CHAPTER II.

AT BAY.

What noise is that? It sounds like the distant and m.u.f.fled tread and cries of a large mult.i.tude. Aye, large indeed is the mult.i.tude that is advancing towards the village of Ryonne, where the army of Clotaire II is encamped. Whence does that mult.i.tude proceed? Oh, it comes from far.

It started as far away as the slopes of the Jura; it was swelled on the road by large numbers of the people who inhabited the cities, hamlets and villages that it crossed; slaves and colonists, young and old men, women and children, poured from their homes, their fields, their huts; at the risk of imprisonment, the lash and even mutilation at their return, slaves and colonists joined the swelling mult.i.tude; at the risk of the fatigue of the rapid march, that for some, lasted two days, for others, one day, half a day, two hours, or one hour, according to where they fell in line, city people left their pursuits and eagerly turned into the surging human stream. But what was it that attracted so eagerly the frantic, swelling crowd? It was these words, that flew from mouth to mouth: "Queen Brunhild is pa.s.sing--she is taken prisoner to be delivered to Fredegonde's son!"

Aye, such was the hatred, the disgust, the horror, the dread inspired in Gaul by those two names--Fredegonde and Brunhild--that large numbers of people found it impossible to resist the curiosity of knowing and seeing what was to be the issue of the capture of Brunhild by Fredegonde's son.

The mult.i.tude, accordingly, moved in the direction of the village of Ryonne. Fifty hors.e.m.e.n in arms headed the march and cleared the way.

Behind them rode Constable Herpon armed cap-a-pie, and closely after him, riding between two other warriors on horseback who held her palfrey by the bridle appeared Brunhild. The old Queen's arms were pinioned behind her back and she was bound upon her saddle. Her long, gold-embroidered purple robe was dusty and mud-bespattered, and hung in tatters from her body. The indomitable woman had offered a desperate resistance when she was finally overtaken by the constable and his men.

One of her sleeves, together with half her corsage, was torn off, and left bare her neck and shoulders and one of her arms, all of which were covered with livid, bluish bruises, partly hidden under her long, grey, tangled and tumbled hair to which fragments of dung and ordure, that the people had flung at her while whelming her with insults, were still seen to cling. From time to time, the fettered lioness gave her head a convulsive shake in the effort to disengage her face from the disheveled locks before it--at such times, glimpses were obtained of her hideous, horrible visage. Before being finally caught, the woman had defended herself like a wild animal at bay. The desire of her captors was to take her alive to the son of her mortal enemy. In the brutal hand to hand struggle of Constable Herpon and his armed men with Brunhild she was smitten with their fists in the face and kicked in the body. Her arms, shoulders, bosom, limbs and face were severely bruised. One of her eyes bore the mark of a violent blow, given with the hilt of a sword. The eyelids and a portion of the cheek disappeared under a large blue and black contusion. Her upper lip was slit and swollen as the result of another blow, that broke in two of her teeth and bathed her lower face in blood. The blood had since dried on her skin and added to the hideousness of her appearance. Nevertheless, of such temper was that being's savage energy, that her forehead retained its wonted haughtiness, her eyes their wonted pride. Firmly fettered though she was, bruised, tattered, covered with dust, mud and even dung, Brunhild still looked redoubtable. Imprecations, hisses, jeers, threats, hurled at her along the route--nothing had been able to shake her inflexible soul.

In his haste to relish the sight of his captive and victim, Clotaire left the village and rode out accompanied by Warnachaire to meet her.

Other seigneurs of Burgundy and Austrasia, who sided with Clotaire, also followed him. Among the latter were Dukes Pepin, Arnolfe, Alethee, Eubelan, Roccon, Sigowald, the Bishop of Troyes and many more.

Seeing the King from a distance, Constable Herpon hastened towards his sovereign, after issuing his orders to the two riders who led Brunhild's mount. The latter immediately spurred their horses and rode rapidly upon the heels of the constable leading the fallen Queen between them. Old though she was, had she not been pinioned, Brunhild would have held her saddle like an Amazon. But hindered by the bonds that bound her, she was unable to follow with suppleness the motion of her mount. As a consequence, the gallop of her palfrey threw Brunhild's body into ridiculous jumps and postures. The escort of armed men on horseback, together with the mob, followed her on the run and whelmed her with fresh jeers and hisses. Constable Herpon finally reached the King, leaped from his horse and pointing to the old Queen said to his men:

"Set her on the ground. Leave only her arms tied behind her back."

The riders obeyed, and the cords that bound Brunhild to the saddle were unfastened. But the long pressure of the ligaments had so benumbed her limbs that she was unable to stand upon her legs and forced her to drop upon her knees. Immediately she cried out, lest her fall be construed as an evidence of weakness or fear:

"My limbs are numb--Brunhild does not fall upon her knees before her enemies!"

The Frankish warriors raised and held the Queen. Her favorite palfrey, the same that she rode on the day of the battle, and from which she had just alighted, stretched out its intelligent head and gently licked the Queen's hands, tied up behind her. For the first time, but only for a moment, were Brunhild's features expressive of aught but savage pride and concentrated rage. Turning her head over her shoulder, she said to the animal in a voice that sounded almost tender:

"Poor animal; you did your best to save me with the swiftness of your flight--but your strength gave out; and now you bid me adieu in your own way; you entertain no hatred for Brunhild; but Brunhild is proud of being hated by all others--because she is feared by all--"

Clotaire II drew slowly near to the old Queen. A wide circle consisting of Frankish seigneurs, warriors of the army and the mob that had followed formed itself around the son of Fredegonde and her mortal enemy. What with the sight of that King, and what with her own determination not to falter in his presence, Brunhild summoned an energy and strength that seemed superhuman. Addressing the warriors who held her under the arms she shouted savagely:

"Back--take your hands from me--I can stand alone!"

Indeed, she stood unsupported, and took two steps towards the King as if to prove to him that she felt neither weakness nor fear. Thus Clotaire II and Brunhild found themselves face to face in the center of a circle that drew closer and closer. The vast crowd was hushed in profound silence; with bated breath the issue of the terrible interview was awaited. With his arms crossed over his heaving breast, Fredegonde's son contemplated his victim wrapt in silent and savage joy. Brunhild broke the silence. With head erect and intrepid mien she said in her sharp, penetrating voice that resounded clearly at a distance:

"First of all, good morning to good Warnachaire, the cowardly soldier, who ordered my army to flee. Thanks to your infamous treachery, here am I--I, the daughter, wife and mother of Kings--with my arms pinioned, my face bruised with the fist-blows given me, soiled with dung, mud and ordure thrown at me by the people along the road.--Triumph, son of Fredegonde! Triumph, young man! For two days the populace have been whelming with hisses, contempt and dirt the Frankish royalty, your own, the royalty of your own family in my person! You have vanquished me, but never will the royalty recover from the blow that you have dealt me!"

"Glorious King," said the Bishop of Troyes to Clotaire II in a low voice, "order that woman to be gagged; her tongue is more venomous than an asp's."

"On the contrary, I wish her to speak; I shall enjoy the torture that her pride undergoes."

While the prelate and the King were exchanging these words, Brunhild had proceeded with an ever more resonant voice, waving her head at the crowd of warriors:

"Stupid people! Besotted people!--You respect us, you fear us, us of the royal family,--and yet it is a royal face that you see before you, bruised with fist-blows, like that of any vile slave! The mother of your King--that Fredegonde who was prost.i.tuted to all the lackeys of Chilperic's palace--must often have looked as I do now, every time that she was beaten by one of her vulgar a.s.sociates!"

"Dare you speak of prost.i.tution, you old she-wolf bleached in debauchery!" cried Clotaire II in a no less resonant voice than Brunhild.

"Your mother Fredegonde had my husband Sigebert and my son Childebert stabbed to death by her pages--"

"And you, miscreant, did not you have Lupence, the Bishop of St. Privat murdered by Count Oabale, one of your lovers?"

"And did not Fredegonde in turn cause Pretextat to be a.s.sa.s.sinated in the basilica of Rouen, as a punishment for his having married me to your brother Merovee--"

"My brother Merovee married you, thanks to your sorceries, abominable witch! And after you abused his youth you goaded him to parricide--you armed him against his own father, who was also mine."

"And a loving father! Not content with having his son Merovee's throat cut at Noisy, Chilperic delivered to the dagger and the poison of Fredegonde all the children whom he had from his other wives."

"You lie, monster! You lie!" cried Clotaire II livid with rage and grinding his teeth.

"Seigneur King, do order the woman to be gagged," again whispered the Bishop of Troyes to the King.

"Of the many wives whom your father Chilperic repudiated there still remained one alive, Andowere," Brunhild proceeded; "Andowere had two children, Clodwig and Basine; the mother was strangled, the son stabbed to death, and the daughter delivered to the pages of Fredegonde!"

"Hold your tongue, infamous woman, who introduce concubines into your grandsons' chamber for the purpose of enervating them and reigning in their stead; who order the a.s.sa.s.sination of whatever honorable people revolt at such a crime--as happened to Berthoald, the mayor of the palace of Burgundy, whom you ordered killed; as happened to Bishop Didier whom you had stoned to death."

"After Chilperic had my husband a.s.sa.s.sinated, he seized my relative Sigila and ordered the joints of his limbs to be burned with red-hot irons, his nose cut off, his eyes put out, red-hot irons thrust under his nails, and finally his hands, then his arms, then his lower legs and finally his upper legs cut off--every imaginable torture!"

"Warnachaire!" cried Clotaire purple with rage, "remember all those tortures; forget not one; we shall presently find whom to apply them to;" and addressing Brunhild, "And did not you yourself stain your hands with the blood of your grandson Theudebert after the battle of Tolbiac?

And was not the head of his son, a child of five years dashed against a stone at your orders?"

"And what blood is that, still fresh, with which your own robe is bespattered? It is the innocent blood of three children, my grandsons, whose kingdoms you have secured to yourself by their murder! And that is the manner in which we all of us, people of the royal family, act. In order to reign we kill our children, our relatives, our mates. Chilperic stood in the way of your mother Fredegonde's vulgar pleasures, and she had him despatched!"

"Gag that woman!" commanded Clotaire in a paroxysm of rage.

"Oh, my dear sons in Christ," shouted the Bishop of Troyes, endeavoring to drown the panting voice of Brunhild; "place no faith in the words of this execrable woman in matters that concern the family of our glorious King Clotaire II.--These are infamous calumnies!"

"Warriors, I wish before I die, to unveil to you all the crimes of your Kings."

"Hold your tongue, demon! Female Beelzebub!" again broke in the Bishop of Troyes in a thundering voice, and he added in a lower voice to Clotaire: "Glorious King, do you not think it is high time to have the woman gagged? If you do not, you must prepare to hear even worse accusations."

Two leudes, who at the first orders of Clotaire had looked for a scarf, threw it over Brunhild's mouth and tied it behind her head.

"Oh, monster, spewed out of h.e.l.l!" the Bishop of Troyes thereupon proceeded to apostrophise Brunhild, "if this glorious family of Frankish Kings, to whom the Lord granted the possession of Gaul in reward for their Catholic faith and their submission to the Church, if these Kings had committed the crimes that you have the audacity of charging them with in your diabolical spirit of mendacity, could they, as the visible support given to them by G.o.d in overpowering their enemies, shows them to be--could they be the beloved sons of our holy Church? Would we, the fathers in Christ of the people of Gaul, order these to obey their Kings and masters, and to submit to their will?--would we do so if they were not the elect of the Lord? Go to--witch! You are the horror of the world! The world now spews you back into h.e.l.l, where you come from.

Return thither, Oh, monster, who sought to unnerve your grandsons with debauchery, in order that you might reign in their place! Oh, my brothers in Christ, who of you all does not shudder with horror at the base thought of the unheard-of crime that this execrable woman has gloried in?"

That crime, the most execrable of all that the infamous Queen had admitted, aroused so profound an indignation among the a.s.sembled crowd that one, unanimous cry of vengeance issued from its midst:--

"Death to Brunhild! Let the earth be rid of her! Let her perish amidst tortures!"

CHAPTER III.

THE DEATH OF BRUNHILD.

Three days had elapsed since Brunhild fell into the power of Clotaire II. The sun had crossed the zenith. A man with a long white beard, clad in a hooded brown robe, and mounted upon a mule was following the road, upon which, escorted by the armed men of her mortal foe, and leading behind her a mob that rent the air with execrations, Brunhild had shortly before ridden to the village of Ryonne. The venerable old man was Loysik. He had escaped death by reason of the Queen's precipitate departure from the castle. One of the young brothers of the community accompanied the old monk on foot, guiding his mule by the bridle. From the opposite direction, a warrior, armed cap-a-pie, was climbing on horseback the rough road that Loysik was at the same time slowly descending with his mule. When the Frank had come within a few paces of the old man, the latter opened up a conversation with him: