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

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."