day,
brother!"
When I alluded to Captain Marion and his friend I again sought to catch
the eyes of the Governor of Gascony, but in vain. Nevertheless it was
with no slight surprise that I noticed him slightly start with joy when
I asserted that Captain Marion had a secret foe in his camp companion.
Ever master over himself, Tetrik doubtlessly feared that slight as was
his manifestation of joy it might not have escaped me. He said:
"Envy is so revolting a feeling that I can never hear it mentioned
without it makes a painful impression upon me. I feel positively grieved
at what Schanvoch, who in this respect also, I hope, may be mistaken,
tells us of the comrade of Captain Marion. But, should my presence
prevent you from receiving the captain, Victoria, I shall withdraw."
"On the contrary, I wish you to be present at the interview that I am to
have with Marion and my brother Schanvoch. They were given important
commissions by my son, and yet," she added with a sigh, "the morning is
passing, and my son is not yet home!"
At that very moment the door of the room was thrown open, and Victorin
entered accompanied by Captain Marion.
CHAPTER XI
VICTORIN.
The son of Victoria the Great was then in his twenty-third year. I told
you, my son, that several medals were struck on which he figured in the
guise of the god Mars beside his mother, who wore on her head a casque
resembling that of the antique Minerva. Indeed, Victorin could have
served as a model for a statue of the god of war. Tall, supple, robust,
with a shape at once elegant and martial, he pleased all eyes. His
features, imprinted with the rare beauty of his mother's, differed from
them by an expression of mirthfulness and daring. The openness and
generosity of his character was clearly visible on his face. On seeing
him, one forgot, despite himself, the defects that marred that manly
being, too vivacious and too fiery to curb the impulses of his age.
Victorin doubtlessly came from a night of pleasure; yet his face looked
as fresh as if he had just left his bed. A felt coif, ornamented with a
little brooch, half covered his black hair, that fell in luxuriant
ringlets around his virile and browned face. His Gallic blouse, made of
silken fabric striped white and purple, was held around his waist by a
silver-embroidered leather belt, from which hung his curiously chiseled
gold hilted sword--a veritable masterpiece of Autun goldsmithing. Upon
entering his mother's room followed by Captain Marion, Victorin
proceeded straight to her with a mixture of tenderness and respect. He
dropped upon one knee, took and kissed one of her hands, removed his
head-cover, and, reaching up his forehead for her to kiss, said:
"Greeting to my mother!"
There was so touching a charm in the young general's features and
posture, there on his knee before his mother, that I noticed her
hesitate for a second between the desire to embrace the son whom she
adored and the inclination to express her dissatisfaction with him. She
gently pushed Victorin's head back with her hand, and said in a grave
voice while pointing at the cradle that stood near:
"Embrace your son--you have not seen him since yesterday."
The young general understood the indirect reproach; he rose sadly,
approached the cradle, took up the child in his arms, and embraced him
effusively while his eyes wandered over to his mother, as if to tell her
that he was indemnifying himself for her maternal severity.
Captain Marion had drawn close to me and said in a low voice:
"After all, Victorin has a good heart. How he does love his mother! How
he cherishes his child! He surely is as much attached to them as I am to
my friend Eustace, who constitutes my whole family. What a pity that
that pest of profligacy" (the good captain hardly ever spoke without
throwing in those words) "so frequently has the young man fast in its
claws!"
"It is a misfortune! But do you believe Victorin capable of the infamous
act that he is charged with in camp?" I inquired from the captain loud
enough to be heard by Tetrik, who, speaking with Victoria in a low
voice, seemed to be reproaching her for her severity towards her son.
"No, by the devil!" was Marion's quick answer. "I do not believe
Victorin capable of such indignities--least way when I see him there
between his mother and child."
After carefully placing his child back into the cradle and kissing its
outstretched hands, the young general said affectionately to the
Governor of Gascony:
"Greeting to Tetrik! I always love to see among us my mother's wise and
faithful friend."
And turning towards me:
"I knew that you had returned, Schanvoch. When I heard the news my heart
filled with joy--with as much joy as I felt apprehension during your
absence. These Frankish bandits have often shown us how little they
respect truces and parliamentarians."
But doubtlessly noticing the sadness that still marked the visage of
Victoria, her son approached her and said with as much frankness as
tender deference:
"Listen, mother--before you broach the matter of Captain Marion's and
Schanvoch's messages, let me tell you what I have upon my heart; it
might unwrinkle your brow, and I might no longer read on it the
displeasure that afflicts me. Tetrik is a kind relative, Captain Marion
is our friend, Schanvoch your brother--I can here speak freely. Admit
it, mother, you are annoyed that I spent the night out of the house, are
you not?"
"Your disorderly conduct grieves me, Victorin--and it grieves me still
more to see that my voice is no longer heard by you."
"Mother, I shall make a full confession to you; but I swear that I have
upbraided myself more severely for my weakness than you could have done
yourself. Last evening, faithful to my promise of discussing fully with
you the grave matters that we have in hand, I went home betimes; I had
declined--Oh! heroically declined an invitation to take supper with
three of the captains of the legions that recently arrived at Mayence
from Beziers. Vain were all their praises of the kegs of fine old wines,
of that country of wine _par excellence_, that they brought with them
carefully stowed away in their war chariots to celebrate their safe
arrival. I remained unmoved. They then tried to win me over by speaking
of two strolling Bohemian songstresses, Kidda and Flora--pardon me,
mother, for pronouncing the names of such women before you, but
truthfulness compels me to do so. These Bohemian girls, my tempters said
to me, had recently arrived in Mayence; they described them as
wondrously beautiful, frisky as demons, magnificent dancers, and singers
like nightingales! Certes, there was enough to tempt me in such a
description."
"Ah! I see it--I see it clearly approaching, that pest of profligacy--I
see it creeping towards him on its velvet feet, like a wily and hungry
tigress!" Marion cried. "How I would like to make those brazen Bohemian
she-devils dance on sheets of red-hot iron! It is only then they would
sing tunes to suit my ears--"
"I was even wiser than you, brave Marion," Victorin proceeded to say; "I
did not wish to see and hear them dance and sing in any way; I ran
precipitately away from my tempters to come here--"
"It is easy to say that; run away?--that pest of profligacy has legs as
long as its arms and teeth!" the captain said. "It surely overtook you,
Victorin!"
"Deign to listen to me, mother," Victorin resumed, seeing my
foster-sister make a gesture of disgust and impatience. "I was only two
hundred paces from the house--the night was dark--a woman wrapped in a
hooded cloak accosted me."
"Now they are three!" cried the good captain clasping his hands. "We now
have the two Bohemian girls reinforced by a hooded woman. Oh,
unfortunate Victorin! You have no idea what diabolical snares lie hidden
under those hoods--my friend Eustace would surely succumb and wind up by
being hooded himself--but I would flee!"
"'My father is an old soldier,' the woman said to me," proceeded
Victorin with his narrative. "'One of his old wounds opened, he is
dying; he knew you as a child, Victorin; he does not wish to die without
once more pressing the hand of his young general; you will not refuse
such a favor to my dying father, will you?' Such was the tale of the
unknown woman; she spoke in accents that went straight to my heart. What
would you have done, mother?"
"Despite my dread of women's hoods, I would have gone and seen the poor
old soldier," answered the captain. "Certes, I would have gone, seeing
that my presence would render death sweeter to him."
"Well, I did what you would have done, Marion. I followed the unknown
woman; we arrived at a rickety house; it was dark; the door opened; my
female guide seized my hand; led by her, I took a few steps in the
darkness. Suddenly the glare of lights fell upon my eyes and dazed me.
The three captains of the Beziers legions and other officers surrounded
me. The veiled woman dropped her wraps, and I recognized--"
"One of the cursed Bohemian girls!" cried the captain. "Ha! I told you
so, Victorin! Women's hoods hide frightful things!"
"Frightful? Alas, no, Marion! I had not the courage to shut my eyes. I
was immediately surrounded from all sides; the other Bohemian girl ran
out of a room and joined my captors. The doors were locked. I was
dragged to a seat of honor at a banquet table. Kidda placed herself at
my right, Flora at my left; and before me, upon a table loaded with
eatables, rose one of the kegs of old and divine nectar, as the accursed
fellows informed me; and--"
"And day surprised you in that fresh orgy," said Victoria interrupting
her son. "You thus forgot amidst the pleasures of the table and
debauchery the hour that summoned you to me! Is that an excuse?"
"No, dear mother, it is a confession--I was weak--but as truly as Gaul
is free, I would have come dutifully home to you, but for the ruse by
which I was misled and kept away. Will you not be indulgent towards me,
mother, this once? I pray you!" saying which Victorin again knelt down
before my foster-sister. "Be not so severe! I know my faults! Age will
cure me! I am still too young, and my blood is still too warm. The ardor
of pleasure often carries me away, despite myself--and yet, you know,
mother, I would give my life for you--"
"I believe you--but yet you will not sacrifice to me your insensate and
evil passions--"
"When one sees Victorin so respectful and repentant at his mother's
feet," I whispered to Marion, "would one think he is the celebrated
general, so dreaded by the enemies of Gaul--the general, who, at the age
of twenty-two already has won five great battles?"
"Victoria," said Tetrik in his kind and insinuating voice, "I also am a
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