CHAPTER VII.
IN THE ERGASTULA.
When, more than five hundred years ago, the Romans conquered and owned,though they could not subjugate, Gaul they constructed their_ergastulas_--slave pens--of solid, lasting material. There they lockedup their chained Gallic slaves at night. Such a cave was an adjunct alsoto the old Roman camp on which now stood the burg of Neroweg. The bricksand cement were still so closely joined that they jointly constituted abody more solid than marble itself. Hardly could men, equipped with allthe necessary implements for boring, and working from dawn to dusk,succeed in effecting an opening through the wall of this prison. Theopening of the vault was barred by enormous rods of iron. Without, astrong body of Franks, armed with axes, were keeping ceaseless watch;some were lying on the ground, others walked up and down. From time totime these watchmen cast a wistful glance towards the burg, which layabout five hundred paces from them. The principal building, however, washidden from their view by the gables of the barns and stables thatadjoined the seigniorial mansion from that side.
Why did these watchmen cast such wistful glances to the side of theburg? Because, issuing through the open windows, the cries of thewassailers, from time to time, also the rattle of drums and blare ofhunting horns, reached their ears. There was a feast in Neroweg's hall.On that evening he was entertaining his royal guest Chram at his best.
An iron lamp, that swung under the vaulted entrance of the antique_ergastula_, threw a dim light around the gate of the underground celland also partially lighted it within.
Steps were heard. A leude appeared followed by slaves bearing basketsand bowls.
"Boys! Here's some beer for you, also wine, venison, bread and cheese.Eat, drink and be merry. The son of the King is on a visit at the burg."
"Three cheers for Sigefrid, wine, beer and venison!"
"But keep a close watch on the prisoners--let not one of you stepaside--keep your eyes wide open."
"Oh, those dogs do not move any more down there than if they had fallenasleep forever under the cold ground, where they will be to-morrow. Youneed not fear, Sigefrid."
"Outside of the seigneur King, the bishop or Neroweg, whosoever shouldapproach the iron railing to speak with the prisoners--"
"Will instantly fall under our axes, Sigefrid--they are sharp andheavy."
"At the slightest event, let the horns blow the alarm--we shall thenimmediately rush to your aid."
"Those are all wise precautions, Sigefrid, but superfluous. The bridgeis raised; besides, the slime in the fosse is so deep that anyone tryingto cross it would sink over his head in it. Finally, there are nostrangers at the burg. Including the King's bodyguard we are more thanthree hundred armed men--who would attempt to free the prisoners undersuch circumstances? Moreover they are as incapable of walking as arabbit whose four paws have been cut off. So you see, Sigefrid, yourprecautions, however wise, are superfluous."
"All the same, keep close watch until to-morrow. It is only one night ofwatch to you."
"And we shall spend it merrily, drinking and singing."
"They seem to be merry in the banquet hall, Sigefrid. Tell us what isgoing on."
"The sun of May does not more greedily pump up the dew than our topersdo the full kegs of wine and beer; mountains of victuals vanish in theabysses of their stomachs--they no longer talk, they yell; a littlelonger they will all be roaring! Chram's leudes at first affecteddaintiness and choice manners; but at this hour they guzzle, swallow andlaugh like any of us. After all they are good and gay customers; somelittle jealousy on our part at first irritated us against them; therivalry has been drowned in wine. Only shortly ago old Bertefred,hiccoughing and weeping like a calf, embraced one of the young warriorsof the royal suite, and called him his darling little son."
"Ha! Ha! Ha! That was a droll scene!"
"Finally, in order to complete the scene, I just learn that a mountebankwith a dancing bear and a monkey has been let into the burg. Nerowegproposed the amusement to King Chram, and the steward issued orders toadmit the man and his animals in the banquet hall. They were sent foramid the shouts of glee of the whole convivial party. I want to go backquick and share the sport."
"Happy Sigefrid! He will see the gambols of the bear and the grimaces ofthe monkey."
"Now, boys, I promise you that after the King has enjoyed himself, Ishall request the count to have the mountebank sent to this part of thehouse with his animals, so that you also may be amused by him."
"Sigefrid, you are a good companion!"
"But always keep your eyes upon the prisoners."
"Be easy! And now to the wine, beer and venison! While we wait for theman, his bear and monkey, let us empty the pots in honor of the goodKing Chram and of Neroweg! To the assault of the victuals!"
The iron lamp that swung under the vaulted entrance of the antique_ergastula_ lighted up the group of Franks eating, laughing and drinkingat the entrance. The lamp also threw its ruddy light across the ironrailing and upon the Gallic prisoners who sat, gathered together, nearthe entrance of the prison, the rear of which remained in deepestdarkness; nearest to the iron railing lay little Odille; the girl lay onher back with her arms crossed over her girlish bosom like a corpseabout to be buried. Indeed the girl's pallor was that of a dying person.Near her and holding the child's head in her lap sat the bishopess,still handsome, although somewhat paler and reduced in flesh; shecontemplated the girl with the loving eyes of a mother. A few steps awaysat Ronan; his feet were wrapped in rags; his wrists were manacled;unable either to hold himself on his feet or on his knees he leaned hisback against the underground wall. The Vagre looked at Odille with atenderness equal to that of the bishopess. Manacled like his brother,whose torture he had shared, the hermit-laborer was seated near Ronanand seemed deeply moved at the tender care that the bishopess bestowedupon the young slave girl.
"Die, little Odille," said Ronan, "die, my child. It is better far thatyou die of the wound which your brave hand inflicted upon yourself,when, a month ago, you thought I was dead. It is better far that you dienow, than to be burned alive to-morrow."
"Poor little one, the strain of this day's experience has exhausted herstrength! Look, Ronan, her face, alas! grows paler and paler."
"Let us bless this pallor of death, beautiful bishopess; it announcesthe approach of death--a death that will save the poor child the agonyof the burning pyre. Did not her wound already protect her against thebrutalities of the count and the torture of to-day? Die, die, littleOdille, we shall live again in yonder world. Were I free I would havemade you my wife for life in Vagrery, if you consented. I have loved youdearly for your sweetness, your beauty, and the misfortune of the shamethat you were smitten with so young--an innocent girl even after yourdishonor! Die, little Odille! As sure as I and my brother Loysik will beexecuted to-morrow I stand in less dread of the agony in store for methan of the thought that you are yourself to burn alive! Oh, if my feetwere not in blisters I would drag myself to your side. Oh, if my handswere not manacled I would smother you with a loving hand, as ourmothers, the Gallic women of yore, killed their children in order tosnatch them from slavery. Beautiful bishopess, could not you, whose armsare free, gently strangle that poor child? The slender thread of lifethat hardly holds her, would be easily torn!"
"I have thought of that, Ronan, but I lack the courage."
"But should she unfortunately live till to-morrow, her fate will beyours. Keep in mind that you will be stripped naked by that band ofFranks, and whipped by them with switches!"
"Keep still, Ronan, shame mantles my cheeks! To me, a woman, that partof the punishment--to be exposed naked before those men--is the worst!"
"Your husband, the bishop, knew that, just as he was aware that, if youwere tortured to-day, you would lose some of the strength necessary toendure to-morrow's punishment to the end, on account of which he sparedyou.--You will both thereupon be impaled. Before impalement, poor dearvictims, your nipples will be torn from you with burning tongs. Finallyyou will both
be thrown upon the pyre with whatever little life may bestill in you. As you see, the torture is finely graded, and will notyou, you who have the power, snatch the dear girl from such torment? Oh,I see, you finally take the decision--your hands are creeping up toOdille's neck. Courage, no weakness! Remember that our mothersthemselves put their beloved little ones to death. What! Youhesitate--your hands drop down again! You weep!"
"I have not the courage--I cannot."
"Craven soul!"
"No, Ronan, I am no craven. No--were she my daughter I would kill her."
"I understand. Odille is a stranger to you--you cannot love her enoughto decide to kill her. We must pardon the bishopess for her want ofkindness, not so, Loysik?"
At that moment the young slave moved, gave a slight sigh, half raisedher head, her eyes opened and looked around for Ronan. When they finallyfell upon him she said, after a moment, in a weak voice:
"Ronan, is the night over, and is it now day?"
"This is not the light of day my child; it is the light from the lampthat burns outside our prison. Your strength seems exhausted, you werein a torpor."
"I dreamed a sweet and sad dream. My mother rocked me on her kneessinging the chant of Hena, and then she said to me weeping: 'Odille, itis you they are going to burn!' I then woke up and believed it was day.Oh, Ronan, it is a long time till to-morrow! And the execution! Theexecution! How it will be prolonged--unless the pain be so intense thatI die immediately."
"And will you not regret life?"
"Ronan, I tried to kill myself when I thought you were dead; you aresentenced to death like ourselves; I have neither father nor mother;what should I regret, all the less seeing that we are to live again inyonder worlds near those whom we have loved? We shall soon meet again."
"By the faith of a Vagre, what is death, beautiful bishopess? Only achange of vestments and lodging. As to the execution, two or three hoursof suffering is the extreme, and the end is certain. Do you know,Loysik, what grieves me most at this hour? It is to quit this world,leaving our dearly beloved Gaul forever in the clutches of the Franksand bishops!"
"No, no, brother--centuries are centuries to man, they are hardly hoursto mankind in its eternal progress! The world in which we live seemslarge to us--and yet, what is it, rolling and confounded among themyriads of the starry worlds who at this hour of the night glisten inour eyes from the vast expanse of the vault of heaven--mysterious worldsin which we are to relive successively, in body and soul, but withbodies new and evermore repurified! Brother, at the time of the conquestof Caesar, our ancestors, then enslaved and loaded with chains centuriesago in the very _ergastula_ where we now are, said, perhaps, as you justnow in despair: 'Our dearly beloved Gaul is forever enslaved to theRoman conqueror'--and yet not two centuries and a half had passedbefore, by dint of heroic insurrections against the Romans, Gaul againwon back, step by step, although paying dearly for it with the blood ofour fathers, the country's rights, liberties, and even finalindependence during the glorious era of Victoria the Great!"
"You are right, Loysik; you are right."
"And do you forget the prophetic vision of that august woman--the visionthat our ancestor Schanvoch transmitted to us in the narrative of hisdays, and that our father so often told us of?"
"In that vision, Victoria saw Gaul enslaved, exhausted, bleeding,prostrate and crushed down under heavy burdens, dragging herself alongthe ground under the whip of the Frankish kings and the bishops! Andthen again she saw Gaul free, proud, radiant, trampling under foot thecollar of slavery, the crown of kings and the tiara of Popes! Gaul thenheld in one hand a bundle of fruits and flowers, in the other a standardsurmounted by the Gallic cock--the red flag."
"What, then, do you fear? Think of the past! First bent down under theRoman conquest, Gaul re-rises through the courage of her sons andbecomes again free and redoubtable! Let the past give you faith in thefuture! Perchance that future is still far away. What is time to us--tous, who at this supreme moment have but the last few hours of our lifeto count! Oh, my brother, I have a profound faith, an invincible faith,in the final rejuvenation and enfranchisement of Gaul!--centuries arecenturies to man; they are but instants in the eternal progress ofmankind!"
"Loysik, you reassure me, you confirm my confidence. Aye, I shall leavethis world with my eyes fixed upon the radiant vision of renascent Gaul!Still one sorrow I carry with me--our uncertainty regarding the fate ofour father. What may have become of him?"
"If he still lives, Ronan, may he never know of our end! He loved us sotenderly--his was a large heart. At a season of national insurrectionand at the head of a province risen in arms, he might have become a herolike the Chief of the Hundred Valleys, who was his idol! At the head ofa band of men in revolt, our father could be nothing but a chief ofBagauders or Vagres.[B] You know my sentiments with regard to thoseterrible reprisals, which, however legitimate they may be, leave onlyruins and disaster behind them. But without approving his conduct, Ifeel inclined to acquit him of blame, because his vengeance never smotebut the wicked."
[B] "I do not know by what diabolical influence they accomplished it,but they seduced in this fashion an immense multitude of men, who setthemselves to pillaging and despoiling all whom they met on their way,and distributed their spoils among those who had nothing."--BishopGregory of Tours. Histoire des Franks, IV., 10.
"Brother," said Ronan, "they seem to be in high feather at the burg! Doyou hear the distant din of their merriment? Oh, by the bones of ourancestor Sylvest, the young and brilliant Roman seigneurs, who, crownedwith flowers laughed with cruel laughter and careless of the future onthe gilded balcony of the circus, while their slaves, who were consignedto the wild beasts, awaited death in the sombre vault of theamphitheatre, just as we to-night await it in this undergroundprison--they were also quite hilarious. Aye, those Roman seigneurs wereindeed hilarious; and yet from the depths of their dungeons the Gallicslaves shook their chains in cadence and sang the prophetic words:'Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest! Hasten, thou mower, hasten!It is ripe! Whet your scythe, whet it! Whet your scythe!'"