Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Exterminate the Northmans, but seize the two chiefs alive. They shall serve us for hostages!”

  At the moment of this unexpected attack, Shigne and Gaëlo, the latter of whom was struck by a barbed arrow just below his armlet, were, as was their wont, standing near the helm. Both dashed forward to engage the Gauls, but the same instant that Eidiol issued the order to exterminate the pirates, a cry of glad surprise went up from the holker of the Buckler Maidens, and immediately after, these words reached the ear of the aged dean of the Skippers’ Guild:

  “Father! Father! Do not hurt these young warrior maids. Their chief has protected me. She was taking me to Paris, back to you! She is charged with a pacific mission,” and standing up in the middle of the holker, Anne the Sweet extended her arms to Eidiol.

  “Guy! Rustic! Drop your arms,” the old man cried. “Anne, my dear child, is in the vessel of the warrior maids!”

  Still under the excitement of the interrupted battle, Shigne ordered her virgins to lay down their weapons, while Anne, with her arms still extended towards Eidiol, cried out:

  “Bless this warrior maid! Oh, my father! Thanks to her I have escaped being outraged by the pirates!”

  “How sorry I am for having shot that arrow at you!” Guyrion was at the same moment saying to Gaëlo, whom he saw endeavoring to extract the arrow that had struck him in the arm. “I now recognize you, worthy pirate! It was you who opened the doors of our cells in the abbey of St. Denis!”

  Still with his cutlass in his hand and contemplating Simon, who was making wry faces while holding his hand to one side of his bleeding head, “I also regret to have cut off half the ear of this Northman, but it stuck out clean beyond his casque!” exclaimed Rustic the Gay.

  “Another meeting,” cried Simon Large-Ears, shaking his fist at Rustic, “it is that insolent tongue of yours that I mean to cut out, by the faith of Simon!”

  “Why, you are as little of a Northman as myself, honest pirate!” exclaimed Rustic as he recognized his countryman. “My regret is then only all the deeper for leaving you in so ridiculous a state. I should have clipped off both your ears. But that can still be done.”

  Simon made no answer to the renewed joke. He was kept busy stanching the flow of blood from his wound, which he washed with fresh water that he dipped up from the river with his casque, while his friend Robin Jaws tried to console him saying:

  “If we only had here some fire; I would heat the point of my sword red, and would quickly burn your wound dry.”

  Shortly after the boarding that was stopped so happily, the grappling irons of the Parisian vessel were removed. Jumping from the holker of the Buckler Maiden on board her own father’s vessel, Anne the Sweet related to him, to Guyrion and to Rustic how she had recovered her senses in the midst of the pirates who took her to Rolf just at the moment when the warrior maid stepped into the apartment; how she threw herself at Shigne’s feet; how Shigne, touched with pity, obtained from Rolf the freedom of his prisoner and took her to her own holker, where she remained in safety until the unexpected encounter with her father. Eidiol, in turn, informed Anne that, enraged at seeing her in the hands of the Northmans, and knowing from experience that they were in the habit of expediting some light craft ahead of the main fleet, he placed himself in ambush behind the breakwater of the port of Grève, determined to wreak vengeance for the death of Martha upon all the pirates whom he could seize, and to keep their chiefs alive in order to exchange them for Anne.

  The two holkers, as well as the Parisian vessel, thereupon proceeded jointly towards Paris, and disembarked all their crews upon the river bank at a little distance from the ramparts. There the Northmans were to await the return of Shigne and Gaëlo, who were charged with carrying the will of Rolf to the Count of Paris.

  At a point of the river bank whence the road led inland toward the city, which could not be entered save by one of the bridges, both of which were defended by towers, Eidiol said to Gaëlo:

  “In order to reach the palace of the Count of Paris in safety both you and your female companion should throw over your armor the hooded great-coats of two of our skippers. Your quality of messengers from Rolf might not be respected by the count’s soldiers. You are both brave. But what will bravery boot if you find yourselves two against a hundred? I shall lead you as far as the palace. Once arrived there, you can demand to see one of Rothbert’s officers and he will enable you to carry out your mission.”

  “I accept your offer, brave skipper,” answered Gaëlo after exchanging a few words in a low voice with Shigne. “I am anxious to succeed in the mission that I am charged with. We wish to arrive as promptly as possible before the count.”

  “Moreover,” added Guyrion addressing the pirate, “I see by the way you carry your arm that you suffer greatly from the wound I gave you. The iron head of my arrow has remained in the wound. Step into our house before you proceed to the palace. We shall dress your wound. Although my mother’s death is due to the Northmans, I may not forget that it was you who delivered me, together with my companions and my father, from the prison of the abbey, and that it is your friend who saved my sister from the pollution of Rolf. Our gratitude is due you.”

  “I accept your proposal,” answered the young man.

  The Beautiful Shigne and Gaëlo threw over themselves the great-coats of two of the skippers, left the river bank behind them, climbed the bluff and took the road to the bridge. Towards the north the bright glare of a fire struggled on the horizon with the light of the sinking sun. As they drew nearer to the city, an ever louder tumult struck their ears, until presently they found themselves in the midst of a mob of slaves that was hurrying under the leadership of several clericals towards the gate of the tower over the bridge, and taking to the city for safe-keeping the treasures of sanctuaries that had been set on fire by bands of revolted serfs. The docile serfs, whom the priests had in charge, bore on their backs big cases filled with corn, altar ornaments of gold and silver, statues of precious metals, massive shrines that glistened with precious stones and some of which required seven serfs to carry. The priests marched near the reliquaries, either moaning with grief, or frantically ejaculating maledictions on the invaders and their seconders, the revolted serfs. Among the serfs themselves, some joined in the lamentations of the priests, but less anxious to mount the ramparts and do battle with the Northmans, they answered the pressing urgings of the clericals with the submissive exclamation: “The will of God be done!” Within the city the emissaries of the Count of Paris were no more successful in evoking the martial ardor of the people. In vain did the count’s men gallop through the city and call out: “To arms, villeins! To arms, towns-folk! To the ramparts!” But villeins and towns-folk hurried into their own frame houses and barricaded the doors.

  After traversing several tortuous streets, Eidiol and his suite arrived at the door of the skipper’s house. Guyrion opened it, and Gaëlo, Shigne, Rustic, Anne and her father were speedily gathered together in the apartment on the lower floor, whose shutters they prudently closed.

  “Light a lamp, sister,” said Guyrion, “and let me have a cup with water, some lint and oil;” and addressing Gaëlo, while Anne fetched the materials required for dressing the Northman’s wound, “roll up your armlet; I shall extract the arrowhead; after the wound is washed with cold water and covered with lint saturated in aromatic oil, you will feel relieved.”

  Gaëlo removed his armor, rolled up the sleeve of his reindeer jacket, and left his bleeding arm bare. In himself trying to extract the arrow from his wound, the pirate had broken the shaft, leaving the sharp arrowhead imbedded under the flesh. The operation of extraction was thereby rendered more difficult. Nevertheless, Eidiol succeeded in taking hold of a portion of the shaft that still obtruded above the flesh, and by dint of no little dexterity finally drew out the arrowhead itself. Greatly pained during the operation, Gaëlo felt relieved when the missile was at last extracted. Before placing the lint on the wound, the old skipper moistened a
piece of cloth in water and was about to wash away the clotted blood that covered almost all the upper arm, when he uttered a cry of surprise, took a step back, gazed anxiously upon Gaëlo and exclaimed with intense curiosity:

  “Who burnt into your arm these two Gallic words: ‘Brenn — Karnak’ — that I see here? Speak, young man!”

  “My father; he burnt the inscription into my arm shortly after my birth.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “He, as well as my mother, are dead.”

  “He surely was not of the Northman race?”

  “No, although he was born in their country, and always went to battle with them. He was of the Gallic race—”

  “In what year did your father’s father go to live among the Northmans?”

  “Towards the middle of the last century.”

  “Was that not after a fresh and violent insurrection broke out in Brittany, when the Bretons, in order to make a head against the Franks, applied for aid from the Northmans, who happened to have their camp at the mouth of the Loire?”

  “Yes,” answered Gaëlo. “But how come you to know all that? Who told you of it?”

  “What were the circumstances that induced your grandfather to join the Northmans?”

  “After the fresh insurrection of Armorica, which at first bade fair to succeed, dissensions broke out among the Breton chiefs. Even my grandfather’s family was divided. In the course of a violent altercation with one of his brothers, the two drew their swords. Wounded in that fratricidal duel, my grandfather left Brittany forever, and embarked with a troop of Northmans who were just then setting sail at the mouth of the Loire to return to Denmark, where my father and myself were born.”

  “Your grandfather’s name was Ewrag,” Eidiol proceeded with increasing emotion; “he was the son of Vortigern, one of the most valiant companions-in-arms of Morvan, who heroically resisted the arms of Louis the Pious on the moor of Kennor, the marsh of Peulven and across the defiles of Armorica. Vortigern’s grandfather was Amael, who lived to be more than a hundred years, declined to be the jailor of the last descendant of Clovis, and was one of the chiefs of the bands of Charles Martel, the ancestor of Charles the Great, whose descendant reigns to-day under the name of Charles the Simple.”

  “Old man!” cried Gaëlo, “who could have informed you so accurately on the history of my family?”

  “Your family is mine,” answered Eidiol, over whose eyes the film of a tear was gathering. “I am a descendant of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. My grandfather was your grandfather’s brother. That is our kinship.”

  “What say you?” cried Gaëlo. “Are you really of Joel’s stock, like myself? Are we of the same family?”

  “These words, which your father traced on your arm as a sign of identification, are carried by me also, as well as by my son and my daughter, obedient to the recommendation of Ronan the Vagre, one of our joint ancestors who lived in the days of Queen Brunhild.”

  “We are relatives!” cried Anne and Guyrion in chorus, drawing near to Gaëlo, while Shigne and Rustic listened with redoubled interest to the conversation between the old skipper and Gaëlo.

  “We are relatives!” repeated Gaëlo looking alternately from Eidiol to Anne and Guyrion, and turning to the warrior maid he proceeded: “Shigne, I am doubly grateful to you; the young girl so magnanimously saved by you happens to be my own relative.”

  “She shall be like a sister to me,” answered the Buckler Maiden in her grave and sonorous voice. “My sword will ever be ready in her defense.”

  “And in default of your sword, fair heroine,” put in Rustic, “my two arms joined to those of Master Eidiol and of my friend Guyrion will ever protect Anne the Sweet, although it unfortunately happened that all our three pairs of arms proved insufficient to defend the poor child from Rolf.”

  “Good father,” Gaëlo said to Eidiol, “please tell me for what reason you left Brittany.”

  “Your grandfather, Ewrag, had two brothers, like himself, the sons of Vortigern. When, on the occasion of the fatal dissension that you spoke of, Ewrag quitted Brittany to settle down in the country of the Northmans, his two brothers, Rosneven and Gomer, the latter of whom was my grandfather, continued to live at the cradle of our family, near the sacred stones of Karnak. Nominoë, Judicaël, Allan Strong-Beard were successively elected the chiefs of Armorica. More than once during that time did the Franks invade and ravage our country, but they never were able to establish their conquest as firmly as they succeeded in doing in the other regions of Gaul. The druid influence long kept alive among our people an inveterate hatred for the foreigner. Unhappily, the perfidious counsels of the Christian priests, coupled with the example set by the Frankish seigneurs, who had gradually become by the right of conquest the hereditary masters of both the land and the peoples of Gaul, at last had their fatal effect upon the Breton chiefs themselves. Originally elected by the free suffrage of the people, as was the ancient Gallic custom, and chosen by reason of their bravery, wisdom and patriotism, these chiefs sought to render their office hereditary in their own families, in imitation of the seigneurs all over Gaul. The Christian priests joined the Breton chiefs in their iniquitous scheme, and ordered the people to submit to these new masters, as they had ordered them to submit to Clovis and his leudes. By little and little Brittany lost her old franchises. The chiefs, one time elective and temporary, now having become hereditary and autocratic with the assistance of the clergy, stripped the Breton people of almost all their rights. Nevertheless, until now they have not degraded them to the point of treating them as slaves or serfs. Of the two brothers of your grandfather, one, Gomer, my own grandfather, saw the gradual debasement of Brittany with grief and indignation. Gomer was a mariner. His home being in Vannes, like Albinik’s, one of our ancestors, he often made trips to England and also carried cargoes as far south as the mouths of the Somme and the Seine. On one occasion he ascended the river as far as Paris. His trade of mariner brought him in contact with the dean of the Skippers’ Guild of Paris, who had a pretty and bright daughter. My grandfather married her. My father was born of that union. He also became a skipper. His life was spent amidst the ordinary trials of our people, good and evil successively alternating. I followed the same trade. My life has until now been as happy as it is possible to be in these disturbed times. Only two misfortunes have so far befallen me: the death of Martha, whom I lost yesterday, and, about thirty years ago, the disappearance of a daughter, the first born of all my children. Her name was Jeanike.”

  “And how did she come to disappear?”

  “My wife, being sick at the time, confided the child to one of our neighbors for a walk outside of the city. We never saw her again, neither her nor the neighbor.”

  “Fortunately the children that are left to you must have alleviated your grief,” remarked Gaëlo. “But tell me, good father, did you ever have any tidings from the branch of our family that remained in Brittany?”

  “I learned from a traveler that the tyranny of the Breton seigneurs rested ever heavier upon the people of Armorica, and that they are now wholly ridden by the priests.”

  “Eidiol,” said Gaëlo picking up the iron arrowhead which the old man dropped on the floor after it was extracted from the arm of the young pirate, “preserve this iron arrowhead. It will increase the number of the relics of our family. Should you ever meet again those of our relatives, who, perhaps, still live in Brittany, and who may have preserved the legends left by our ancestors, add this relic to the others together with the legend of our own times—”

  Gaëlo was interrupted by a great noise on the street that seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer. Presently the tramp of horses and clanking of arms were distinguished. Rustic ran to open the upper panel of the door, looked out, and turning to those within announced in a low voice:

  “It is Count Rothbert passing with his men, accompanied by the Archbishop of Rouen. He is no doubt coming back from the ramparts and is returning to his castle.”


  “Good father,” said Gaëlo gravely, and rolling down his armlet, “you promised to accompany me and my companion to the palace of the Count of Paris. Come; time presses. I am in a hurry to fulfil the singular mission that has brought me to the city.”

  “What mission is that?”

  “The Beautiful Shigne is to notify the count that Rolf, the Northman pirate chieftain, demands Ghisèle, the daughter of Charles the Simple, King of the French, for his wife; and I am to notify him that Rolf demands Neustria for his dower.”

  Eidiol remained for a moment mute with stupor, and then cried out: “Such is the termination of royal stocks! One of the descendants of Joel declined to be the jailor of the last descendant of Clovis, and now another descendant of Joel is commissioned to notify the successor of Charles the Great that his daughter is demanded from him by an old pirate, soiled with all manner of crimes, and to boot, one of the most beautiful of the few provinces still left to the King!”

  A few minutes later the Beautiful Shigne and Gaëlo, having again thrown the hooded great-coats of two of the Parisian mariners over their own casques and armor, marched under the guidance of Eidiol to the castle of Count Rothbert, in order to carry to him the message of old Rolf.