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

"The judgment of the Eternal, my dear son, can never go wrong."

Already the Franks were raising the slave in their arms and were about to cast him into the tank when the clerk cried out:

"And the consecration of the water!"

And stepping towards the slave who moaned aloud, the clerk placed upon the Gaul's lips a silver cross that he carried around his neck and said:

"Kiss this cross, my dear son."

The young slave devoutly kissed the symbol of the death of the Friend of the sorrowful, while the clerk pronounced aloud the formula adopted by the Church:

"Oh, thou who art about to undergo the trial of cold water, I adjure thee, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, in the name of the indivisible Trinity, in the name of all the angels, archangels, principalities, powers and dominions, virtues, thrones, cherubim and seraphim, if thou art guilty, that this water may reject thee, without any sorcery preventing it from so doing; and Thou Lord Jesus Christ, give us such a sign of Thy majesty that if this man has committed the crime, he be rejected by this water to the praise and the glory of Thy holy name, and to the end that all may recognize that Thou art God. And you, water! Water created by the omnipotent Father for the needs of man, I adjure you, in the name of the indivisible Trinity which allowed the people of Israel to cross the Red Sea, dry-footed, I adjure you, water, to refuse to accept this body if he has eased his shoulders of the burden of good works. I so order you, water, confident in the virtue of God alone in whose name I demand obedience from you. Amen."

The consecration being finished by the clerk, the Franks raised over their heads the Gallic slave who screamed and struggled to free himself, and hurled him violently into the center of the tank amidst the loud guffaw of the count and the witnessing Franks.

"Never yet did otter, leaping from a willow tree after a carp, make so beautiful a plunge," exclaimed the good seigneur count holding his sides; he was laughing so heartily. The witnessing Franks also laughed and roared, and crowded around the tank saying to one another:

"He will float – the scamp!"

"He will not float – he is not guilty!"

"How he beats the water!"

"And that gurgling sound – glou – glou – glou!"

"Sounds like a bottle that is emptying itself – "

"There he comes to the surface!"

"No, he sinks again!"

Presently the slave rose and succeeded in keeping himself for a moment on the surface. His face was livid and distorted, his hair streaming, his eyes rolling back like the eyes of a man who has escaped drowning by some desperate effort. He beat the water with the only arm that was free and cried:

"Help! I drown! Help!"

In his fright the innocent fellow forgot that the life which he implored was reserved for the cruel punishment meted out to thieves, seeing the judgment of God would have convicted him as such. The young man was pulled half dead out of the tank; as he lay on the floor the Franks derived increased pleasure from his contortions, and the expression of his purplish face, on which the stamp of terror was still visible.

"My son, my son, I warned you before," said the clerk in threatening accents. "Theft is a grave crime! And falsehood is another grave crime! Here you lie – guilty of both! The sacred judgment of the Lord has, in His infallible and divine truth, pronounced you guilty."

"Go to, miserable thief!" said to him one of his conjurators who feared to share the punishment of Peter. "You assured us of your innocence, we trusted your word, and you deceived us – the judgment of God has condemned you! Go to, infamous fellow – we shall gladly give a hand in your execution!"

"I am innocent! I am innocent!"

"And what about the judgment of God, blasphemer!" cried Justin, the accuser.

"Alas, I am nevertheless innocent – I did not steal the dish!"

"Hold your tongue, impious criminal! The trial that I shall now undergo with blind faith in the justice of the Lord will furnish further proof of your guilt!" retorted Justin.

"Good! Good, my dear son! Step aside from the miserable liar, thief and blasphemer! Your innocence will be quickly established; your piety will have its reward."

"Oh, I know it, good father! I long for the trial! May the holy name of God be glorified!"

"That dog, whom the judgment of our omnipotent Lord has pronounced guilty, shall receive condign punishment. Now let us pass to the trial of the red-hot irons. Although the first trial has proved to us the guilt of that slave, there is nothing as yet to prove that the other fellow is innocent. They may be both accomplices in the theft of my silver dish."

"Oh, my noble seigneur, I am in no fear!" cried the cook, his face beaming with celestial confidence. "I bless the name of God for His having reserved to me the opportunity to bear witness to my profound faith in our holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic religion, and to triumph a second time over the accusations of the wicked. I know, O Lord, that, faithful to your commandments, I shall triumph with humility."

With the believer impatiently awaiting the new triumph of his innocence, the clerk proceeded, agreeable to the usage, to consecrate and adjure the red-hot irons in the brasier, just as he had conjured the water in the tank. He ordered the red-hot irons with the same solemn invocations that they respect the soles of the slave's feet if he was innocent, and to burn him to the bone if he was guilty of having robbed his seigneur.

The conjuration being done, the stable blacksmiths drew forth from the stove, with the aid of long tongs, the nine red-hot plow-shares that they held in readiness, and laid them down in a row flat upon the stone floor at a distance of two or three inches from one another. Ranged in that order, they presented a strange aspect – an enormous red-hot gridiron.

"Quick!" said the count. "The irons must not be allowed to cool off."

"What a jig will not the cub dance on that row of burning irons, if he was in the plot with the other thief to steal your dish!"

"And yet what a wondrous miracle is about to be accomplished if the cook is really innocent!" remarked another leude with impatient curiosity. "To walk over red-hot plow-shares without burning one's feet! It takes the God of the Christians to accomplish such a miracle!"

Such was the curiosity of the Franks that their cruel wish to see the slave dance upon the red-hot irons struggled strongly against the wish to witness a wonderful miracle. Hardly was the last plow-share ranged in its place upon the floor than Neroweg, fearing to have them cool off, called out impatiently to Justin:

"Quick! Quick! Walk over them!"

"Go, my dear son; fear naught!" added the clerk.

"Oh, I am not afraid, good father," answered the cook in a voice of inspired exaltation; and crossing his arms over his breast, he cried out fervently: "Lord God, Thou readest in the hearts of men; Thou hast already borne witness to my innocence – give in favor of Thy servant a new proof of Thy infallible justice – order the burning irons to be as soft under my feet as if I trod upon a carpet of moss and flowers!"

And, his face beaming with serenity, and his eyes raised heavenward, the Gallic slave moved with firm steps towards the gridiron of red-hot plow-shares. During the short interval that elapsed before the accused exposed himself to the judgment of God, the count, his clerk and all the witnessing Franks seemed impressed by the slave's imperturbable confidence; they looked at one another; and Neroweg said in a low voice to the leudes that sat beside him:

"The cook must be truly innocent of the theft."

"Proceed! March on, my son in God!" cried the clerk at the moment when Justin was raising his foot over the first plow-share. "The justice of the Eternal is infallible. You said it – it is over a carpet of moss and flowers that your feet are to walk."

But our fervent Catholic had barely touched the red-hot iron with his feet when he emitted a frightful shriek. So intensely unbearable was the pain that he tripped and fell down forward on his knees and hands. As he thus tumbled over the red-hot plow-shares he gave himself fresh and deep burns all over his body, until, driven crazy, he made a desperate bound clean over the implements of his torture, and, roaring with pain, rolled down over the floor ten paces away, near where his companion Peter lay, tied hand and foot.

"Glory to the judgment of the Lord!" cried the leudes in chorus, struck with admiration. "Glory to Christ!"

"Did I not tell you so?" remarked the count complacently. "The two thieves were both in the plot to steal my silver dish. The ears of both shall be cropped to-morrow, and they shall be both put on the rack until they reveal the place where they hid the dish – "

"Hold your tongue, count!" cried Justin roaring with pain and rage. "The only thieves and plunderers around are yourself and your men. Had I stolen the dish, I would only have robbed a thief – but I did not take it – as truly as I here renounce the infamous religion that wrongly finds me guilty!"

"Wretch! Blasphemer of our holy religion! I order in the name of God – "

"Hold your tongue, too, priest – you shall no longer dupe me. Your alleged religion is but a lie and a fraud; it bears false witness against the innocent. Oh, how I suffer – how I suffer!"

"Your sufferings are but foretastes of the tortures that you will undergo in hell, where you will burn everlastingly, you sacrilegious thief! Oh, seigneur count, if this impious and audacious wretch continues to blaspheme, we shall not be able to conjure away the misfortunes that he will draw upon your house."

Terrified at the sacrilegious utterances of the Gallic slave; pale, trembling and shuddering at the thought that, attracted by the dreadful blasphemies of the condemned man, the devil might suddenly appear in person, take possession of the malefactor and carry him straight to hell, Neroweg thundered to the blacksmith at the stove:

"Are the tongs still in the brasier and red-hot?"

"Yes, seigneur, to command."

"The accursed fellow shall no longer blaspheme and place my burg in danger of being visited by the devil. Let the sacrilegious criminal be seized, and his tongue be burned out with the red-hot tongs. Tell me, clerk, do you believe the Lord will be pacified if I inflict that punishment upon the slave?"

"I believe, seigneur count, that there is no punishment too terrible for this accursed man who has renounced his religion, and called its holy priests impostors."

"Clerk, shall I have him quartered in order to be all the surer that the devils will be conjured away from my burg?"

"The first punishment that you mentioned will suffice – the accursed man will have been punished in the member that sinned – his criminal and blasphemous tongue; it will thereafter utter no more blasphemies."

The tongue of the Gallic slave was burned and pulled out with red-hot tongs. The count went back to the banquet hall with his leudes, and there proceeded to drink himself drunk before retiring to his wife in the women's apartment.

CHAPTER III

THE SPECTRE OF WISIGARDE

While her lord and master, Neroweg, together with his leudes, was drinking himself to the point of intoxication in the banquet hall, Godegisele, the count's fifth wife, sat in her chamber amidst her female slaves and diligently plied her distaff by the light of a copper lamp. Although still young, Godegisele was of delicate health and frail. Her complexion was waxen; her long pale-blonde hair was braided in two strands and fell from under her obbon– the name given by the Franks to a sort of skull-cap woven of gold and silver thread – over her shoulders, that were bare like her arms. The advanced stage of pregnancy in which she was imparted to her sweet sad features an expression of suffering. Godegisele wore the costume of the Frankish women of high condition – a long decolleté robe with open and flowing sleeves, and held by a scarf around her now unshapely waist. Her arms were ornamented with gold bracelets, studded with precious stones, while a sea-eel necklace that derived its name from the fish, which, when captured, twists itself around the arm in such a manner that its head touches the tip of its tail – wound its golden, ruby-dotted coil around her neck. One thing there was about Godegisele's robe that rendered it incongruous. Its wearer was frail, slender and short, but the rich robe seemed to have been made for a large and robust woman. About a score of young wretchedly clad female slaves sat around Godegisele upon the leaves that the floor was strewn with, while the count's wife occupied an armed stool over which a silver embroidered carpet was thrown. Several of the girl slaves were handsome. Some worked at their distaffs like their mistress, others were engaged at their needles; occasionally they exchanged a few words in a low voice and in the Gallic tongue, which their mistress, being herself of Frankish extraction, understood poorly. One of them, named Morise, a young and handsome girl with raven-black hair who was sold to a noble Frank when ten years of age, spoke the language of the conquerors fluently, on account of which Godegisele conversed with her in preference. At this moment the count's wife dropped her distaff which she held across her knees and said to the slave in a tremulous voice:

"And so, Morise, you saw her assassinated?"

"Yes, madam, I witnessed the sad scene. On that day she wore that same green robe with silver flowers that you have on, she also had on the handsome necklace and bracelets that I see on your arms and neck."

Godegisele shuddered and could not withhold a fearful glance from her bracelets and robe, the latter of which was twice too large for her.

"And – for what reason did he kill her, Morise? What was it that angered him?"

"He had drunk more than usual on that evening – he entered here, where we now are, unsteady of foot. It was winter – there was a fire in the hearth. His wife Wisigarde sat at a corner of the chimney. The seigneur count then had among us a washerwoman, named Martine, for his favorite. He said to Martine: 'Come, come, confounded wench – let's to bed – and you, Wisigarde,' he added addressing his wife, 'take a lamp and light us.' "

"That, certainly, was a great shame upon Wisigarde."

"All the more, madam, seeing she was of a proud temper and impetuous nature. She often whipped and bit us, and she quarrelled a good deal with the seigneur count."

"What, Morise! Did she dare quarrel with him?"

"Oh, she feared nothing – nothing! When she was in a rage, she roared and ground her teeth like a lioness."

"What a terrible woman!"

"Well, madam, that evening, instead of yielding to the whim of the seigneur count, and taking the lamp to light him to his bed, Wisigarde began scolding them both – the count and Martine."

"She certainly invited death! My blood freezes in my veins at the thought of it."

"Thereupon, madam, I saw, as clearly as I see you now, the count's eyes grow bloodshot and froth rise to his lips. He threw himself upon his wife, struck her in the face with his fist, and then, giving her a kick in the stomach, threw her to the ground. She was in as towering a rage as himself, and did not cease hurling invectives at him; she even tried to bite him, when, after he had thrown her upon the ground, he planted both his knees upon her chest. Finally, he held her throat so tight in both his large hands that her face became violet and she was strangled. After she lay dead, he went to bed with Martine."

"Morise, I fear me the same fate for myself, some day. That terrible count will yet kill me."

And shuddering over her whole frame, Godegisele dropped her head upon her bosom, and her distaff fell down at her feet.

"Oh, madam, you should not be so alarmed. As long, at any rate, as you will be pregnant, you will have nothing to fear – the seigneur count will not want to kill at one blow both his wife and child."

"But after I shall have given birth to that child – I shall then be killed like Wisigarde!"

"That will depend, madam, upon the humor of the seigneur count. He may prefer to cast you off and return you to your parents, as he did the other wives whom he did not kill."

"Oh, Morise! Would to heaven that monseigneur the count would return me to my family! What a misfortune to me it was that Neroweg should have seen me when he visited Mayence! What a misfortune that the wisp of straw which he threw at my breast when he took me to wife was not a sharp-pointed dagger! I would have at least died amidst my own family."

"What wisp of straw was that, madam?"

"Do you not know that it is the custom with us, that when a Frank weds a free girl, he takes her right hand, and with his left throws a wisp of straw into her bosom?"

"No, madam, I did not know that."

"It is the custom in Germany. Alas, Morise, I repeat it, would that that wisp of straw had been a dagger! I would have died without undergoing my present agony. And now that I know about the murder of Wisigarde, my life will be but one long and cruel agony."

"But, madam, you should have refused to wed the count, seeing he inspired you with such horror."

"I dared not, Morise. Oh, he will surely kill me! Woe is me! He will kill me!"

"Why think you, madam, that he will commit such a crime again? You never as much as whisper a word, whatever he may do or say. He abuses us, the female slaves, seeing he is master, and you never complain; you never set foot outside of the women's apartments, except for a short walk along the fosse of the burg. Why, madam, I ask you, do you apprehend that your husband will kill you?"

"When he is intoxicated he does not reason."

"That is true – there is always that danger."

"But that danger is continuous; he is every day intoxicated. Oh, why did I come to this distant region of Gaul, where I feel an utter stranger!"

And after a long interval of sad revery:

"Morise – my good Morise!"

"Madam, I am at your orders."

"You, all of you slaves, do not hate me, do you?"

"No, madam; you are not wicked like Wisigarde – you never whip and bite us."

"Morise, listen to me."

"Madam, I listen. But why are you silent? And your cheeks, otherwise so pale, growing incarnate – "

"It is because I dare not tell you. But listen, you are – you are – one of monseigneur the count's favorites."

"I have no choice – if not willingly, I must submit by force. Despite my repugnance for him, I prefer to share his bed whenever he orders me, than to be striped by his whip, or be sent out to turn the wheel of the mill; and by quietly submitting, I am employed in household work; that is easier than to be employed at the hard labor of the fields – it is a choice of evils – this is the lesser, and the food is not as poor."

"I know – I know. I do not blame you, Morise. But answer me without lying: when you are with the count, you do not, do you, seek to irritate him against me? Alas, we know of slaves who have in that way caused the death of their mistresses, and who thereupon became their seigneur's wife."

"I have such an aversion for him, madam, that I swear I never open my mouth but to say 'yes' or 'no' in answer to any question that he may put to me. Moreover, since he is always intoxicated at night when he calls me in, he hardly speaks. You see I have neither the chance nor the wish of speaking to him against you."

"Is that really true, Morise? Really?"

"Yes, yes, madam."

"I would like to make you some little present, but monseigneur never lets me have any money. He keeps all his money under lock and key in his coffers, and for only morgen-gab, the morning present that it is customary in our country for the husband to make to his wife, the count has given me the robes and jewels of his fourth wife, Wisigarde. Every day he demands of me that I show them to him, and he counts them. I have nothing to offer you, Morise, nothing but my friendship, if you promise me not to irritate monseigneur against me."

"My heart would have to be very wicked, if I were to anger monseigneur against you."

"Ah, Morise! How I would like to be in your place!"

"You, a count's wife – you would prefer to be a slave! Impossible!"

"He will not kill you."

"Bah! He would as soon kill me as any one else, if the fancy took him – but you, madam, have in the meantime, beautiful dresses, rich jewels, slaves to serve you – and besides, you are free."

"I do not step out of the burg."

"Because you do not wish to. Wisigarde rode on horseback and hunted. You should have seen her on her black palfrey, with her purple robe, and her falcon on her finger! At any rate, though she be dead, she never wasted time grieving – while you, madam, do nothing else than work at your distaff, or gaze at the sky from your window, or weep – what a life! What a sad existence!"

"Alas, it is because I am always thinking of my own country, of my parents, so far away – so far away from this country of Gaul, where I am an utter stranger."

"Wisigarde did not trouble herself about such matters – she drank deeply, and ate almost as much as the count."

"He always told me and my father that she died of an accident. And so you assure me, Morise, that it is there – on that spot – that he killed her?"

"Yes, madam, he threw her down with a kick – she fell near that beam – and then – "

"What ails you, Morise – why do you tremble?"

"Madam, madam, do you not hear?"

"What? Everything is quiet."

"There is someone walking in seigneur the count's room – I hear the seats pushed about."

"Oh, it is he – it is my husband!"

"Yes, madam, it is his step."

"Oh, I am afraid – remain near me!"

It was Neroweg. His latest libations had thrown him into a state of almost complete intoxication. He stepped into his wife's apartment with a drunken man's unsteady foot. At the sight of their master, all the slaves rose timidly. As to Godegisele, she was in such a tremor that she was hardly able to rise from her stool. The count stopped for a moment at the threshold, leaned one hand against the door-case, and, with his body swaying backward and forward, let his eyes travel over the scared slaves with a besotted and semi-libidinous look. After repeated hiccoughs he called out to his wife's confidant:

"Morise – come – come, confounded wench!"

And looking at Godegisele he added:

"You look pale – you seem troubled – my dove. Why so pale?"

The poor creature's mind doubtlessly ran upon the circumstances of the fateful night when her husband strangled his fourth wife, shortly after having used these very words towards his then favorite slave: 'Come, come, confounded wench!' Neroweg's words threw his wife into greater perturbation and frightened her to a degree that all she was able to say was:

"Monseigneur! Monseigneur! Mercy!"

"What! What ails you? Answer!" shouted the count brutally. "Do you, perchance, object that I told Morise to come? Dare you cross me?"

"No! Oh, no! Is not monseigneur master in this place? Are not his female slaves at his orders? And am not I, Godegisele, myself, his humble servant?"

And the unhappy woman, wholly losing her head in her terror, as she imagined herself on the point of being strangled like Wisigarde, who owed her death to her refusal to light her husband and his night's companion to the conjugal bed, hastened to stammer:

"On the contrary – if monseigneur wishes, I shall light him to his bed with this lamp."

"Oh, madam!" Morise whispered to her mistress. "What an unfortunate inspiration is that! It is to recall to the count's memory the murder of his other wife."

Indeed, at the last words of Godegisele a shudder ran through Neroweg; he brusquely stepped towards her; seized her threateningly by the arm and bellowed in a maudlin voice:

"Why do you propose to light me to bed with a lamp?"

"Mercy, monseigneur! Do not kill me!" – and she dropped upon her knees. "Oh, do not kill me, your servant, as you killed Wisigarde."

The count suddenly grew as pale as his wife, and, stricken with a terror that stimulated his inebriety, he cried:

"She knows that I strangled Wisigarde! She is uttering the same words that Wisigarde uttered when I killed her! This is the work of some evil spirit! Wisigarde herself or her spectre will perhaps appear this night before my bed and torment me! It is a warning from heaven – or from hell. The devil must be conjured away!"