The Poniard's Hilt; Or, Karadeucq and Ronan. A Tale of Bagauders and Vagres

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER IX.

  LOYSIK AND RONAN.

  Wrapped in silence the hermit-laborer had listened to the conversationof the Vagres. Seated beside little Odille, he seemed to shield her witha paternal protection. The child seemed a stranger to what happenedaround her. When at the close of the repast Ronan gave his companionsthe signal for the songs and dance, they ran away tumultuously from theplace of the recent banquet to give a loose to their bacchic gayety andindulge in a giddy dance on the sward of another and nearby clearing.

  Approaching the hermit-laborer and the little girl, both of whom hadkept their places as they gazed up at the sky, Ronan said to her in amerry voice:

  "Will you dance, little Odille? The reel is started; it will last untildawn."

  The young girl shook her head melancholically, made no answer, andcontinued to gaze at the sky.

  "Odille, what is it you are dreaming about as you gaze at the moon?Whither do your thoughts fly, my child?"

  "Sleep is overpowering me, and my thoughts are running over an old druidchant that my mother used to sing to me, to rock me asleep when I waslittle."

  "What chant was that?"

  "Oh! It is old, very, very old--my mother used to tell me. It has beensung in Gaul for over five or six hundred years."

  "And what is its name?"

  "The chant of Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen."

  "The chant of Hena!" cried the Vagre and the hermit simultaneously witha tremor of delight.

  Both grew immediately silent, while Odille, astonished at their visibleemotion, looked from the one to the other, and asked:

  "You also seem to know the chant of Hena?"

  "Sing it, my child," answered Ronan in a tremulous voice.

  More and more astonished, little Odille was hardly able to recognize herfriend. The dare-devil and merry Vagre had become pensive and grave.

  "Yes, yes, my child! Recite that chant to us with your sweet voice offifteen years," put in the hermit. "But not here--the dance and yonderwild carousal, although far enough away, would drown your voice--"

  "The hermit is right. Come with us, little Odille, to yonder large oak.It will be far enough away from the dancers. It is surrounded by a softmoss carpet. You will be able to sleep there. I shall cover you up withmy cloak to protect you from the damp."

  From the foot of the oak tree where the girl took her seat between Ronanand the hermit, only the dim noise was heard of the giddy dance andsongs of Ronan's companions, the Vagres and Vagresses. The moon, now onher decline, shed her silvery rays under the somber verdure of theleaves and lighted the hermit, Ronan and the young slave as if the sunshone through the trees. The child-like voice of Odille was soon heardstriking up the first couplet of the chant:

  "She was young, she was fair, and holy was she; Hena her name, Hena themaid of the Island of Sen."

  At these words both the hermit and the Vagre lowered their heads, andwithout noticing the tears that the other was shedding, both wept.Odille sang the second couplet, but broken with the fatigue of the lasttwenty-four hours, and yielding to the influence of the chant'smelancholy rhythm, that so often had lulled and rocked her to sleep onher mother's knees, the little slave's voice became fainter and fainter,while, at the distance the Vagres suddenly struck up in chorus and withresonant voices the refrain of another ancient chant of Gaul. Theselatter accents sent a new thrill through the frames of Ronan and thehermit. Without wholly drowning Odille's voice, the words reached theirears:

  "Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"

  The two men seemed struck with the singular coincidence: at a distance,the chant of revolt, of war and blood; close to them, the girl's angelicvoice, singing the praises of Hena, one of the sweetest glories ofArmorican Gaul. Presently, however, as Odille yielded more and more tothe gentle pressure of slumber, her voice was heard ever fainter untilfrom a murmur, it became hardly audible. The girl's head drooped on herbreast, and with her back sustained by the trunk of the tree she fellinto profound sleep.

  "Poor child!" said Ronan as he covered her with his cloak. "She isovercome with fatigue. May her sleep give her rest and strength!"

  "Ronan," observed the hermit fastening a penetrating look upon theVagre, "the chant of Hena made you weep--"

  "It is true, good hermit."

  "What is the reason of such emotion?"

  "A family remembrance--if a Vagre, a 'Wand'ring Man,' a 'Wolf,' a'Wolf's-Head' can be at all said to have a family--"

  "And what is that family remembrance?"

  "The sweet Hena, to whom the chant refers, was one of my ancestresses."

  "How do you know that?"

  "My father often told me so; in my childhood he used to relate to me thehistories of olden days, of centuries ago."

  "Where is your father now?"

  "I do not know. He used to run the Bagaudy, perhaps he now runs theVagrery, unless he has died the brave death of a brave man. I do notexpect to be enlightened upon that until he and I meet againelsewhere--"

  "Where?"

  "In those mysterious worlds that none knows and that we shall allknow--seeing that we shall all continue to live there--"

  "You have, then, preserved the faith of our ancestors?"

  "My father taught me that to die was to change vestments, because weleave this world to be re-born in yonder ones. Death is but atransformation."

  "Is it long since you were separated from your father?"

  "Let us drop that subject--it is a sad one. I prefer to keep up acheerful mood. And yet, I feel drawn towards you, although you are notcheerful--"

  "We live in days when, in order to be cheerful, one's soul must beeither very weak or very strong."

  "Do you think me weak?"

  "I think you are both strong and weak. But as to your father--what hasbecome of him?"

  "Well, my father was a Bagauder in his youth; later, after the Frankschristened us 'Vagres,' he became a Vagre. The name was changed, thepursuit remained the same."

  "And your mother?"

  "In Vagrery one knows but little of his mother. I never knew mine. Thefurthest back that I can carry my memory, I must have been seven oreight years old. I then accompanied my father in his raids, now inProvence, and now here in Auvergne. If I was tired of foot, either myfather or one of his companions carried me on his back. It is thus thatI grew up. We often had days of enforced rest. Sometimes the Frankishcounts were so exasperated at us that they gathered their leudes andhunted us. Informed of their movements by the poor folks of the fieldswho loved us dearly, we would then retire to our inaccessiblefastnesses, and there lie low for several days while the Franks beat thefield without encountering even the shadow of a Vagre. At such intervalsof rest in the seclusion of some solitary retreat, my father used tonarrate to me, as I told you, the histories of olden days. Thus Ilearned that our family originated in Britanny, where the main stocklived and perhaps still lives to this very hour, free and in peace,seeing that the Franks have never yet been able to place their yoke uponthat rugged province--its granite rocks are too hard, and its Bretonsare like the granite of its rocks."

  "I know the saying: 'He is intractable as an Armorican.'"

  "My father often used the saying."

  "But what induced him to leave that peaceful province, that still enjoysthe boon of freedom, thanks to the indomitable bravery that continues touphold the druid faith, which the evangelical morality of the youngmaster of Nazareth has regenerated?"

  "My father was about seventeen years of age when one day his familyextended hospitality to a peddler during a stormy night. The peddler'strade took him all over Gaul; he knew and he told them of the country'strials; he also spoke of the life of adventure led by the Bagauders. Myfather was tired of the life of the fields; his heart was warm, and fromhis cradle he had drunk in the hatred for the Franks. Struck by thepeddler's account, he considered the opportunity good for waging warupon the barbarians by joining the Bagauders.
He left the paternal roofand joined the peddler by appointment about a league away. After a fewdays' march the two reached Anjou and met a troop of Bagauders. Young,robust and daring, my father was an acceptable recruit. He joined theband, and--long live the Bagaudy! Raiding from province to province, hecame as far as Auvergne, which he never left. The country was favorablefor his pursuit--forests, mountains, rocks, caverns, torrents, extinctvolcanos! It is the paradise of the Bagaudy, the promised land of theVagrery!"

  "How came you to be separated from your father?"

  "It was about three years ago--agents of the king, they were called_antrustions_, collected the revenues of the royal domain. They werenumerous, well armed, and traveled only by day. We were waiting for theend of their reaping to gather in our harvest. One night they halted atSifour, a little unprotected village. The opportunity tempted my father.We sallied forth believing that we would take the Franks by surprise.They were on their guard. After a bloody encounter we had to flee beforethe Frankish lances that followed us in hot pursuit. I was separatedfrom my father during that midnight affray. Was he killed or was hemerely wounded and taken prisoner I do not know. All my efforts toascertain his fate have been vain. Since then my companions elected metheir chief. You wanted to know my history--I have told it to you. Younow know it."

  "You have told me more than you think for. Your father's name wasKaradeucq."

  "How do you know that?"

  "The name of your father's father was Jocelyn. If he still lives inBritanny with his elder son Kervan and his daughter Roselyk, he must beinhabiting a house near the sacred stones of Karnak--"

  "Who told you--"

  "One of your ancestors was named Joel; he was the brenn of the tribe ofKarnak. Hena, the saint sung about in the druid chant, was the daughterof Joel, whose family traces its origin back to the Gallic brenn, whomthe Romans called Brennus, and who, nearly eight hundred years ago, madethem pay ransom for Rome."

  "Who are you that you know the history of my family so accurately?"

  "That chant of the slaves in revolt against the Romans--'Flow, flow,thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!'--was sung byone of your ancestors named Sylvest, who was cast to the wild beasts inthe circus of Orange. And I imagine that your father taught you anotherthrilling chant, one sung two hundred and odd years ago, on the occasionof one of the great battles fought on the Rhine against the Franks, andwon by Victorin, the son of Victoria, the Mother of the Camps--"

  "You are right--often did my father sing that chant to me. It began thiswise:

  "'This morning we said: How many are there of these barbarous hordes?How many are there of these Franks?'"

  "And it closed this wise," replied the monk:

  "'This evening we say: How many were there of these barbarous hordes?This evening we say: How many were there of these Franks?'"

  "Schanvoch, another of your ancestors, a brave soldier andfoster-brother of Victoria the Great, sang that song--"

  "Yes, Gaul, on that day proud, free and triumphant, had just driven thebarbarians from both banks of the Rhine, while, to-day--but let us dropthat topic, monk; if those days were glorious, the present ones seem tome all the more horrible. Oh! blameworthy was the credulity of ourfathers, martyrs to this new religion--"

  "Our fathers could not choose but place faith in the words of the firstapostles, who preached to them love for their fellow men, the pardon ofsins, the deliverance of the slaves, in the name of the young master ofNazareth, whom your ancestress Genevieve saw crucified in Jerusalem--"

  "My ancestress Genevieve? You seem to be informed on every particulardetail concerning my family. Only my father could have instructed you onsuch matters--you must have known him! Answer me!"

  "Yes, I knew your father. Did you never notice, after you entered theheart of Auvergne, that from time to time your father absented himselffor several days?"

  "Yes, he did--I never knew the reason."

  "Your father, each such time, went to visit a poor female slave nearTulle. She was bound to the glebe of the bishop of that city. Thatfemale slave, it is now at least thirty years ago, one day found yourfather Karadeucq, who was then the chief of the Bagauders, wounded andin a dying condition in a hedge along the road. She took pity upon him;she helped him to drag himself to the hut which she inhabited with hermother. Your father was then about twenty years of age--the young femaleslave was of about the age of that child who is asleep near us. The twoloved each other. Shortly after he was well again, your father was oneday discovered in the slave's hut by the bishop's superintendent. Theman considered Karadeucq a good prize and sought to take him as a slaveto Tulle. Your father resisted, beat the agent, and fled and rejoinedthe Bagauders. The young slave became a mother--she gave birth to ason--"

  "I then have a brother!"

  "The son of a female slave is born a slave and belongs to his mother'smaster. When the boy, whom your father named Loysik in remembrance ofhis Breton extraction, was four or five years old, the bishop of Tulle,who had noticed in the child certain precocious qualities, had him takento the episcopal college, where he was brought up with several otheryoung slaves who were all to become clerks of the Church. From time totime Karadeucq went at night to visit the mother of his son at Tulle.The boy being always notified in advance by his mother, always foundsome means of repairing to his mother's hut on such occasions. There thefather and the son held long conversations concerning the men and thingsof the olden days of Gaul when the country was glorious and free. Yourfather preserved as a family tradition an ardent and sacred love forGaul. He strove to cause his son's heart to beat proudly at the grandrecollections of the past, to exasperate him against the Franks, andsome day to take him along to run the Vagrery with him. But Loysik, whowas of a quiet and rather retiring disposition, feared such anadventurous life. Years passed. Had your brother so desired, he couldhave won honors and riches, as so many others did, by consecratinghimself to the Church. But shortly before being ordained a priest, hehad the opportunity of gaining so close a view of the clericalhypocrisy, cupidity and profligacy, that he declined to enter priesthoodand he cursed the sacrilegious alliance of the Gallic clergy with theconquerors. He left the episcopal house and went to the frontier ofProvence, where he joined the hermit-laborers. He was previouslyacquainted with one of their set, who had stopped for several weeks atthe episcopal alms-house for his cure."

  "Did the hermit-laborers establish a colony?"

  "Several of them gathered in a secluded spot to cultivate the lands thathad been laid waste and were abandoned since the conquest. They wereplain and good men, faithful to the recollections of old Gaul and to theprecepts of the gospels. Those monks lived in celibacy, but took novows. They remained lay, and had no clerical character. It is only sincerecent years that most of those monks have begun entering the Church.But having become priests, they are daily losing the popular esteem thatthey once enjoyed, and the independence of character that rendered themso redoubtable to the bishops. At the time that I am speaking of, thelife of those hermit-laborers was peaceful and industrious. They livedlike brothers, obedient to the precepts of Jesus; they cultivated theirlands in common; and they jointly and forcibly defended them wheneversome band of Franks, on the way from some burg to another, took it intotheir heads, out of sheer wantonness, to injure the fields or crops ofthe monks--"

  "I must say that I love those hermits, who are at once husbandmen andsoldiers, who are faithful to the precepts of Jesus, to the love for oldGaul, and to horror for the Franks. You say that those monks foughtwell--were they armed?"

  "They had arms--and better than arms. See here," said the hermit drawingfrom under his robe a species of short sword or long poniard with aniron hilt; "observe this weapon carefully. Its strength does not lie inits blade but in the words engraven on the hilt."

  "I see," said Ronan, "on one of the sides of the guard, the word _ghilde_,and on the other side two Gallic words--_friendship_--_community_. Isuppose these are the device of the hermit-laborers?
But what does theword _ghilde_ mean? That is not a Gallic word. It is unknown to me."

  "It is a Saxon word."

  "Oh! It is a word from the language of the pirates who come down fromthe seas of the North, skirt the coasts, and often ascend the Loire inorder to plunder the bordering lands. They are fearful marauders, butintrepid seamen! Think of their coming over sea from distant shores, inmere canoes, that are so frail and light that, at a pinch, they arecarried on their backs. It is said that they have ascended the Loiremore than once as far as Tours."

  "And it is true. And thus Gaul is to-day the prey of barbarians fromwithin and from without. She is at the mercy of the Franks and theSaxons!"

  "But how can that Saxon word _ghilde_, engraven on the iron impartstrength to the weapon, as you tell me?"

  "I shall explain the secret to you. One of the monk-laborers lived onthe border of the Loire before he joined us. Being carried away by thepirates at one of their raids in Touraine, when he was still in hisearly infancy, he was brought up in their country. During his sojournamong them, he noticed that those men of the North drew immense strengthfrom certain associations in which each owed solidarity to all, and allto each--solidarity in fraternity, in assistance, in goods, in arms andin life. These associations are generally believed to have sprung upfrom Christian fraternity; the fact is that they were in practice inthose Northern regions many a century before the birth of Jesus, andthey were called _ghildes_. Later the prisoner of the pirates succeededin making his escape, reentered Gaul, joined us hermit-laborers--"

  "Why do you break off?"

  "An oath that I have taken forbids me to say more--"

  "I shall respect your secret. But the confidence, with which I seem toinspire you, you also inspire in me. My brother, you said to me, was ofthe number of the hermit-laborers with whom you are associated. You musthave known him intimately. Only he could have furnished you with thedetails concerning the family of Joel which he doubtlessly received fromhis own father. Why do you look at me so fixedly? Your silencedisconcerts and moves me--your eyes are filling with tears--"

  "Ronan, your brother was born thirty years ago--that is my age. Yourbrother's name is Loysik--that is my name."

  "Loysik! My brother!"

  "It is I. Did you not surmise as much?"

  "Joy of heavens! You are my brother!"

  Long did the hermit and the Vagre remain in close embrace. After thefirst ebullition of their tender joy, Ronan said to Loysik:

  "And whatever became of our father?"

  "I know not his fate--but let us trust in the goodness of God--let usnot despair of some day finding him again--"

  "And was it your brother's instinct that led you to accompany us?"

  "I did not suspect you of being my brother until I noticed the degree towhich you were moved by the chant of Hena. When you told me she was oneof your ancestresses, I no longer entertained any doubt but that we wereeither brothers or close relatives. The account of your life proved tome that we were brothers."

  "But why, then, did you follow us in Vagrery?"

  "Did you not hear my answer to Bishop Cautin: 'It is not the well butthe sick who stand in need of the physician?'"

  "Would you blame me for being a Vagre, and would you blame our fatherfor having been a Bagauder?"

  "No less than you, Ronan, do I hold slavery and conquest in horror,seeing that Gaul, formerly powerful and teeming with happiness, iscovered with ruins and brambles since the Frankish invasion.Proprietors, colonists, husbandmen have all fled before the barbarianswho reduce them to slavery, or cause them to die of hunger by reason ofthe frightful floods of famine that have followed in the wake of theinvading army. Driven by despair large numbers of those unhappy peoplerun the Vagrery like yourself. Only slaves are seen here and therecultivating the lands of the Church and of the seigneurs, and the poorwretches bend under the weight of toil; not infrequently die of hungeror of maltreatment. The cities, once so rich, so flourishing by theircommerce, are to-day ruined, almost depopulated, but being at leastdefended by their walls, they offer some measure of security to theirinhabitants; and yet, the ceaseless civil wars between the sons ofClovis at times deliver even these places to the torch of theincendiary, to pillage and to massacre. During the fitful lulls of thesefeuds, the inhabitants hardly dare to leave their walls; the roads,infested with armed bands, render communication and traffic impossible.But too often the horrors of famine have decimated the population ofwhole cities. Alas! Such is the sad plight of our country."

  "Aye, that is what the Frankish conquest has done for Gaul. She can nolonger be free--let her disappear from the world burying the conquerorsand the conquered alike under her ruins!"

  "Brother, is not this Gaul that you lay waste with as muchinveterateness as the conquerors themselves, is she not our dearlybeloved country, our mother? Is it for us, her children, to join handswith the barbarians in whelming her with sorrows and trials? Likeyourself, I wish to labor for the overthrow of barbarism; like yourselfI wish to put an end to the craven besottedness of the oppressed; but Iwish to destroy barbarism with civilization, ignorance withenlightenment, poverty with labor, slavery with the sense of nationalworth--a sense, alas! now almost wholly uprooted, and yet once sopowerful, in the days of our fathers, when our venerated druids arousedthe peoples to arms against the Romans. Holy insurrections!"

  "Tracked by the bishops, our last druids have died upon the scaffold!"

  "But the druid faith is not dead! No--no! The forms of religions pass,but their divine principle remains for all time. Revived, stimulated andregenerated by the gentle morality of Jesus, the druid faith is bornanew in our breasts. It has preserved its belief in the immortality ofthe soul of men, in their successive re-incarnation in the starry world,to the end that by fresh trials and sufferings the wicked may becomegood, and the just still more perfect. Aye, humanity, whether visible orinvisible, must rise from sphere to sphere in its eternal effort, in itscontinuous progress, towards infinite perfection. Such is our faith, thefaith of us Christian druids, who practice the evangelical doctrine inall that it contains of tenderness, mercifulness, and the love offreedom--"

  At this point Loysik was suddenly interrupted by a voice that proceededfrom a bush near the oak tree, shouting:

  "Relapsed! Sacrilegious wretch! Worshiper of Mammon! Hermit of thedevil! Prop of Beelzebub! You shall be burned for a heretic!"

  It was the voice of Bishop Cautin. And almost at the same instant, fromafar, from the side where the Vagres were finishing their night ofwassail, these other cries were heard through the stillness of theapproaching dawn:

  "On guard! On guard! The leudes of Count Neroweg are approaching! Thecount himself is at their head!"

  "On guard! The leudes of Count Neroweg are approaching! To arms! Toarms!"

  Awakened from her restful sleep by the tumult and hearing the cries ofthe Vagres, little Odille screamed with terror as she threw herself onthe neck of Ronan:

  "Count Neroweg! Save me!"

  "Fear not, poor child!"

  And addressing Loysik, Ronan added:

  "Brother, fate sends to us a descendant of that family of Neroweg, whomour ancestor Schanvoch fought two centuries ago on the borders of theRhine. I wish to kill that barbarian, rid Gaul of him, and protect ourown family from the peril of his descendants--"

  "Kill me!" murmured Odille, falling on her knees before the Vagre andclasping her hands. "I prefer to die at your hands rather than to fallback into the hands of the count--"

  Touched by the girl's despair and of course unable to foresee the issueof the pending combat, Ronan remained pensive for a moment. He lookedaround. His eyes fell upon a spreading branch of the oak tree near whichthey stood. He leaped up, seized it, and bending it down said to hisbrother:

  "Loysik, sit Odille on this branch; when it straightens up again it willcarry the poor child up; she will then be able to reach the thickerfoliage, and keep herself concealed until the end of the combat. I shallforthwith assemble the Vagres. C
ourage, little Odille, I shall returnafter the battle--"

  And he ran towards his companions, while the slave, whom Loysik hadplaced upon the branch, disappeared in the midst of the thick foliagewaving her hands at Ronan.

  Dawn was lighting the forest. The tops of the trees were crimsoned withthe first fires of the orb of day. The Vagres, who just announced theapproach of Count Neroweg and his leudes, had taken a path across thethicket that was impracticable for the horses of the Franks, a good dealshorter than the road that these were obliged to take in order to arriveat the clearing where the Vagres had halted for the night. The largernumber of the Vagres being in their cups and exhausted with singing anddancing, were asleep on the lawn. Awakened with a start by the cries ofthe outposts, they rushed to their arms. The slaves, the colonists, thewomen, the ruined proprietors, who joined the Vagres on the previous daywere differently affected at the tidings of the approach of the leudes.Some trembled from head to foot; others fled into the thickest of theforest; still others, a goodly number, preserved their courage, andhastily sought for means of the defense. In default of better weaponsthey supplied themselves with heavy knotted staves that they cut fromthe trees. The Vagres themselves numbered about a dozen excellentarchers, others were armed with axes, iron maces, pikes, swords andscythes with the blades turned outward. At the first cry of alarm, thebrave fellows gathered around Ronan and the hermit. Should battle beengaged with the leudes? Was it better to flee before them and await abetter opportunity for an offensive stroke? Only few were for flight;the majority favored immediate battle.

  While the council of war was being held two other pickets rushed to theclearing. They had concealed themselves in the underwood, and had beenable to count with approximate accuracy the number of leudes whom thecount led. There were barely a score on horseback; they were well armed;but fully a hundred foot soldiers followed these and were armed withpikes and clubs. Some were Franks, others were from the city ofClermont, whom the count requisitioned in the name of the King for thepursuit of the Vagres. Several of Bishop Cautin's slaves, who, out offear of hell fire, did not wish to run the Vagrery after the burning ofthe episcopal villa, swelled the foot soldiers of Count Neroweg. Ronan'stroop numbered at most a score of men.

  The council of war decided to engage in a general battle.