CHAPTER VII. MITAINE OPENS THE CAMPAIGN.
CHARLEMAGNE, on one occasion, committed an act of imprudence; hepromised Mitaine that when she performed any remarkable feat of valour,she should be attached to Roland's staff as a squire. From that momentshe never rested; ambition constantly haunted her, and, without lettingany one know her plans, she was always looking out for some opportunityof distinguishing herself. The Fortress of Fear seemed an object worthyof her labour, and the unfortunate issue of the expedition of thefour knights induced her to undertake the adventure. "If my friendCroquemitaine lives in the castle, I will find him, and prove I am notafraid of him."
She set forth early one morning, accompanied by a young page of heracquaintance named Ortez; and when she found herself at what shebelieved a sufficient distance from the camp to render pursuitimpossible, she told her companion to return to the Emperor, and informhim that she had resolved to find the Fortress of Fear.
"Tell him not to be alarmed for me; he shall have no reason to blush forhis godchild. I hope before long to remind him of his promise to make mea squire."
The page endeavoured in vain to dissuade her from her plan; in vain hethreatened her with the anger of Charlemagne. "When I return," said she,"he will gladly embrace me."
The more he described to her the magnitude of the dangers she wouldencounter, the more determined she was to face them.
"Well, then, I shall follow you," said Ortez, resolutely.
"If you do anything of the sort I warn you that we shall quarrel."
"Do you think I am wanting in courage?"
"No! I know you are brave; only I do not desire to lessen the merit ofthe deed I am resolved to accomplish by sharing its dangers with you."
"But it would be dishonourable in me to allow to go alone into dangerone whom it is my duty to defend," said the lad, planting his littlefists on his hips.
"By the Shrine of St. Landri! you are too importunate, Ortez. Girls likeme have beak and talons like fully-fledged falcons. Return, then, to thecamp to inform Charlemagne, and if in three days I do not come back, youwill pray for a gallant girl who died in the quest of adventure."
The page was obliged to give way; he returned alone along the road whichhe had just traversed in company with Mitaine, and I will not swear thathe had not tears in his eyes.
As soon as she was alone, Mitaine assured herself that her sword wasfirmly buckled on at her side--that her dagger quitted its sheatheasily; then she bent her steps towards a ruined hut which stood in themidst of a vast field of maize. Before long she reached it, and saw apeasant seated on the ground playing with his children. She wasstruck by his air of profound melancholy, and shocked at the wretchedappearance of the little ones that were rolling' about in the dust.
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"Can you tell me the way to the Fortress of Fear?"
On hearing this question the peasant rose hurriedly, and stared atMitaine with frightened eyes. The youngsters took refuge between hislegs as if they expected some calamity.
"Do you know what you are asking?" said the terrified man. "It isdoubtless a jest, or a bit of show-off inexcusable in a child of yourage."
"You do not answer seriously a serious question. Not being a native ofthe country, I may not express myself properly; I believe, however, Ispoke sufficiently plainly to be understood. Once more I ask you the wayto the Fortress of Fear."
"It is the way to certain death."
"What does that matter?--it is the way I intend to take. I feel certainthat they belie the lord of the castle, and wish to put his hospitalityto the test."
"Here is a madman!" said the peasant to himself, sending the childreninto the hut; "nevertheless, I must not let him go without having toldhim the danger to which he exposes himself. For sixty years, my youngtraveller, I have inhabited this cottage. Not one of those who have putto me the question that you have just asked me has ever returned. Atfirst, the people who travelled along this road came singly; careless,gay, foolish as you, they passed singing before my door: the sameevening they were the captives of Fear. When it was found that there wasdanger in the voyage, there was quite a different sort of procession.Man spends his life in neglecting Heaven and courting death. When Deathscowls at him, he believes it is smiling. The procession never returned.Gallant warriors came, and said to me, 'Prepare a breakfast for usto-morrow, good man; on our return we will make great cheer, and tellyou our adventures, and laugh over them.' And the feast was wasted forwant of guests; and so, later, when reason increased in my brain, asmy beard grew on my chin, I made people pay in advance, but I made nopreparations for their return. Then came troops of warriors fully armed,amid the flourish of trumpets, and with banners floating on the wind.They pillaged my house, and their horses wasted my crops. Fear made themcaptives like the others, and from that time I have lived alone in myruined habitation, which no one dares to approach. I lost my fatherthrough his rashness, my wife through her curiosity; she left me thesechildren. One of them wandered away one day when I was in the fields;what happened to him I have never known; he came back to me an idiot. Ihave never quitted this spot, though it is more like a burial-place thana birth-place. I am a solitary dweller on the frontiers of Death, anadvanced outpost, crying to all such foolish people as you to turnback."
"I thank you," answered Mitaine; "but if you had known me, you wouldhave taken care not to tell me this history, for it only redoubles mydesire to meet this dreadful tyrant."
The peasant raised his arms to Heaven, as if to call it to witness theefforts he had made; then he again sat down before his ruined cabin.
"You must be poor," said Mitaine, feeling in her purse. "Take this; youwill be my heir if I die, which does not appear to me quite so certain.In any case, the money is yours. Pass the night in prayers for mysuccess, and in the meantime point out to me the road that I mustfollow."
The peasant rose, took Mitaine by the hand, and climbed with her a nakedheight which overlooked the country.
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"You see that footpath which borders the forest? That you must follow.Whither it leads no one knows. Heaven be with you! Farewell!"
"Let me embrace you," said Mitaine, holding out her arms to the peasant,who sank on his knees, as if in the presence of the dead. She flung herarms round his neck, and kissed him; the old man wept; one of his tearsfell on Mitaine's hand, she signed herself with it as if it had beenholy water;--then she departed. The peasant remained on his kneespraying until sunset; after that he sought his miserable home, put hischildren to bed, lit a taper, and again betook himself to prayer untilmorning.
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