Anselm had hardly finished speaking when a man on horseback, preceded by a sergeant-at-arms, covered with iron and the visor of his casque up, appeared at the entrance of the street.

"Here is the royal messenger," said the quarryman to the archdeacon, advancing towards the two cavaliers; "if the resolution of the King and the bishop is such as you have just informed me of, let the blood that is to run fall upon them!" Addressing then the royal messenger:

"The Mayor and the Councilmen are awaiting you in the large reception room of the Town Hall of the Commune."

"Monseigneur the King and monseigneur the Bishop commanded the inhabitants to a.s.semble here at the market-place, in order to hear the rescript that I bring," answered the messenger; "I must obey the orders given me."

"If you wish to fulfil your mission, follow me," replied the quarryman.

"Our magistrates, representing the inhabitants of the city, are a.s.sembled at the Town Hall. They have not chosen to wait here." Fearing some trap, the King's messenger hesitated to follow Fergan, who, surmising his thoughts, added: "Fear nothing; your person will be respected; I answer for you with my head."

The sincerity that breathed through the words of Fergan rea.s.sured the envoy, who, from greater prudence, ordered the knight, by whom he was escorted, to accompany him no further, lest the sight of an armed man should irritate the crowd. The royal messenger then followed the quarryman.

"Fergan," the archdeacon called in a penetrating voice, "a last time I conjure you, seek to curb the popular anger. I return to the King and the bishop to renew my endeavors against the fatal course they are starting on."

With that the archdeacon precipitately left the quarryman, who, leaving the market-place, reached the Town Hall, and stepping ahead of the messenger into the crowd repeated several times, while elbowing his way through: "Room and respect for the envoy; he is alone and unarmed!"

Arrived at the threshold of the Town Hall, the envoy left his horse in charge of Robin the Crumb-cracker, who pressed forward offering to guard the palfrey; and accompanied by the quarryman he went up to the large reception hall where were gathered the Mayor and the Councilmen, some in arms, others merely in the robes of their office. The faces of the magistrates were at once grave and uneasy. They misgave the approach of events disastrous to the city. Above the Mayor's seat stood the Communal banner; on a table before him, lay the official silver seal. The gathering was silent and wrapt in thought.

"Mayor and Councilmen! Here is the royal envoy who wishes to make a communication to you."

"We shall listen to him," answered the Mayor, John Molrain; "let him communicate to us the message he is charged with."

The King's man seemed embarra.s.sed in the fulfillment of his errand. He drew from his breast a parchment scroll, sealed with the royal seal, and unfolding it he said in a tremulous voice: "This is the pleasure of our seigneur the King. He has ordered me to read this rescript to you aloud, and to leave it with you, to the end that you may not remain in ignorance upon its contents. Listen to it with respect."

"Read," said John Molrain; and turning to the Councilmen: "Above all, my friends, whatever our sentiments, let us not interrupt the envoy during the reading."

The King's man then read aloud:

"Louis, by the Grace of G.o.d, King of the French, to the Mayor and inhabitants of Laon, Greeting:--

"We order and command you strictly to render, without contradiction or delay, to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the keys of this city, which he holds under us. We likewise order and command you to forward to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of the diocese of Laon, the seal, the banner and the treasury of the Commune, which we now declare abolished. The tower of the belfry and the Town Hall shall be demolished, within the s.p.a.ce of one month at the longest. We order and command you, in addition, to henceforth obey the bans and orders of our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the same as his predecessors and himself have always been obeyed before the establishment of the said Commune, because we may not fail to guarantee to our well-beloved and trusty bishops the possession of the seigniories and rights which they hold from G.o.d as ecclesiastics and from us as laymen.

"This is our will.

"LOUIS."

The recommendation of John Molrain was religiously observed. The King's envoy read his message in the midst of profound silence. In the measure, however, as he proceeded with the reading of the act, every word of which conveyed a threat and was an outrage, an iniquity, a perjury towards the Commune, the Mayor and Councilmen exchanged looks successively expressive of astonishment, rage, pain and consternation.

Overwhelming, indeed, was the astonishment of the Councilmen, to whom Fergan had not yet had time to communicate his conversation with the archdeacon. However, aware of the evil intentions of the King, yet they had not been able to imagine such a flagrant violation of the rights that had been granted, acknowledged and solemnly sworn to by the Prince and the bishop. Great, indeed, was the anger that seized the Councilmen; the least bellicose among them felt his heart stirred with indignation at the insolent challenge hurled at the Commune, at the brazen robbery contemplated by the King and bishop in the attempt to restore their odious rights, the permanent abolition of which was proclaimed by a charter sold for heavy money. Great was also the pain felt by the Councilmen at the royal order to surrender to the bishop their banner, their seal and their treasury, and to tear down their Town Hall and its belfry. That belfry, that seal, that banner, such dear symbols of an emanc.i.p.ation obtained after so many years of oppression, of servitude and of shame,--all were to be renounced by the communiers. They were to fall back under the yoke of Gaudry, when, in their legitimate pride, they expected to bequeath to their children a freedom so painfully acquired. Tears of rage and despair rolled down from all eyes at the bare thought of such a disgrace. Great was the consternation of the Councilmen; even the more energetic of them, while caring little for their own lives, determined to defend the communal franchises unto death, nevertheless antic.i.p.ated with profound pain the disasters that their flourishing city was threatened with, the torrents of blood that civil war was about to shed. Victory or defeat, what distress, what ravages, what a number of widows and orphans in prospect!

At that supreme moment, some of the Councilmen, they later admitted it themselves, after having first triumphed over a transitory feeling of faintness, felt their resolution waver. To enter into a struggle with a King of the French was, for the city of Laon, an act of almost insane foolhardiness. It was to expose the inhabitants to almost certain deeds of retribution. Moreover, these magistrates--all of them husbands and most of them fathers, men of peaceful habits--were not versed in war.

Undoubtedly, to submit to bear the yoke of the bishop and of the n.o.bility meant abysmal degradation; it meant to submit for all future time themselves and their descendants to indignities and incessant exploitation. Life, it is true, would be safe, and by virtue of tame submission to the bishop some concessions might be obtained to render life less miserable. Fortunately, the instances where such unworthy wavering in the face of peril was experienced, had the advantage of unrolling before the shaken hearts the abysmal infamy that fear might drive them to. Promptly returning to their senses, these men realized that the fatal choice was between degradation and servitude on the one side, and, on the other, the dangers of a resistance sacred as justice itself; that they had to choose between shame or a glorious death. Their self-respect soon regained the upper hand, and they blushed at their own weakness. When the envoy of Louis the l.u.s.ty had finished reading the royal message, none of the Councilmen who had just been a prey to cruel perplexities raised the voice to advise the relinquishment of the franchises of the Commune.

The reading of the King's rescript being ended, John Molrain said to the envoy in a solemn voice: "Are you authorized to listen to our objections?"

"There is no room for objections to an act of the sovereign will of our seigneur the King, signed by his own hand and sealed with his own seal,"

answered the messenger. "The King commands in the fullness of his power; his subjects obey with humility. Bend your knees, bow down your foreheads!"

"Is the will of Louis the l.u.s.ty irrevocable?" resumed the Mayor.

"Irrevocable!" answered the envoy. "And as a first proof of your obedience to his orders, the King herein orders you, Councilmen, to hand over to me the keys, the seal and the banner of the city. I have orders to take them to the bishop, in token of submission to the abolition of the Commune."

These words of the messenger carried the exasperation of the Councilmen to its pitch. Some bounded from their seats or raised to heaven their threatening fists; others covered their faces in their hands. Threats, imprecations, moans, escaped from all lips. Dominating the tumult, John Molrain ordered silence. All the Councilmen resumed their seats. Then, rising full of dignity, calmness and firmness, the Mayor turned to the banner of the Commune, that stood behind his seat, pointed towards it with his hand and said to the messenger of the King: "On this banner, that the King commands us to give up like cowards, are traced two towers and a sword: The towers are the emblem of the city of Laon, the sword is the emblem of the Commune. Our duty is inscribed upon that banner--to defend with arms the franchises of our city. That seal, which the King demands as a token of relinquishment of our liberties," John Molrain proceeded, taking up from the table a silver medal, "this seal represents a man raising his right hand to heaven in witness of the sacredness of his oath; in his left hand he holds a sword, with the point over his heart. This man is the Mayor of the Commune of Laon. This magistrate is swearing by heaven to rather die than betray his oath.

Now, then, _I, Mayor of the Commune of Laon, freely elected by my fellow townsmen, I swear to maintain and to defend our rights and our franchises unto death_!"

"To that oath we shall all be faithful!" cried the Councilmen with frantic enthusiasm. "We swear sooner to die than to renounce our franchises!"

"You have heard the answer of the Mayor and Councilmen of Laon," said John Molrain to the King's man when the tumult was appeased. "Our charter has been sworn to and signed by the King and by Bishop Gaudry in the year 1109. We shall defend that charter with the sword. The King of the French is all-powerful in Gaul, the Commune of Laon is strong only in its rights and in the bravery of its inhabitants. It has done everything to avoid an impious war. It now awaits its enemies."

Hardly had John Molrain p.r.o.nounced these last words when a deafening uproar rose outside the Town Hall. Colombaik had joined his father to accompany the royal messenger to the council hall. But after hearing the rescript of the King, he was not able longer to restrain his indignation. Hastily descending to the street, packed with a dense ma.s.s, he announced that the King abolished the Commune and re-established the bishop in the sovereignty of his so justly abhorred rights. While the news spread like wild-fire from mouth to mouth through the whole city, the crowd, ma.s.sed upon the square, began to make the air resound with imprecations. The more exasperated communiers invaded the hall, where the council was gathered, and cried, inflamed with fury: "To arms! To arms! Down with the King, the bishop and the episcopals!"

Sufficiently uneasy before now, the royal messenger grew pale with fear, and ran for protection behind the Mayor and Councilmen, saying to them in a trembling voice: "I have only obeyed orders; protect me!"

"Fear nothing!" called Fergan. "I have answered for you with my head. I shall see you safe to the gates of the city."

"To arms!" cried John Molrain, addressing himself to the inhabitants who had invaded the hall. "Ring the belfry bell to convoke the people to the market-place. From there we shall march to the ramparts! To arms, communiers! To arms!"

These words of John Molrain caused the King's messenger to be forgotten.

While several inhabitants climbed to the tower of the belfry to set the big bell ringing, others descended quickly to the street and spread themselves over the city crying: "To arms!" "Commune!" "Commune!" And these cries, taken up by the crowds, were soon joined by the clangor from the belfry.

"Molrain," Fergan said to the Mayor, "I shall accompany the envoy of Louis the l.u.s.ty to the city's gate that opens opposite the episcopal palace, and I shall remain on guard at that postern, one of the most important posts."

"Go," answered the Mayor; "we of the Council shall remain here in permanence to the end of deciding upon the measures to be taken."

Fergan and Colombaik descended from the council hall. The King's man walked between them. The people, running home for their arms, had cleared the square; only a few groups were left behind. Little Robin the Crumb-cracker, who had been charged with the care of the messenger's palfrey, had hastened to profit by the opportunity of straddling a horse for the first time in his life, and was carrying himself triumphantly in the saddle. At sight of the quarryman, he quickly came down again and said, while placing the reins into his hands: "Master Fergan, here is the horse; I prefer the infantry to the cavalry. I shall now run for my pike. Let the little episcopals look out. If I meet any, I'll ma.s.sacre them."

The bellicose ardor of the stripling seemed to strike the royal envoy even more forcibly than anything he had yet seen. He remounted his horse escorted by Fergan and his son. The redoubled peals from the belfry resounded far into the distance. In all the streets that the King's man traversed on his way to the city gate, shops were hastily closing, and soon the faces of women and children appeared at the windows, following with anxious mien the husband, father, son or brother, who was leaving the house to meet in arms at the call of the belfry. The King's messenger, sombre and silent, could not conceal the astonishment and fear produced in him by the warlike excitement of that people of bourgeois and artisans, all running with enthusiasm to the defence of the Commune. "Before you arrived at the gate of the city," Fergan said to him, "you surely expected to meet here with a craven obedience to the orders of the King and the bishop. But you see it for yourself, here, as at Beauvais, as at Cambrai, as at Noyons, as at Amiens, the old Gallic blood is waking up after centuries of slavery. Report faithfully to Louis the l.u.s.ty and to Gaudry what you have witnessed while crossing the city. Perchance, at the supreme moment, they may recoil before the iniquity that they are contemplating, and they may yet save grave disasters to this city that asks but to be allowed to live peacefully and happy in the name of the faith that has been plighted."

"I have no authority in the councils of my seigneur the King," answered the envoy sadly, "but I swear in the name of G.o.d, I did not expect to see what I have seen, and hear what I have heard. I shall faithfully report it all to my master."

"The King of the French is all-powerful in Gaul, the city of Laon is strong only in its right and the bravery of its inhabitants. It now awaits its enemies! You see it is on its guard," added Fergan, pointing to a troop of bourgeois militia that had just occupied the ramparts contiguous to the gate by which the King's envoy made his exit.

CHAPTER VIII.

RETRIBUTION.

The episcopal palace, fortified with towers and thick walls, was separated from the city by a wide s.p.a.ce, lined with trees and that served as a promenade. Fergan and his son were busy organizing the transport of materials destined for the defence of the walls in case of an attack, when the quarryman saw the outer gate of the episcopal palace thrown open. Several of the King's men came out, looked around cautiously, as if to make sure that the promenade was clear, re-entered the palace in hot haste, and almost immediately a strong escort of knights rode out, and took the road that led to the boundary of Picardy.

This vanguard was closely followed by a few warriors, clad in brilliant armor, one of them, notable for his enormous stomach; two ordinary men could have been easily held in this one's cuira.s.s. The rider's casque was topped with a golden crown engraved with fleur-de-lis. The long scarlet saddle-cloth, that covered his horse almost wholly, was likewise embroidered in gold fleur-de-lis. These insignias, coupled with the extraordinary corpulence of the rider, designated Louis the l.u.s.ty to Fergan. A few steps behind the Prince the quarryman recognized the messenger, whom, shortly before, he had himself accompanied to the gate of the city, and who, now was engaged in an animated conversation with the Abbot de la Marche. The train closed with several baggage mules and servants; the rear was brought up by another squad of knights. The whole cavalcade soon fell into a gallop, and Fergan saw the King at a distance turning towards the ramparts of Laon, whose belfry bell did not cease ringing, and menace the city with a gesture of rage by shaking at it his closed fist, covered with a mailed gauntlet. Giving then the spurs to his horse, Louis the l.u.s.ty soon disappeared at the turning of the road in the midst of a cloud of dust.

"You flee before the insurgent communiers, oh, King of the Franks, n.o.ble descendant of Hugh Capet!" cried out Colombaik in the pa.s.sionate heat of his age. "Old Gaul is waking up! The descendants of the kings of the conquest flee before the popular uprisings! The day predicted by Victoria has arrived!"

Ripened with age and experience, Fergan said to his son in a grave and melancholic voice: "My son, let us not take the first glimmerings of the approaching dawn for the light of the midday sun." At that very moment, the sound of the great bell of the cathedral, never rung but at certain great holidays, was suddenly heard. Instead, however, of ringing slowly and in measured ryhthm, as usual, its clang now was alternately rapid and then again at long intervals. The tolling lasted only a short time; soon the bell was silent. "To arms!" Fergan cried out in a thundering voice. "This must be a signal agreed upon between the knights of the city and the episcopal palace. While waiting for the re-inforcements that, undoubtedly, the King is gone after, the episcopals deem themselves able to overcome us. To arms! Cover the ramparts! Death to the episcopals!"

At the call of Fergan and his son, the latter of whom ran to rally the insurgents, the communiers hastened near, some armed with bows, others with pikes, hatchets and swords--all ready to repel an attack. Others again lighted fires under caldrons full of pitch, while their companions rolled with great effort towards the ramparts certain engines of war, which, by means of turning pallets, fastened in the middle of a twisted rope, hurled enormous stones more than a hundred paces off. Suddenly a great noise, in which shouts were mixed with the clatter of arms, sounded from afar in the center of the city. As Fergan had forseen, the episcopals sallying forth from their fortified dwellings at the signal given by the great bell of the cathedral, had fallen upon the bourgeois in the city at the same time that, as agreed upon, the serfs of the episcopal palace, led by several knights, were to begin the siege of the ramparts. The communiers were, accordingly, to find themselves between two enemies, one within, the other without. In fact, Fergan saw the gate of the episcopal palace swing open once more, and there issued forth from it a huge four-wheeled wagon, pushed from behind with feet and hands. The wagon was filled with straw and f.a.ggots, heaped so high, that the ma.s.s of combustibles, raised twelve or fifteen feet above the rails of the wagon, completely hid and covered those who shoved it, serving them as a shelter against the projectiles that might be hurled at them from the walls. The a.s.sailants figured upon setting fire to the combustibles in the wagon, with the object of pushing it near enough to the gate so as to communicate its fire to the latter. The move, although skilfully planned, was baffled by the quick wit of Robin the Crumb-cracker, the blacksmith's apprentice. Armed with his pike, he was one of the first at the ramparts, and had noticed the chariot advancing slowly and always pushed from behind. Several insurgents, armed with bows, yielded to a thoughtless impulse, and hastened to shoot their arrows at the wagon. These, however, fastened themselves uselessly in the straw or the wood. Robin pulled off his shirt, tore it in shreds, and sighting a tall militiaman, who, seduced by the example of his fellows was also about to shoot uselessly upon the straw, the blacksmith's apprentice brusquely disarmed the townsman, seized the arrow, wrapped it in one of the shreds of his shirt, ran and plunged it into a caldron of pitch, already liquid, lighted it at the fire, and quickly placing it on the cord of the bow, fired the flaming arrow into the middle of the chariot filled with combustibles, and then but a short distance from the walls. Overjoyed at his own inspiration, Robin clapped his hands, turned somersaults, and while returning the bow to the astonished militiaman, set up the shout: "Commune! Commune! The episcopals prepare the bonfires, the communiers light them!" And the blacksmith's apprentice ran to pick up his pike.

Hardly had the firebrand dropped upon that load of straw and f.a.gots than it took fire, and offered to the eyes one ma.s.s of flames, overtopped by a dense cloud of smoke that the wind drove towards the episcopal palace.