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

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER I.

  LEUDES AT HOME.

  The burg of Count Neroweg is situated in the center of a space onceoccupied by a fortified Roman camp. The structure is reared on ahighland plateau that dominates a vast forest at its feet. Between theforest and the burg lies a wide expanse of meadow lands, watered by aswift-running river. Beyond the forest, far away, the horizon is boundedby the volcanic mountain peaks of Auvergne. The seigniorial residencethat shelters the count and his leudes is built after the Germanicfashion: in lieu of walls stout beams carefully planed and fastenedtogether, rest upon a broad stone foundation. At intervals, and with theview of steadying the one-foot thick beams, buttresses of masonry risefrom the stone foundation up to the roof, which, in turn, is constructedof oaken shingles and boards, one foot square, laid over each other. Theroofing is both light and proof against the rain. The building is a longsquare, a wide wooden portico ornaments its front entrance, and it issupported on either wing by other structures similarly put together.These are thatched and are devoted to the purposes of kitchen,storerooms, washhouses, weaving and spinning, shoe-making, tailoring,and all the other needs of a household. In these wings are also situatedthe kennels, the stables, the perches for the falcons, the pig-sty, thecattle-sheds, the wine-presses, the brewery, and large outhouses filledwith fodder for horses and cattle. In the main, or seigniorial buildingare also the women's apartments reserved for Godegisele, the fifth wifeof the count, whose second and third wives still live. There Godegiselespends her days in sadness; she rarely leaves her apartments and pliesher distaff in the midst of her female slaves, who attend to the severalduties of the needle and the spindle or loom. A frame chapel, in which aclerk, a messmate at the burg, officiates, is connected with the women'sapartment, the latter being essentially a lupanar, to which no man savethe count himself is admitted. There, under the very eyes of his wife,every evening after drinking, the count picks out his bed-fellow for thenight. The leudes distribute themselves promiscuously among the outsidefemale slaves.

  These vast structures, together with a garden and a spacious tree-girtyard intended for the military exercises of the leudes and of the footsoldiers, all of whom were freemen and Franks, are surrounded by a fosseand earthworks, the ancient vestiges of the Roman camp which dates fromthe conquest of Julius Caesar. The parapets are considerably impaired bythe centuries, but they still present a good line of defense. Only oneof the four entrances of the fortified enclosure--facing, as was thecustom, north, south, east and west--has been preserved. It is the onefacing south. On that side, a draw-bridge built of rough logs spans thefosse during the day, in order to afford a passage to man, wagons andhorses. But, as a means of precaution--the count is diffident andsuspicious--the bridge is drawn at night by its keeper. The deep fosse,boggy by reason of the waters that it has drained from time immemorialand that stagnated in its bed, has so thick a layer of mud at itsbottom, that any one who should attempt to cross the slough would becompletely engulfed. At a little distance from the yard and far removedfrom the main building, but still within the fortified space, stands an_ergastula_, built, like all Roman structures, of imperishable bricks.The _ergastula_ is a sort of deep cave, intended during the Romanconquest as a lock-up for the slaves who were employed in field laborand in the building of roads. Ronan, Loysik the hermit-laborer, thehandsome bishopess, little Odille and several other Vagres, all who hadnot died of their wounds since their capture, have for the last monthbeen imprisoned in the _ergastula_, the jail of the burg, being thrownthere immediately after the combat in the passage of Allange, where mostof the Vagres lost their lives. The rest fled into the woods.

  Certainly the position of the burg, the noble Frank's den, was wellchosen. The old Roman fortifications place the residence above thedanger of a sudden attack. On the other hand, is the seigneur countminded to hunt wild animals, the forest lies so near the burg thatduring the first nights of autumn the loving stags and does can be heardbelling for one another's company; is he minded to hunt birds on thewing, the meadows that surround his home offer to the falcons any numberof flocks of partridges, while further away large ponds serve as aretreat to the herons who, often in their aerial contests with thefalcons, transfix the latter with their long sharp beaks; finally, isthe seigneur count minded to fish, his numerous ponds teem with pike,carp and lampreys, while azure-backed trout and purple-finned perchesfurrow the limpid streams.

  Oh, seigneur Count Neroweg! How sweet it is to you to thus enjoy thedelights of this land that your kings conquered with their own and theswords of their leudes! You and your fellows, the new masters of thissoil that our fathers' labors fecundated, live in idleness and sloth. Todrink, eat, hunt, play at dice with your leudes, outrage our wives,sisters and daughters, and then attend church every week--such is thelife of the Franks who now possess the vast domains that they plunderedus of! Oh, Count Neroweg! How good it feels to inhabit that burg, builtby Gallic slaves who were carried away from their own fields, homes andfamilies, and who were made to carry on their backs, under the threat ofthe clubs of your warriors, the timber from the woods, the stones fromthe mountain, the sand from the river and the lime from the bowels ofthe earth--after which, streaming with sweat, broken with fatigue, dyingwith hunger, receiving for their only pittance a handful of beans, theylay down upon the damp ground, their heads barely sheltered with a roofof rushes! At early dawn the bites of dogs woke up the sluggards--aye,and those selfsame keepers with sharp fangs, and trained for theiroffice by the Franks, accompanied the slaves when they were led to theirwork, hastened their heavy steps when they returned at night bendingunder their heavy loads, and, if ever driven by despair, the Gaulassayed flight, the intelligent mastiff quickly drove him with its teethback to the human flock, just as the butcher's dog drives back to thefold a recalcitrant ox or ram.

  And did those slaves all belong, perchance, to the class of laborers andartisans, strong, rough men, broken from infancy to hard labor? No, no!Among those captives, more than one had been accustomed to comforts,often to wealth, and were carried away from their cities or fields withwives, daughters and sons, either at the time of the Frankish conquest,or later during the civil wars between the sons of Clovis; the womenwere consigned to the lodgings of the female slaves, there to attend tothe female work of the household and furnish the Franks with subjectsfor debauchery; the men were assigned to hard out-of-door work, to thebuilding of houses, making of roads or tending the fields. Other slaves,once teachers, merchants and even poets, were captured on the roads asthey traveled in troops from one city to another in pursuit of theirrespective occupations, imagining themselves safe against any attack inthese days of war, pillage and general devastation.

  Aye, slavery thus rendered the rich Gaul, who was ever accustomed tocomforts, the brother in misery and sorrow of the poor Gaul whopreviously knew what arduous work was. Aye, the woman of white hands anddelicate complexion was thrown together with the woman whose hands toilhad roughened and whose complexion the sun had tanned--both wererendered by slavery sisters in dishonor and shame, and were castweeping, or, if they resisted, bleeding into the bed of the Frankishseigneur, whom, on the Sunday following a Gallic priest would regularlygive remission for his sins!

  Oh, our fathers! Oh, our mothers! By all the sorrows that you underwent!Oh, our brothers and our sisters, by all the sorrows that you nowundergo! Oh, our sons! Oh, our daughters! By the dregs of the cup ofhumiliation and disgrace that you are made to drain! Oh, you all, by thetears that drop from your eyes, by the laceration of your bodies--youwill be avenged! You will be avenged upon these abhorred Franks!

  But let us step into the burg of the seigneur. By the faith of a Vagre!By the sweat and the blood of our fathers that have moistened andcrimsoned every beam, every stone of this structure--it is acomfortable, spacious and handsome building, this burg of the seigneurcount! Twelve well rounded oaken beams support the portico; it leadsdirectly into the _mahl_, as these barbarous chiefs style the tribunalwhere they dispense their seigniorial just
ice--a vast, spacious hall, inthe rear of which, and raised on a platform, is the seat of the count,and the benches of the leudes who assist him in the ceremony. There heholds his _mahl_ and judges the crimes committed on his domains. In acorner of the room a stove, a rack and pincers are seen--no justicewithout torture and execution. In yonder opposite corner and even withthe floor is a wide tank full of water and deep enough for a man todrown in. Near the tank lie nine plow-shares. These are all instrumentsfor _judicial trials_; they are prescribed by the _Salic Law_, the lawof the Franks, to which Gaul is now subject, seeing the land is in thepower of Frankish conquerors.

  And yonder door, made of solid oak, thick as a hand's palm, and coveredwith sheets of iron and enormous nails--that door is the door of thechamber in which the treasures of the noble seigneur are kept. Only hekeeps the key. In that apartment are the large boxes, likewise ribbedwith iron, where he locks up his gold and silver sous, his preciousstones, his costly vases, both sacred and profane, his necklaces, hisbracelets, his gold-hilted parade sword, his handsome bridle with itssilver bit and his elaborately silver-ornamented saddle with stirrups ofthe same metal--all stolen from this noble land of Gaul.

  Let us enter the banquet hall. It is night. By my faith! Those arecurious candelabras. They are made of flesh and bone. Ten slaves--allburnt by the sun, worn and barely clad in rags--are ranked five on oneside, five on the other of the table. They stand motionless as statuesand hold aloft large flaming torches of wax that barely serve to lightthe place. A double row of rounded oak trunks, a sort of rusticcolonnade, divides the spacious hall into three compartments along itsfull length, reaching at one end the door of the _mahl_, and at theother to the count's chamber, which, in turn communicates with theapartments of Godegisele and her women.

  Between the two rows of pillars stands the table of the count and of theleudes, his peers. To the right and left, and on the other sides of thetwo rows of pillars, stand two other tables--one is reserved for thewarriors of inferior rank, the other for the principal servants of thecount: his seneschal, his equerry, his chamberlains, seeing that theseigneurs imitate closely the customs and style of the royal courts. Inthe four corners of the hall, the floor of which is, obedient to custom,strewn with green leaves in summer, and straw in winter, stand fourlarge barrels, two of hydromel, one of beer, and one of herbed wine,Auvergne wine mixed with spices and absinthe--a beverage pressed by theslaves of the burg. Along the wainscoting hang the count's huntingtrophies, together with his arms of war and the chase--heads of stags,does and wild goats, all garnished with their horns; wild boars' andwolves' heads with their fangs exposed. The flesh and skin have beenremoved from these trophies; nothing remains but the whitened bones.Boar-spears, pikes, hunting-knives and horns, fishing-nets, falconcoifs, implements of war, lances, francisques or double edged axes,swords, bucklers and shields painted in garish colors--all these areranged along the walls. On the table lie spread sheep and wild boarsroasted whole, mountains of ham and smoked venison, avalanches ofcabbage in vinegar, the latter being a favorite dish with the Franks;chunks of beef, mutton and veal of the cattle fattened in the count'syards; small game, poultry, carps and pikes, the latter of which are ofextraordinary size; vegetables, fruit and cheese raised and prepared onthe fertile fields and farms of Auvergne; bowls and amphoras,incessantly replenished by butlers who run from the tables to thebarrels and back again, are as speedily emptied by the Franks with theaid of wild bulls' horns that serve as their usual goblets. The hornused by Neroweg must have belonged to an animal of monstrous size. It isblack and hooped from top to bottom in gold and silver. From time totime the seigneur makes a sign, whereupon several slaves standing at oneend of the hall with drums and hunting horns, strike up an infernalmusic, which, however, is less discordant and deafening than the criesand laughter of the blockish Teutons, gorged gluttons, most of whom areat an advanced state of intoxication.

  Who produced these wines, these mountains of venison, of fish, of beef,of pork, of mutton, of game, of poultry, of vegetables and fruit? Gaul!The country that is cultivated and rendered fruitful by a population ofstarvelings, whose representatives, wan with hunger and privation in themidst of such plenty, officiate as living torches to light the banquet.That heap of good things is produced by men and women who, huddled inmud and straw huts, are, at that very moment, and in utter exhaustion,partaking of a tasteless pittance.

  Behold the Franks, gorged with food and wine; obscene jokes andchallenges to drink and drink still more are bandied backward andforward; the hall is a roar of boisterous laughter; beyond all othersthe seigneur count is hilarious. At his side sits his clerk, who servesas his secretary and officiates in the oratory of the burg. According tothe newly introduced custom that the Church authorized, the Frankishseigneurs are allowed to keep a priest and chapel in their houses. Theclerk has been assigned to Neroweg by Cautin. When making theassignment, the wily prelate said to the stupid barbarian: "This clerkcan neither grant you remission for the sins that you may commit, norcan he snatch you from the claws of Satan; only I have that power; butthe constant presence of a priest at your side will render the attemptsof the demon more difficult; that will afford you time, in urgent cases,to wait for my arrival without danger of your being carried off tohell."

  The boisterous mirthfulness of the leudes is at its height. Nerowegwishes to speak. Three times he strikes on the table with the handle ofhis _scramasax_, the name given by the barbarians to the knife used attable, and habitually worn at the warrior's belt. Silence, or somedegree of silence ensues. The count is to speak. With both his elbowsleaning upon the table, he strokes and restrokes his long, reddish,greasy and wine-soaked moustache between his thumb and index. Theposture and gesture always announces with him some scheme of viciouscruelty. The leudes are aware of this and greet his words in advancewith gross and confident laughter. Without saying a word, Neroweg pointsout to his peers one of the slaves who, motionless, has been holding upa torch at the banquet. The fellow is a poor old man, wrinkled andhaggard; his hair and beard are white and long; for only clothing hewears a tattered blouse and hose which expose his skin, yellow andtanned like parchment; his hose do not reach his bony knees; his bareand lank legs, scarred by the brambles among which he is forced to work,seem hardly able to support him. Compelled, like the rest of historch-bearing companions, to hold up the light with outstretched arm,and the whip of the Frankish overseer being ever ready to enforce theorder with merciless cruelty, he felt his lean arm grow numb, weaken andtremble despite all he could do to prevent it.

  After pointing at the slave, Neroweg turned to his leudes with cruelhilarity and said:

  "Hi--hi--hi--we shall now have a good laugh. You old toothless dog, whydo you not hold the candle straight?"

  "Seigneur, I am very old--my arm grows tired despite myself."

  "So, then, you are tired?"

  "Alas! Yes, seigneur!"

  "Yet you know that he who does not hold up his torch straight is regaledwith fifty lashes!"

  "Seigneur, my strength fails me!"

  "Do you say so?"

  "Yes, yes, seigneur--my fingers are numb--they can no longer hold thetorch--it will soon fall down--"

  "Poor old man--come, put out your torch."

  "Thanks, thanks, seigneur!"

  "Wait a moment. What are you doing?"

  "I am going to blow out the torch--as you ordered me--"

  "Oh, I did not mean it in that way."

  And ever caressing his moustache, Neroweg cast ironical and cruelglances at his leudes.

  "Seigneur, how will you have me extinguish my torch?"

  "I wish you to put it out between your knees."

  The Frankish leudes received the comical idea of the count with loudapplause and wild yells and laughter. The old Gaul trembled from head tofoot, looked imploringly at Neroweg, lowered his head and murmured:

  "Seigneur, my knees are bare, the torch will burn me--"

  "Ho! You old brute! Do you imagine I would order you to extinguish th
etorch between your knees if they were covered with oxhide or jambards ofiron?"

  "Seigneur, good seigneur, it will smart me terribly; for pity's sake, donot impose such a torment upon me."

  "Bother! Your knees are bones!"

  The bright sally on the part of the count redoubled the laughter andhilarity of the leudes.

  "It is true I am only skin and bones," answered the old man seeking tosoften his master's heart; "I am quite weak--please spare me the pain,my good seigneur."

  "Listen--if you do not on the spot extinguish your torch between yourknees, I shall have my men seize you and extinguish the torch in yourthroat--take your choice, quickly!"

  A fresh explosion of hilarity proved to the old Gaul that he had nomercy to expect from the Franks. He looked down weeping upon his frailand tremulous legs, and yielding to one last ray of hope he addressedthe clerk in suppliant accents:

  "My good father in God--in the name of charity--do intercede in mybehalf with my good seigneur count!"

  "Seigneur, I ask grace for the poor old man."

  "Clerk! Does the slave belong to me--yes or not? Am I his master--yes ornot?"

  "He belongs to you, noble seigneur."

  "Can I dispose of my slave at my pleasure, and chastise him as I maychoose?"

  "My noble seigneur, it is your right."

  "Very well, then! I want him to extinguish the torch between his knees;if not, by the great St. Martin! I shall extinguish it myself in histhroat!"

  "Oh, my good father in God--do intercede again for me! I beg you!"

  "My good son," said the clerk with unction to the slave, "we must acceptwith resignation the trials that heaven sends us."

  "Will you have done!" cried the count again smiting the table with thehandle of his _scramasax_. "We have had words enough--take yourchoice--either your knees or your throat for an extinguisher! Do youhesitate--"

  "No, no, seigneur, I obey--"

  And it was a very comical scene for the Franks. By the faith of a Vagre,there was truly cause for laughter. With tears rolling down his cheeks,the poor old Gaul first approached the burning torch to his tremblingknees; the instant the flame touched him he quickly withdrew it again.But the count, who, with both his hands upon his paunch swollen withfood and drink, was roaring with laughter and, like the rest of theleudes, shook with mirth, again smote the table violently with thehandle of his _scramasax_. The slave understood the signal. Withtrembling hands he again drew the torch close to his icy knees, andassayed to put a quick end to the torture; he parted his legs a littleand then brought them twice quickly and convulsively together so as toextinguish the flame between his knees. He succeeded in this, but notwithout emitting a piercing cry of pain; such was the pang he sufferedthat the old man fell over upon his back and lay on the floor deprivedof consciousness.

  "I smell grilled dog!" said the count dilating his nostrils like a beastof prey. The odor of burnt human flesh doubtlessly acted as an appetizerupon him, and he cried as if struck by a new idea: "My valiant leudes,the burg's prison is well stocked, I know. We have in the _ergastula_,loaded with chains, first of all, Ronan the Vagre and thehermit-laborer; they are now both nearly healed of their wounds; then wehave the little blonde slave, she is not yet well, she still seems to beat death's door; besides that, we have the handsome bishopess--she isnot wounded but is possessed of the devil--".

  "But, count," spoke up one of the leudes, "what do you propose to dowith those cursed Vagres, the little Vagress and the handsome witch whomwe brought prisoners with us from the combat at the fastnesses ofAllange? What manner of torture will you inflict upon them?"

  "Oh! how I regret that they have not a thousand members to burn and hackto pieces in order to expiate the death of our companions in arms whomthey killed in the fastness!"

  "Will you have them tried here, count?"

  "No--no--they shall be tried at Clermont. Bishop Cautin insists upon hisjurisdiction over them. Oh! By the Terrible Eagle, my ancestor whoskinned his prisoners alive, the Vagre, the hermit-laborer and the witchshall be submitted to frightful tortures. But they do not concern usthis evening. When I mentioned to you the prisoners in the _ergastula_,my good leudes, what I meant to say was that we have there one of mydomestic slaves who is charged with larceny by the cook slave. Thelatter asserts, the former denies the theft. Which of the two lies? Inorder to ascertain the truth, let us put the two cubs to the cold waterand hot iron trials, according to the law of our Salic Franks."