by Eugène Sue
“Friends, you need not fear; my bear is not wicked; he is quite tame.”
He thereupon called to his bear as he pulled in the animal’s chain, and said:
“Come to me, Mont-Dore!”
The bear promptly obeyed the call, drew near and modestly sat down on his haunches; he then raised his head submissively up to his master, who, as he stood before the animal, half hid him from the slaves. Feeling reassured, the latter resumed their way and, out of prudence, walked a few paces ahead of the mountebank at what they considered a safe distance from the bear.
“Friends, what large residence is that which I see yonder, girt by a fosse?”
“It is the burg of our master, Count Neroweg.”
“Is he at the burg to-day?”
“He is in royal company.”
“In royal company?”
“Chram, the son of the King of the Franks, arrived there this morning with his bodyguard; we come from the pond where we caught this mess of fish for to-night’s supper.”
“As true as my beard is grey that is a good windfall for a poor man like me. I shall be able to amuse the noble seigneurs exhibiting my bear and monkey to them. Do you believe, my children, that I shall be allowed admission to the burg?”
“Oh, we do not know. Strangers are not usually allowed to cross the fosse of the burg, without special permission from the seigneur count. The draw-bridge is guarded by day, and raised at night.
“Nevertheless, last winter, I know, another exhibitor of trained animals visited the burg, and the seigneur count was greatly entertained with their performances. He may not refuse to tender a similar entertainment to his royal guest.”
“Perhaps not. If he does, then the evening’s entertainment will help to while away the time of the seigneurs until to-morrow morning’s spectacle.”
“What spectacle is that to be, my friends?”
“The four people who were sentenced to-day will be executed — Ronan the Vagre, the hermit-laborer, a renegade monk who joined the Vagrery; a little female slave, their accomplice; and the bishopess, an accursed witch; they say she once was the wife of our blessed bishop Cautin.”
“Oh, have they been capturing Vagres in this region, my friends? And so they were all sentenced to-day?”
“The mahl assembled at noon. The King’s son and our holy bishop were present. Ronan the Vagre and the hermit-laborer were first put to the torture.”
“Then they must have denied that they had run the Vagrery, did they?”
“No. Ronan, the accursed bandit, on the contrary, boasted that he was a Vagre.”
“Why, then, the torture?”
“That is just what the son of the King said. He thought that the torture had no purpose with Ronan. He opposed it strongly.”
“But our holy bishop,” explained the other slave, “declared that a truth extracted by torture was doubly certain, it being in the nature of a judgment of God. Thereupon no one raised any further objection, and matters took their course.”
“At the bishop’s orders,” resumed the first slave, “the feet of the Vagre and of the hermit-laborer were dipped into boiling oil — they confessed a second time.”
“And thereupon they were both carried back to the ergastula, because they could not walk.”
“And to-morrow they will be taken out for execution. It is said that the manner of their death will be frightful — but it never could be frightful enough to atone for the crimes that Ronan the Vagre—”
“And what crimes did he commit, my friends?”
“Did not the sacrilegious wretch, at the head of his band, pillage and burn down the episcopal villa of our holy bishop?”
“How, my friends, do you mean to say that Ronan the Vagre, the impious wretch, dared to commit such a crime? And what about the women, were they also put to the torture?”
“The little slave is still near death’s door of a wound that she inflicted upon herself in an attempt to commit suicide. She made the attempt in a fit of despair when she saw that the Vagres were cut to pieces.”
“As to the witch of a bishopess, they were preparing to apply the torture to her, when our holy bishop interposed, saying: ‘We must be careful not to weaken the witch; she may succumb to the pain; it is better that she remain as strong as possible, in order that she escape not one of the torments of to-morrow’s execution.’”
“Your bishop is wise, my friends. And where do the bandits await death?”
“In the underground prison of the burg.”
“I hope that there is no chance of the accursed people escaping!”
“As to Ronan the Vagre and the hermit-laborer, even if they were free, they could not walk a step, their feet are all blistered.”
“Oh, I forgot that, my friends.”
“Besides, the ergastula is made of bricks and Roman cement. The walls are as hard as rocks. Then, the cave is closed with a row of iron bars, each as thick as my arm, and it is always guarded by armed sentries.”
“Thank God, it is not possible, my friends, for the accursed criminals to escape execution — they deserve all that they will get! I see that you are not of the wicked slaves, unfortunately but too numerous, who sympathize with the Vagres.”
“The Vagres are demons. We would like to see them executed to the last one. They are implacable enemies of the Franks and the holy bishops!”
“I see from your speech that you have a kind master.”
“He is all the better master, his clerk told us, for making us suffer a good deal. Sufferings here on earth insure to us paradise after death. So we are resigned!”
“You can not escape salvation, my good friends, being animated with such sentiments. I hope that all your companions at the burg are like you, good Christians, resigned to their lot.”
“There are impious and unbelieving people everywhere. Many of the slaves at the burg would gladly run the Vagrery if the opportunity were to present itself. Some of them do not even respect our holy bishops, sneer at the priests, hate our seigneurs, the Franks, and object to being slaves. But we always denounce them to the clerk of our count.”
“You are truly good Christian companions! But are there many such wicked slaves at the burg?”
“Oh, no! There may be fifteen or twenty of them among the hundred that we are in the domestic service, and I suppose there may be two or three hundred of them among the four thousand and more colonists and field slaves whom the count owns on his domains.”
“My good friends, do you know it seems to me that it will bring me good luck to spend a few hours in a house peopled with such good slaves as you are? I wish you would announce me to the count’s steward. If the noble seigneur is willing to amuse himself with the capers of my bear, he will issue orders to admit me.”
“We shall announce you. The steward will decide.”:
And the two slaves, who, streaming with sweat, had laid down for a moment the net in which they carried a mess of large fish, freshly taken from the pond, and some of which were still seen wriggling, through the meshes, again lifted up their heavy burden and resumed their way to the burg.
As soon as the two slaves disappeared from sight, the bear raised himself on his legs, pulled off his head, dashed it on the road, and cried:
“Blood and massacre! They are to burn my beautiful bishopess to-morrow! And Ronan, our brave Ronan, he also is to be executed! Shall we allow that, Karadeucq?”
“I shall avenge my sons — or shall die beside them! O Loysik! O, Ronan! Tortured! Tortured! And executed to-morrow!”
“As true as the remembrance of the bishopess sets my heart aflame, the torture of to-day, the executions of to-morrow, the arrival of that Chram with his armed men — all these events upset our plans. Instead of being taken to Clermont for trial, Ronan and the bishopess are to be executed at the burg to-morrow morning — instead of being healed of their wounds and able to use their legs, Ronan and his brother are rendered helpless. The leudes of Chram, together with those of the count
and the foot soldiers, constitute a garrison of more than three hundred armed men; they occupy the burg — and who is there to set free Ronan and Loysik, neither of whom can walk, the little dying slave, and my beautiful bishopess. Only you and I! Karadeucq, if I can see how we are to come out of this fix, I shall be willing to become a bear in truth — not a trick bear, as now I am, but a real bear! Oh, if anyone had said to me, when, disguised like so many others in some animal form, I celebrated the saturnalia of January nights — if anyone had said to me: ‘My gay lad, you will celebrate the calends of winter in midsummer,’ I would have answered: ‘Go to, good man, it will be warm, then!’ And I would have spoken the truth. I would be cooler in an oven than in this hide! Rage and heat make one swelter. You are silent, my old Vagre — what are you thinking about?”
“About my children. What is to be done — what is to be done?”
“I am better in action than in council, especially at this moment, when rage is making me crazy. Poor, brave woman! Burned to-morrow! Oh, how came I to be separated from her at the fastness of Allange during the combat engaged in by our archers from the branches of the oak trees against the soldiers of the count! Poor, poor woman! I thought she was killed! Our rout was complete, it was impossible for me to assure myself concerning the fate of my sweetheart! Too happy to be able to escape the massacre with a few others of our band, and to dive into the thickest of the woods, after giving ourselves one of our haunts, the rocks on the peak of Mont-Dore, for rendezvous — I fled. Finally, after the lapse of a few days, about a dozen of our band met at the appointed place; it was there that we met you also in the company of two runaway slaves — you, our old Vagre, whom we had given up for lost over two years ago. It was from you that we learned of the fate of your two sons, the little slave and the bishopess. Strange, what sentiments I experience for that brave woman! The memory of her never leaves me. My heart breaks with grief at the knowledge that she is in the hands of the count and the bishop. In all Vagrery there is no Vagre more Vagre than myself for a life of adventures; nevertheless, were some unforeseen accident to cast the bishopess and myself in some solitary corner of the earth, I believe I would live there quietly with her ten, twenty, a hundred years! You surely take me for a fool, old Karadeucq, or better yet for a ninny, seeing that I weep and act stupidly! But, the devil take grief! The hour calls for action!”
“O, my sons! my sons!”
“If my skin would save them and the bishopess — I do not mean this bear-skin, but my own! — by the faith of a Vagre, I would sacrifice it! You know that when you laid your plan before us, and that a ready fellow was needed to impersonate a bear, I promptly offered myself. I told you then how, at Beziers, I was an all the more inveterate disguiser at the calends because the priests forbade them; and that at those saturnalia I especially impersonated bears, and so well as to be taken for one. I was thereupon unanimously chosen bear in Vagrery, and — But I suppose you think that I am talking too much. It is my only refuge! It diverts me! If I remain silent and think, then my heart breaks and I am useless.”
“Loysik! Ronan! executed to-morrow! No — no — heaven and earth!”
“Whatever may have to be done in order to save your sons, the bishopess and little Odille, I shall follow you to the end. When it was decided that you were to be the mountebank and I the bear, we had to find a good-sized bear, and kind enough to let us have his head, jacket and hose. I took my axe and my knife, and climbed up Mont Dore. Good hunter, good hunt. I almost immediately ran across a friend of my size. Probably taking me for his comrade, he ran at me, ready to hug me to his heart, with his arms — and also his jaws, wide open. Anxious not to injure his coat with too many blows of my axe, I stabbed him adroitly in the heart, after which I carefully undressed my accommodating friend. His jacket and hose seemed, by the faith of a Vagre! cut on purpose for me. I joined you at our haunt, and down we came to the plain, determined to do anything in order to save your two sons, the little slave and my bishopess. Let us resume, I am growing more collected — what shall we do? Our plan was to enter the city of Clermont on the night before the execution; we were certain that we could cause a portion of the slaves to revolt; the people would join and the Vagres were to be ready. That project must now be given up, also the idea of lying in ambush on the road and attacking the escort that was to take the prisoners to Clermont. Our purpose in entering the burg in our disguise was only to gather information concerning the time of their departure and the probable route that they would take, while ten of our companions were to wait hidden in the skirts of the forest. Our ten friends are ready, either to proceed with us to Clermont, or to join us on the road, or even to approach the fosse of the burg to-night. Shall we give our good Vagres the signal that we agreed upon? To-day’s events, to-morrow’s executions and the large number of troops gathered in the burg, thwart all our plans. What is to be done? You have been thinking long, old Vagre — have you decided upon a plan?”
“Yes — come, my brave Master of the Hounds!”
“To the burg? But it is still daylight.”
“It will be dark before we arrive.”
“What is your plan?”
“I shall tell you on the way. Time presses. Come, come, be quick!”
“Forward, march! Oh, I forgot — the jacket!”
“What jacket?”
“The one that I must put on for buffoonery — besides it is a prudent measure; the turned-down hood will conceal whatever defect there may be at the jointure of the fur between my neck and my head. The hood will also partially cover my bear face — mayhap the Franks have sharper eyes than those two blockheads of slaves. Let us first complete the disguise.”
While the lover of the bishopess spoke, Karadeucq pulled a rolled-up jacket out of his wallet; the false bear put it on; it reached back and down to his hind legs, and being pulled well over his head, left only his nozzle exposed to view, while the wide sleeves almost reached down to his clawy paws. The black fur of the belly and thighs remained wholly uncovered. Nothing could be imagined more grotesque than the bear in his costume. By the faith of a Vagre! the animal could not choose but furnish subject for laughter to the guests of Neroweg, especially after the copious libations of their supper.
“Now, Karadeucq, I shall conceal my poniard in one of the folds of the jacket — by the way, it is the very Saxon knife that I picked up as I fled from the defile of Allange. I picked it up on the field of battle. You can see on the hilt of the arm the two Gallic words— ‘Friendship,’ ‘Community’ — graven in the iron. ‘Friendship’ — that is a good omen. Friendship, as well as Love, leads me to the burg. Blood and massacre! I shall free at one blow both my friend and my sweetheart!”
“Come, come! O, Ronan! O, Loysik! I shall save you both — or we shall die together! Come, forward, my brave companion.”
CHAPTER VII.
IN THE ERGASTULA.
WHEN, MORE THAN five hundred years ago, the Romans conquered and owned, though they could not subjugate, Gaul they constructed their ergastulas — slave pens — of solid, lasting material. There they locked up their chained Gallic slaves at night. Such a cave was an adjunct also to the old Roman camp on which now stood the burg of Neroweg. The bricks and cement were still so closely joined that they jointly constituted a body more solid than marble itself. Hardly could men, equipped with all the necessary implements for boring, and working from dawn to dusk, succeed in effecting an opening through the wall of this prison. The opening of the vault was barred by enormous rods of iron. Without, a strong body of Franks, armed with axes, were keeping ceaseless watch; some were lying on the ground, others walked up and down. From time to time these watchmen cast a wistful glance towards the burg, which lay about five hundred paces from them. The principal building, however, was hidden from their view by the gables of the barns and stables that adjoined the seigniorial mansion from that side.
Why did these watchmen cast such wistful glances to the side of the burg? Because, issuing through the ope
n windows, the cries of the wassailers, from time to time, also the rattle of drums and blare of hunting horns, reached their ears. There was a feast in Neroweg’s hall. On that evening he was entertaining his royal guest Chram at his best.
An iron lamp, that swung under the vaulted entrance of the antique ergastula, threw a dim light around the gate of the underground cell and also partially lighted it within.
Steps were heard. A leude appeared followed by slaves bearing baskets and bowls.
“Boys! Here’s some beer for you, also wine, venison, bread and cheese. Eat, drink and be merry. The son of the King is on a visit at the burg.”
“Three cheers for Sigefrid, wine, beer and venison!”
“But keep a close watch on the prisoners — let not one of you step aside — keep your eyes wide open.”
“Oh, those dogs do not move any more down there than if they had fallen asleep forever under the cold ground, where they will be to-morrow. You need not fear, Sigefrid.”
