by Eugène Sue
Chrotechilde led away the children, and the Queen remained alone with the mayor of the palace of Burgundy, a man of tall stature, and face cold, impenetrable, resolute. He wore a rich steel armor trimmed with gold after the Roman fashion. His long sword hung from his side, his long dagger was in his belt. After attaching a long and scrutinizing look upon Warnachaire who, however, remained impassible, Brunhild motioned him to a seat near the table, and let herself down into one opposite, saying:
“What tidings do you bring?”
“Good — and bad, madam—”
“First the bad.”
“The treason of Dukes Arnolfe and Pepin, as well as the defection of several great seigneurs of Austrasia, is no longer a matter of doubt. They have deserted our colors and passed over to the camp of Clotaire II with all their men; they are now preparing to march against your army.”
“I have long expected their treason. Oh, seigneurs, enriched and made powerful by the bounty of the Kings, you are yet able to carry ingratitude to such lengths! Very well! I prefer open war to subterraneous manoeuvres. The domains, Salic lands and benefices of the traitors will all return to my fisc. Proceed.”
“Clotaire II raised his camp at Andernach, and has penetrated to the heart of Austrasia. Being summoned to respect the kingdoms of his nephews, whose guardian you are, he answered that he would submit only to the judgment of the grandees of Austrasia and of Burgundy themselves.”
“Fredegonde’s son expects to raise the people and seigneurs of my kingdoms in rebellion against me. He deceives himself. Prompt and terrible examples will terrify all would-be traitors.”
“Well said, madam!”
“All the traitors — whatever their rank may be, whatever their power, whatever the mask that they assume! Do you hear, Warnachaire, mayor of the palace of Burgundy?”
“I hear even what you do not say to me — but I bow before my Queen.”
“Do you read my thoughts?”
“You take me for a traitor. You consider me your enemy, especially since your recent return from Worms.”
“I am on my guard against everybody.”
“Your suspicions, madam, have become certitude. You told Aimoin, one of our men, to stab me to death.”
“I order only my enemies to be despatched.”
“Accordingly, I am an enemy to you, madam, at least you look upon me as such. Here are the fragments of the letter, written in your own hand, and ordering Aimoin to kill me.”
And the duke deposited several fragments of parchment upon the table; the Queen looked defiantly at the mayor of the palace.
“Did Aimoin give you that letter?”
“No, madam; accident placed these fragments into my hands.”
“And yet you return to the palace?”
“In order to prove to you the injustice of your suspicions; that is the reason I have returned to the place where you are sovereign.”
“Or perhaps you come to betray me.”
“Madam, if I had wished to betray you, I would have repaired, as so many other seigneurs of Burgundy have done, not hither, but to the camp of Clotaire II. I would have placed your grandson as a hostage in his hands, and I would have remained in your enemy’s camp, together with the tribes that I brought with me from Germany.”
“Those tribes are devoted to my interests; they would have refused to follow you; they have come for the purpose of reinforcing my army.”
“Those tribes, madam, have come for the purpose of pillage, and little do they care whether they be indulged as auxiliaries of Brunhild or of Clotaire II, whether it be against the country of Soissons, of Burgundy or of Austrasia. These Franks have no predilections, provided only that, after they shall have fought bravely and helped in winning the victory, they will be free to ravage the vanquished country, gather a large booty, and lead numerous slaves back with them to the other side of the Rhine — such are the Franks whom I have brought.”
“And I tell you that the sight of my grandson, the infant King, asking through your mouth the assistance of the Germans, interested the barbarians in his cause, and secured the success of your mission.”
“Had you not expressly promised the Franks the pillage of the vanquished territories, they would have remained unaffected by the youth of Sigebert; they are as savage as were our fathers, the first companions of Clovis. It was with no little trouble that I succeeded in preventing them from ravaging all the districts that we traversed on our route; in their impatience of savages they imagined themselves already in vanquished territory. Every day their chiefs called upon me at the top of their voices to deliver battle, in order that they might begin the plundering and return laden with booty to Germany, before the winter season sets in.”
“Where are the Franks now?”
“I left them near Montsarran.”
“Why so far from Chalon?”
“Despite all I could do to prevent it, those savages killed and stole on their passage. To bring them here to the center of Burgundy, and then send them out again in some other direction, according as the requirements of the war may demand or the facilities for provisioning may require, would be to expose the territories that may have to be traversed to untold and unnecessary disasters. Such afflictions may fan the spark of rebellion among our people — because, as you know, madam, the people are growing restive even on this side of the frontier of Burgundy.”
“Yes — at the instigation of the traitors who have gone over to Fredegonde’s son, there are some seigneurs who are seeking to raise the people in rebellion against me — against the ‘Romish Woman,’ as they call me. Oh, seigneurs and people will feel the weight of Brunhild’s arm!”
“The enemies of Brunhild will always tremble before her; nevertheless, I fear to increase their number by exposing our people to be victimized by the barbarism of our new allies. I doubt not that the territory where I have had those troops encamp will be laid waste, but the evil effect of their conduct will be at least limited to the spot. Moreover, the location is central enough to enable us to expedite these auxiliaries in whatever direction the movements of Clotaire II may render necessary. As you see, I have acted with foresight.”
“What is the temper of the army?”
“It is full of ardor; it only asks to be led to battle. The remembrance of the last two victories of Toul and Tolbiac, above all, of the immense booty, the large number of slaves that the troops carried away — all that fires them with the desire to fight the son of Fredegonde. These, madam, are the good tidings that counterbalance the evil ones. Is Brunhild still of the opinion that Warnachaire has conducted himself like a traitor, and does she still entertain the idea of having him stabbed to death?”
“A man whom one has sought to do away with, who learns the fact, and who still comes back — Oh, Warnachaire, that needs careful attention!”
“Brunhild is quick to suspect and to punish, but she is magnificent towards those who serve her faithfully.”
“You have, then, a favor to ask of me?”
“Yes, madam; but only after the war is ended, or, rather, I expect it after the victory that I shall win over Clotaire II, when I deliver him to you tied hands and feet.”
“Warnachaire!” cried the Queen thrilling with wild delight at the thought of having Fredegonde’s son in her power; “if you deliver Clotaire a prisoner in my hands, I shall challenge you to express a wish that Brunhild will not gratify, and—” but recollecting herself, she suddenly stopped short, cast a somber, scrutinizing glance at the mayor of the palace and proceeded: “Can it be your purpose to spread a snare for me and lull my suspicions? Warnachaire, if your purpose is to betray me—”
“Madam, you look upon me as a traitor. If you but ring that bell, instantly your chamberlains and equerries will rush in and kill me before your very eyes. So that you may consider me dead. But who is the man whom you do not suspect? Whom will you take for your general? Duke Alethee, perchance, or Duke Roccon?”
“No! Neither the one nor th
e other!”
“Sigowald, perhaps?”
“You are mocking! He is my personal enemy.”
“Perhaps Eubelan?”
“I have not yet forgotten his criminal relations with Arnolfe and Pepin — the two traitors! He no doubt is considering how to follow their example, and to go over to the enemy. No; I will not trust Eubelan! He also is an enemy.”
“Yet, madam, they are all capable of captaining the army; they are all experienced and brave chiefs.”
“Yes, but I have not proposed to kill them — at least they do not know that I had any such intention — while, as to you, I have ordered your death, and what is more to the purpose, you are aware of it.”
“You think me animated with a sentiment of revenge towards you because I know that you meant to have me stabbed to death. If it is the hope of vengeance that has brought me back to you, what is there to prevent me from laying my hand upon this bell, and depriving you of the means to give the alarm?”
And the duke did what he said.
“What prevents me from drawing this dagger?”
And the duke held the glistening weapon before the eyes of Brunhild, whose first impulse was to throw herself back and her arms forward.
“What, in short, prevents me from killing you with one blow of this dagger, which is poisoned as were the daggers of Fredegonde’s pages?”
And as he uttered these words, Warnachaire drew so close to Brunhild that he could strike her before she was able to utter a single cry. Excepting a first movement of surprise, the Queen did not even wink her eyes; her indomitable orbs remained resolutely fixed upon those of the mayor of the palace. With a look of disdain she pushed aside the dagger’s blade, remained pensive for an instant, and then observed regretfully:
“One is bound to put faith in something. You could have killed me — that is true; you have not done so — I can not deny the fact. Your purpose is not to take revenge upon me — unless you mean to reserve me for a fate more terrible than death. But that is not likely. The man who hates does not resort to such hazardous and refined schemes. The future belongs to none. If the opportunity offers to strike an enemy, the blow is dealt hard and firmly. I therefore conclude that you are not animated by secret hatred toward me. You shall keep the command of the army. Listen, Warnachaire, Brunhild is implacable in her suspicions and her hatred, but she is magnificent towards those who serve her faithfully. Let Fredegonde’s son fall into my hands, and my favor will transcend your expectations. Let us forget the past, let us be friends.”
“The past is forgotten, madam, as far as I am concerned.”
“Now let us argue calmly, Warnachaire. Let us sift things to the bottom. I did mean to have you killed — that is true! I have had so many others killed! But it never was out of taste for blood. My sister Galeswinthe was killed, my husband was killed, my son was killed, my most faithful servants were killed. Single-handed have I been compelled to defend the kingdom of my son and grandsons against the kings who are bent upon my destruction. Whatever weapon was available was good to me; and after all, I have won brilliant victories, I have accomplished great things. All this notwithstanding I am hated; the Frankish seigneurs envy me; the vile Gallic plebs, whether slave or free, is silently resentful towards me, and would rebel if it were not curbed by the terror I inspire it with. But look! Look at that man! Who is he?” cried Brunhild breaking off her sentence in the middle, and, precipitately rising, she pointed at Loysik, who stood at the door connecting with the secret spiral staircase, and who was pushing aside with one arm the leather curtain that had until then hid him from the eyes of the Queen and the mayor of the palace of Burgundy. Warnachaire took a few steps towards the aged hermit laborer, who advanced slowly into the chamber, and said to him:
“Monk, how come you here? Great is your audacity to dare to introduce yourself into the Queen’s apartment — who are you?”
“I am the superior of the monastery of the Valley of Charolles.”
“You lie!” broke in Brunhild. “One of my chamberlains is at the abbey at this hour to seize the superior, and bring him to me in irons.”
“Your chamberlain,” replied the monk, “your chamberlain, together with the archdeacon and all their armed men, is at this hour a prisoner in the monastery.”
To announce such news, no less improbable than offensive to the pride of Brunhild; to announce it to that implacable woman, and thus to expose himself to certain death — the action seemed so exorbitant that the Queen did not believe the monk’s words; she shrugged her shoulders with a look of disdainful pity, and said to the major of the palace:
“Duke, that old man is out of his senses. But how did he contrive to enter the palace?”
Other circumstances soon combined to confirm Brunhild’s belief in the monk’s insanity. Loysik had continued to advance slowly towards the Queen, but despite his spirit’s firmness, of which he had given so many a proof during his long life, in the measure that he drew nearer to the horror-inspiring woman, his self-possession gradually forsook him, his mind became troubled, he felt his knees trembling under him, and he was constrained to lean against an ivory stand that was within his reach. The profound, unconquerable emotion was caused by the horror that the Queen inspired in the venerable monk, together with the consciousness of the terrible position in which he found himself.
With his head drooping upon his chest, he sought to collect himself and to gather his thoughts. His eyes wandered over the medal-case that lay upon the ivory stand against which he leaned. The large bronze medal that lay among the others drew to itself the monk’s attention all the more readily, seeing that it was the only one of a vulgar metal, all the others being of either gold or silver. At first Loysik contemplated it mechanically, but being presently attracted towards it by an undefinable interest, he stooped over, looked at it more closely, approached his head nearer in order better to see the imprint, and deciphered the inscription that was under the august profile, that seemed to stand out lustrous from the bronze. A thrill ran over the frame of the aged man; a sudden, an extraordinary feeling seized him, a feeling in which enthusiasm, stupor and hope were mingled into one. The confusion into which his mind was thrown an instant before ceased; he felt reassured and strengthened as if he had encountered a support as unexpected as it was powerful; in short, it seemed to him a providential circumstance to encounter — the image of Victoria in the palace of Brunhild.
Loysik had bent down in order to contemplate more closely the features of the Gallic heroine; as he recognized them, he bowed a knee and stretching his arms towards the august effigy, he murmured:
“O, Victoria — holy woman-warrior in behalf of Gaul! Your presence in this horrid place fortifies my soul; it seems to impart to me the necessary strength to save the descendants of Schanvoch, of the faithful soldier whom you called your brother, and who was one of my ancestors!”
CHAPTER V.
LOYSIK AND BRUNHILD.
ASTONISHED AT THE oddity of the appearance and conduct of the old monk, Brunhild and Warnachaire now followed him with their eyes, now looked at each other in silence during the short instants that Loysik recognized and contemplated the image of Victoria. More and more convinced that the monk was out of his mind, the Queen lost all patience, stamped with her foot on the floor and cried:
“Duke, call in my pages; let them drive out of this room with their switches this crazy man who pretends to be the abbot of the monastery of Charolles, and who kneels before my antique medals.”
Brunhild was still issuing these orders when one of the pages entered by the door that connected with the large hall, and bending a knee said to her:
“Glorious Queen, a messenger has just arrived from the army; he brings pressing despatches for seigneur Warnachaire.”
“That is of greater importance, duke. Receive the messenger and return quickly to inform me of the tidings that he brings;” and then, addressing the page and pointing to Loysik, who, with head erect and firm steps was now advanci
ng toward her, she proceeded: “Fetch in some of your assistants and drive out that dotard with your switches; the loss of his senses saves him from a more severe punishment.” Saying this, the Queen rose from her seat, and stepping towards her bedchamber, once more urged the mayor of the palace: “Warnachaire, return as soon as possible and let me know what tidings the messenger bears. You will read me the despatches.”
“I shall go, madam, and receive him instantly. But what of this crazy man? What is to be done with him?”
“Leave that to my pages!”
The mayor of the palace withdrew. Through the door, left open by him, and without stepping out of the apartment, the page called out to several of his companions who stood in waiting in the contiguous hall. Loysik, on his part, seeing that, without taking any more notice of him than of an insane man, the Queen was returning to her bedchamber, ran towards Brunhild, and holding before her a parchment scroll that he drew from his robe, said to her in a firm and collected voice:
“I am not crazy. This charter signed by the late King Clotaire will prove to you that I am the superior of the monastery of Charolles, where your chamberlain and his soldiers are, at this hour, retained prisoners by my orders.”
“Loysik!” exclaimed one of the young pages who entered the apartment in response to the call of their companion. “Brother Loysik here?”
“What! This monk!” cried Brunhild stupefied. “Is he Loysik, the abbot of the monastery of Charolles?”
“Yes, glorious Queen. He is the venerable abbot.”
“How come you to know him?”
“He was pointed out to me at the last slave market. The worthy abbot was buying slaves to set them free. I saw him again this morning crossing one of the courtyards of the palace in the company of Samuel and two young girls.”
For a moment Brunhild remained thoughtful, and then ordering the other pages out of the chamber with a wafture of her hand she addressed the one who had first come in.
“Go to Pog and tell him to get himself and his assistants ready in the cave. Let him light his fires and wait for further orders.”
