Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Extinguish your torch,” said Karadeucq, “and lead me straight to the ergastula, or you die this instant.”

  “Give me your torch,” said the lover of the bishopess, “and take me straight to the hay lofts, or I stab you to death.”

  The two slaves obeyed; the Vagres parted company; one ran towards the hay lofts and barns, the other to the ergastula, both guided by their conductors.

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE RESCUE.

  THE PRISONERS IN the ergastula had drawn as close as possible to the iron railing. Little Odille, who had fallen asleep on the knees of the bishopess, awoke with a start, saying:

  “Ronan, are they coming to take us to the place of execution? I am ready for everything.”

  “No, little Odille! it is barely midnight; I know not what may be happening at the burg; all the Franks who were watching us left their posts before our prison and followed one of their men who came after them; all ran towards the burg brandishing their arms.”

  “Ronan, my brother, listen in the direction of the seigniorial mansion — it seems to me I hear an odd noise proceeding from that direction.”

  “I hear tumultuous cries — the clash of arms.”

  “Ronan, the Vagres must have come to our deliverance, the burg is on fire!”

  “The fire spreads — look — look — it is as clear as day in front of the prison.”

  “A man is running this way — why, it is Karadeucq, our father!”

  “Loysik! Ronan! Oh! my sons.”

  “You here, father?”

  “Ronan, Loysik, all of you within, join me to break down the iron railing.”

  “Alas! we cannot budge — our feet are all sore — we have been put to the torture!”

  “To see my two sons and yet not to be able to save them — malediction! This way, Master of the Hounds! my brave fellow, this way — let us free my sons!”

  “My beautiful bishopess, are you there? Come, give me a kiss across the railing! — Your lips have pressed mine. I now feel stronger. We two, Karadeucq, will have to tear down this railing. I have set fire to the four corners of the burg — stables, barns, lofts, all is aflame. The count’s main building that is now full of Franks, who are mutually slaying one another, and which is built of frame, has also taken fire; it is beginning to burn like a faggot stuck into a furnace.”

  “Woe is us! it is impossible to break down the railing!”

  “Free us, father!”

  “Oh, my sons, I shall die of rage before I fall under the axe of the Franks, if I cannot set you free.”

  “Come, old Karadeucq, one more effort; the Franks who guarded the ergastula are now thinking of nothing else but to extinguish the fire; let us dig a hole under the railing with our poniards, with our nails.”

  “The Franks! There they are — they are coming back to the ergastula; they are running this way.”

  “I can see their weapons glistening by the light of the conflagration.”

  “Father, there is no hope left! You are lost! Blood and death, lost! And here we are, sore and incapable to defend you!”

  About a score of men at arms and several leudes ran with their arms in the direction of the ergastula; one of them was heard to say: “A part of these dogs of slaves are profiting by the fire in order to revolt; I heard them say that they were going to set the chief of the Vagres and the rest of the prisoners free. Quick, quick, let us put them all to death — we shall afterwards see to the slaves. Who has the key to the railing?”

  At the very moment when Sigefrid was handing the key to the Frankish warrior his eyes fell upon Karadeucq.

  “What are you doing there, old vagabond?”

  “Noble youth, frightened by the fire, my bear has escaped; I am running after him — he has crouched down yonder not far from the railing. Alas, what a misfortune this fire is!”

  “Sigefrid, I have unlocked the railing,” said one of the Franks; “shall we begin with the men or the women?”

  “I shall begin with the men!” cried Karadeucq, planting his dagger in the breast of Sigefrid.

  “I also!” cried the Master of the Hounds, stabbing another one of the Franks.

  “Vagrery! Vagrery! To us, all brave slaves! Death to the Franks! War upon the seigneurs! Liberty to the slaves! Long live all Gaul!”

  “The Vagres!” cried the thunder-struck Franks, dumbfounded at the death of the two leudes. “The Vagres! These demons seem to rise from underground and from the depth of hell!”

  “This way!” cried Ronan in a thundering voice. “This way, my Vagres! Kill the Franks!”

  The cry was addressed to the Vagres, whom Ronan saw pouring in. Attracted by the light of the conflagration, the signal that was agreed upon, the good, brave Vagres had crossed the fosse; but how? Was not that fosse filled with such deep slime that a man would be swallowed up in it if he attempted to cross it? Certainly, but Ronan’s Vagres had, since nightfall, been prowling like wolves around a sheep fold, and carefully sounded the fosse; after which the clever lads hewed down with their axes two large ash trees that stood straight as arrows nearby, stripped off the flexible branches and with them bound the trunks closely together. The long and light improvised bridge was thrown across the fosse, and nimble as cats they crept one after another over the two trunks and reached the opposite side. During the aerial perilous passage two of the Vagres fell off and immediately disappeared in the bottom of the fosse; they were Wolve’s-Tooth and Symphorien, the rhetorician — may their names live and be blessed in Vagrery! Their companions had no sooner arrived on the other side of the fosse, than they met, running towards the ergastula to liberate the prisoners, about thirty revolted slaves armed with clubs, scythes and forks. After the warriors of Chram and those of Neroweg had long fought in the dark in the banquet hall, they suddenly dropped their quarrel, and leaving the dead and wounded on the field of battle, gave no thought but to the fire — the men of the count to extinguish it, the men of Chram to save the horses and baggage of their master and take them out of the burning stable. The Franks who had hastened to the ergastula in order to put the prisoners to death were only a score at the most; they were surrounded and cut to pieces by Ronan’s Vagres and by the slaves, after offering a desperate resistance. Not one of these Franks escaped; no, not one! Two of the slaves took Ronan upon their shoulders, two others raised Loysik on theirs, and at the request of his bishopess the Master of the Hounds took up little Odille in his vigorous arms as one might raise a child from its cradle, the young girl being too weak to walk. Old Karadeucq followed his two sons.

  The struggle that took place in front of the ergastula and which was crowned with triumph for the Vagres consumed less time than it takes to describe it; but there was still much to be done in order to leave the fortified enclosure of the burg. It was necessary to reach the bridge, the only practicable issue, by reason of Ronan, Loysik and Odille, all of whom were unable to walk. It was necessary in order to reach the bridge to follow the inside wall of the embankment under the trees that lined one side of the parade ground; and the parade ground itself, wholly exposed and in plain view of the burning buildings had then to be crossed. Wise and prudent in counsel, old Karadeucq made the troop halt where it was screened by the trees from the eyes of the enemy, and said to them:

  “To attempt to leave the burg in a body would be to invite being slain to the last man. The moment we are seen, some of the Franks in their fury will stop trying to extinguish the fire and will fall upon us. There is only one chance of escape. The moment we reach the open ground, which you must traverse, let us separate and mix up boldly among the frightened Franks, who are seeking to save all they can from the flames. Let us throw ourselves in among the frightened crowd and seem to be engaged in some work of salvage, going, coming, running hither and thither. We shall thus be able to clear the dangerous passage and shall separately reach the bridge — our general rendezvous.”

  “But, father, carried as we are by these good slaves, how could Loysik and I a
void being detected?”

  “That matters not; the slaves will be thought to be transporting some wounded men taken from the ruins; conceal your faces somehow and moan as loud as you can. As to the Master of the Hounds, who has prudently stripped himself of his bear skin, he can boldly run through the crowd carrying the little slave in his arms as if he had saved some young girl from the flames in the women’s apartment. The bishopess can wrap herself up in the coat of the Master of the Hounds; she will have no difficulty in safely crossing the crowd in the midst of the general tumult.”

  The wise advice of the father of Loysik and Ronan was carried out successfully from point to point.

  By the faith of a Vagre, beautiful was the spectacle of the vast Frankish burg enveloped in and consumed by the flames! At every turn were heard roofs tumbling in with a crash and throwing upward toward the starry vault of heaven large jets of flame and sparks of fire. The northern wind, blowing fresh and strong, drove towards the south large sheets of flame that surged, like the waves of an angry sea, over the crumbling buildings below. At the moment when, carried on the shoulders of the two slaves, Ronan passed before the seigniorial mansion, which was entirely built of frame and shingled with oaken laths, he saw the flaming roof, which had for some little time been supported by large charred beams, fall in with the rattle of thunder and dash itself against the foundation of volcanic rocks. Nothing remained standing of the count’s once proud residence but a few huge beams, whose blackened and smoking sides were brought out into strong relief by the curtain of fire before which they seemed to tremble. The casques and the cuirasses of the leudes of Chram were seen glistening in the light of the conflagration; they were running hither and thither in a joint effort with the men of Neroweg to save the horses and mules from the burning stables.

  What an infernal tumult, and how sweet to the ear of a Gaul! By the bones of our fathers the music and the sight were magnificent! The neighing of horses, the bellowing of cattle, the imprecations of the Franks, the cries of the wounded leudes whom the flaming ruins burned, or rolled down upon and crushed! And what a beautiful illumination lighted the tableau — a ruddy flamboyant light!

  The two sons of old Karadeucq whom the slaves were carrying on their backs, as well as little Odille, in the arms of the Master of the Hounds, finally crossed the bridge over the fosse, closely preceded and followed by all the Vagres and the revolted slaves who joined them. They had all successfully threaded their way through the crowds of scurrying Franks around the burning buildings. After the troop of Karadeucq was safely on the other side a vigorous shove threw the keeper off the bridge down into the fosse, in the bottom of which he disappeared.

  “Are we all outside of the enclosure of the burg?” asked old Karadeucq.

  “Yes, all — all!”

  “Now let us cut down the bridge; I have broken down the chains that hold it on the other side; if the Franks take it into their heads to pursue us we shall have a long lead over them. Once we reach the forest, then, good bye Franks! Long live the Vagrery and old Gaul! Oh, my sons, you are now free from danger! Ronan, Loysik, one more embrace, my sons!”

  “By the sacred joy of this father and his two sons, beautiful bishopess, you are my wife. I shall not leave you unto death!”

  “Loysik, you said to me this very night in the prison, ‘Fulvia, if you were free to-day and met the Master of the Hounds, also free, what would you answer if he asked you to be his wife?’ Being now free,” added the bishopess turning towards the Vagre, “I shall be your devoted wife and a true mother if God should grant us children.”

  “And you, little Odille, you have neither father nor mother left, will you have Ronan for husband, if you survive your wounds?”

  “Ronan, even if I were dead, the hope of being your wife would raise me from my grave!”

  CHAPTER X.

  COUNT AND VAGRE.

  WITH LOYSIK AND Ronan on the shoulders of their companions and little Odille in the arms of the Master of the Hounds, the Vagres and the revolted slaves hastened to reach the forest. The rear of the fleeing troop was brought up by four Vagres, panting for breath and bent down by a heavy bundle that they carried between them. It was a large coarse cloth wound around a gagged and firmly bound man, whose head was additionally wrapped in a jacket.

  “Who is that man, my brave Master of the Hounds? Do you know?” asked Ronan.

  “It is Count Neroweg, whom your father dexterously kidnapped from the very midst of the leudes with the aid of two of his comrades.”

  “Neroweg in our power! In the power of Ronan, Loysik and Karadeucq, the descendants of Schanvoch! Heaven and earth!”

  “Hello, old Karadeucq, come this way — Ronan will not believe that we kidnapped the Frankish wild-boar.”

  “Yes, my sons, that fellow whose head is concealed in a jacket, and whom our men are carrying, is Neroweg — it is my share of the booty.”

  “It is your share, Karadeucq — but we, the count’s former slaves, demand to have his skin and bones.”

  “What a pity that we have not the bishop also — the feast would be complete.”

  “The Lion of Poitiers killed the bishop.”

  “Father, are you sure that infamous bishop is dead?”

  “Yes — I saw him fall under the sword of the Lion of Poitiers. The blow almost clove him in two.”

  “But how did you manage to capture Neroweg?”

  “I kept my eyes upon you and Loysik from a distance, as you were carried towards the bridge by our Vagres who shouted: ‘Room there, room for the wounded leudes whom we have saved from the ruins.’ Mixing in, together with three other of our men, among the distracted crowd of leudes and loyal slaves, who were running about helter skelter, I suddenly saw the count running all alone at a distance, and carrying in his arms with great difficulty two heavy skin bags, probably filled with gold and silver; he was running towards a dry well. Neroweg was at that moment alone and a considerable distance away from the burning buildings. The thought struck me to seize the man. Together with two of our men I crept behind the bushes around the cistern into which the count threw one of the bags, fearing, no doubt, that their contents might be stolen from him in the general turmoil. The three of us fell upon him unawares, and threw him down; I planted both my knees upon his chest and both my hands over his mouth to keep him from crying out for help; one of our men took off his jacket, gagged Neroweg and wrapped the jacket over the Frank’s head, while our other companion tied his feet, legs and arms firmly, took a large piece of rough cloth that lay near and wound it around the seigneur count. The bridge lay not far away; we could see it from where we stood — and that is the way in which I captured my booty. We are now far enough away from the burg; the count’s voice could not be heard there. Remove the jacket from his head and the gag from his mouth. Hurrah for the Vagrery!”

  As soon as Neroweg was uncovered and ungagged Karadeucq said to him:

  “Count, your hands will remain bound, but I shall now free your legs. Will you walk to the forest with us?”

  “You mean to kill me there! Let us walk, accursed mountebank, you will see how a Frank marches with a firm step to death — you Gallic dogs, race of slaves!”

  The outskirt of the forest was reached at the peep of dawn — a flitting moment in the month of June. At the distance a ruddy glamour was seen struggling against the approaching light of day — it was the conflagration that still raged over the ruins of the burg.

  Ronan and the hermit-laborer were laid upon the grass, with little Odille seated beside them. On her knees near the young girl, the bishopess tended her wounds. The Vagres and the revolted slaves stood in a circle around. Neroweg stood pinioned, but savage and resolute of countenance — those barbarians and thieves, however cowardly in their vengeance, are, it must be admitted even by us, their enemies, endowed with a certain savage bravery — he cast an intrepid look at the Vagres. Old Karadeucq, who had preserved his vigor, looked youthed by fully twenty years. The joy of having saved his s
ons and of having Neroweg in his power seemed to impart new life to him. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were aflame, he contemplated the count with greedy looks.

  “We shall be revenged,” said Ronan, “you will be revenged, little Odille.”

  “Ronan, I ask no vengeance for myself; in our prison I often said to the good hermit-laborer: ‘If ever I should be free again, I shall not return evil for evil.’”

  “Yes, sweet child — as sweet as pardon. But you need not fear, our father will not kill that man unarmed,” answered Loysik.

  “Will he not kill him, brother? Aye, by the devil! Our father will kill the Frank as sure as he put us both to the torture, and that he beat and violated this poor child! Blood and massacre, no mercy!”

  “No, Ronan, our father will not kill a defenseless man.”

  “You are long about killing me!” put in the captured count. “What are you waiting for! And you, accursed mountebank, the chief of these bandits, why do you look at me in that way in silence?”

  “Because, Neroweg, in contemplating you as I do, I am thinking of the past. I am conjuring up family recollections in which one of your ancestors, the Terrible Eagle, is mixed.”

  “He was a great chief,” answered the Frank proudly; “he was a great King, one of the bravest warriors of my lineage. His name is still glorified in Germany — my shame remains hidden at the bottom of my grave — if you dig a grave for me, cursed dogs!”

  “It happened more than three hundred years ago; a great battle was delivered on the banks of the Rhine between the Gauls and the Franks. One of my ancestors fought with yours — the Terrible Eagle. It was a desperate struggle; it was not merely a fight between soldier and soldier, it was a conflict between two races that were fated foes! My ancestor had a presentiment that the stock of Neroweg would be fatal to ours, and he sought to kill him in order to extinguish his family. Fate willed it otherwise. Alas, my ancestor’s forebodings did not deceive him. This is the second time that our two families meet across the ages. You had my two sons put to the torture, and to-day they were to be executed upon your orders. Now you are in my power; you are about to die, and your stock will be extinct.”