by David Ker
CHAPTER XIX
In a Robber Camp
On a low ridge overlooking the town of Carcassonne--girt then, as now,by the huge, dark-grey walls, against which, a century and a halfbefore, Simon de Montfort's destroying hosts had beaten in vain--waspitched the camp of one of those terrible "Free Companies" which, asthe old peasant of the Loire had truly said, were the bane of France.
At every period of the Dark Ages, Europe swarmed with robber bands; butthe fourteenth century alone could have exhibited such a phenomenon asrobber bands six, eight, and ten thousand strong, with tents, banners,waggon-trains, generals, officers, and even clergymen of their own. Forso strange a thing is human nature, that each of these brigand-armieshad its own chaplain (usually as ruffianly as his bandit flock), andthese double-dyed villains, who set at nought all the laws of God andman, would have shuddered at the thought of going forth to rob andmurder till this model Churchman had solemnly blessed the enterprise,and prayed Heaven to aid them to steal and slay.
The strong walls of Carcassonne itself had defied these plunderers; butall around it they had been terribly busy--seizing castles, burningvillages, sacking towns, wasting what miserable remnants of cultivationthe ceaseless wars had left, inflicting tortures too hideous to name onall whom they suspected of having any money, and, in a word, drainingthe very life-blood of the ill-fated land on which all calamities knownto men seemed outpoured at once.
Apart from the brutal faces of the men themselves, unmistakable proofsof what they were lay all around. Splendid armour, flecked with ominousdrops of red, rich gold and silver plate, gay clothing and costlyjewels, lay scattered in the dirt like things of no value, and, fartheron, appeared a bound and helpless mass of men, women, and children,some dissolved in tears, others plunged in silent despair, who had beenprosperous burghers, thriving farmers, or well-to-do craftsmen, tillthe clutch of the Free Company changed them in a moment to beggared andbroken-hearted captives.
On one side, two old comrades were fighting hand to hand, and manglingeach other with ghastly wounds over a sudden and senseless quarrelabout the division of their plunder. On the other, a ruffian who hadbeen losing heavily at dice, had just ended the game by the simplemethod of stabbing the winner to the heart, and was rummaging from thedead man's pockets, with a wolfish grin, all the coin they held. Fromend to end of the camp brutal oaths, blasphemous songs, ribald tales,savage abuse in half a dozen languages, and jests too horribly foul toquote, made the air ring; and, in the midst of this hell on earth, afilthy and half-drunken cut-throat, supporting himself by the shoulderof an equally drunken comrade, was boisterously drinking the health ofthe Evil One, while his companion, holding a plundered church-chaliceto his lips with a hand still wet from recent murder, hoarsely added,"May he send us a long and bloody war!"
A little apart sat the leader of that wolfish host--a leader fullyworthy of them, who, so far as he differed from his fellow-brutes,differed for the worse.
He was a man of giant size, whose heavy, low-browed, bulldog face,seamed with scars and bloated with habitual excess, was half hidden bya shaggy beard and a mane of coarse black hair. By him lay his stainedand battered armour, and his mighty limbs were thrown carelessly on atorn and muddied altar-cloth of embroidered velvet, as he drank hiswine from a sacramental cup--proceedings watched with visible dismay bysome of his followers, who, steeped as they were in the foulest crimes,could still tremble at the thought of sacrilege.
But whatever they might think, no one dared to say a word; for Croquart(the Cruncher)--as this ruffian was named, from the ravages that hadmade him the terror of the whole country--was not a safe man to provokeat any time; and just then it was plain by the black frown whichdarkened his low brow, that he was, if possible, in a worse temper thanusual.
In fact, the worthy cut-throat was finding out, to his great disgust,that even robbers cannot get a living where there is no one to rob; andsuch was now the case in his present field of operations.
As soon as it was known that the dreaded Croquart and his men wereencamped by Carcassonne, all alike--travellers, traders, pilgrims,labourers, and even beggars--avoided the town as if the plague were init, preferring to make a circuit of many miles rather than risk fallinginto the hands of a man whose pet sport was to burn people alive, ortie them to a tree to be shot full of arrows!
For three days the wide sweep of bare upland overlooked by the robbercamp had lain voiceless and lifeless as a desert. No living thing wasto be seen, and Croquart, not having robbed or murdered any one forthree whole days, found time hang heavy on his unwashed hands.
"Where loiter these dog scouts of mine?" growled the ruffian, glaringround with his bloodshot eyes in quest of the two swift riders whom hehad sent forth to watch for any sign of prey. "If they bring not wordof some game afoot, it shall go ill with them! Swords and halberds! aman may as well be a stone or a stock as sit here doing nought till hissinews wax rusty through idleness!"
Hardly had he spoken when two riders were seen approaching, but soslowly and unwillingly that it was plain they had no success to report.Keeping at a safe distance--for this savage, in his fits of drunkenfury, cared as little for the lives of his own men as for those of hiswretched captives--they shouted to him that they had scoured the wholedistrict and found nothing.
Croquart growled a fearful curse, and gripped his sword-hilt as ifabout to kill them both. Then his mood suddenly changed, and he gave ahoarse laugh.
"Since my guests are so long in coming, it is meet they be wellreceived when they do. May I never take plunder more if I bind not to atree the first man who passes, and shoot as many arrows into him asthere be quills on a hedge-hog!"
As the wretch uttered his cruel vow--which all who heard it knew hewould keep--a single figure was seen advancing, in the dark robe of amonk. A nearer view showed the white hair and beard of an old man; andthen the startled robbers recognized the pilgrim-monk, Brother Michael!
