The Abbatial Crosier; or, Bonaik and Septimine. A Tale of a Medieval Abbess
At the words of the goldsmith, two apprentices ran down into the vault behind the forge for charcoal, and the other blew upon the fire, while the old man approached Septimine, who, on her knees before the unconscious woman, wept and said: "Oh, she is going to die!"
"Reassure yourself," the old man said; "this poor woman's hands, icy cold a minute ago, are becoming warmer. But what has happened? Your clothes also are drenched. You look strangely shocked."
"Good father, at daybreak this morning, the girls who sleep in my room and I woke up and went into the courtyard. There we heard other slaves crying that the dikes had burst. The girls all ran to see the progress of the inundation. I went along without knowing why. They dispersed. I advanced to a tongue of land that is washed by the water of the pond. A large willow stands near the spot. I presently saw a half-submerged cart floating a little way off. It was being turned around by the opposite currents, and it was covered by a tent-cloth."
"Thanks be to God! The spreading tent-cloth acted like a balloon and kept the cart from sinking."
"The wind blew into this sort of a sail, driving the cart towards the shore where I stood. I then saw this unfortunate woman, holding to the tent-cloth, the rest of her body in the water."
"And what happened then, my daughter?"
"There was not a second to lose. The failing hands of the poor woman, whose strength was exhausted, were about to drop. I fastened one end of my belt to one of the branches of the willow-tree and the other to my wrist and I leaned forward towards the poor woman calling out to her: 'Courage!' She heard me, and seized my right hand convulsively. The sudden pull caused my feet to slip from the edge and I fell into the water."
"Fortunately your left wrist was tied to one of the ends of the belt that you had fastened to the tree!"
"Yes, good father. But the shock was violent. I thought my arm was wrenched from its socket. Fortunately the poor woman took hold of the edge of my dress. My first pain having passed I did my best, and with the aid of my belt that remained fastened to the tree and on which I tugged away, I succeeded in reaching the shore and pulling out this woman, on the point of drowning. Our workshop being the nearest place that I could think of, I brought her here; she could hardly support herself; but, alack!" added the girl at the sight of the still inanimate face of Rosen-Aër, for it was Berthoald's mother that Septimine had just saved, "I may only have retarded the supreme moment for a few seconds!"
"Do not lose hope," answered the old man, "her hands are growing warmer."
With the aid of the apprentices, who were no less compassionate than Septimine and the old man, Rosen-Aër was drawn sitting on a stool near the forge. Little by little she felt the salutary effect of the penetrating heat, she gradually recovered her senses, and finally awoke. Gathering her thoughts, she stretched out her arms to Septimine and said in a feeble voice: "Dear child, you saved me!"
Septimine threw herself around Rosen-Aër's neck, shedding glad tears, and answered: "We have done what we could; we are only poor slaves."
"Oh! my child, I am a slave like yourselves, brought to this country from the center of Languedoc. We spent the night on the road between the two ponds of this monastery. The oxen had been unhitched from the carts. We were caught in the inundation that began at daybreak – " But Rosen-Aër suddenly broke off and rose to her feet. Her face was at first expressive of stupor, but immediately a delirious joy seized her, and precipitating herself towards the open window, she passed her arm through the thick iron bars, crying: "My son! I see my son Amael yonder!"
For a moment both Septimine and Bonaik believed the unhappy woman had become demented, but when they approached the window the young girl joined her hands and cried out: "The Frankish Chief, he in an underground passage of the abbey?"
Rosen-Aër and Septimine saw on the other side of the moat Berthoald holding himself up with both hands by the iron bars of the air-hole of the cavern. He suddenly saw and as quickly recognized his mother, and, delirious with joy, he cried in a thrilling voice that, despite the distance, reached the workshop: "Mother!.. My dear mother!"
"Septimine," Bonaik said anxiously to the girl, "do you know that young man?"
"Oh, yes! He was as good to me as an angel from Heaven! I saw him at the convent of St. Saturnine. It is to that warrior that Charles donated this abbey."
"To him!" replied the old man, bewildered. "How, then, comes he in that cavern?"
"Master Bonaik," one of the apprentices ran by saying, "I hear outside the voice of the intendant Ricarik. He stopped under the vault to scold some one. He will be here in a minute. He is coming on his morning round, as is his habit. What is best to be done?"
"Good God!" cried the old man in terror. "He will find this woman here, and will question her. She may betray herself and acknowledge that she is the mother of that young man – undoubtedly a victim of the abbess." And the old man, running to the window, seized Rosen-Aër by the arm and said to her while he dragged her away: "In the name of your son's life, come! Come quick!"
"What threatens my son's life?"
"Follow me, or he is lost, and you also." And Bonaik, without further explanations to Rosen-Aër, pointed out to her the vault behind the forge, saying: "Hide there, do not stir," and turning to his apprentices while he put on his apron: "You, boys, hammer away as loud as you can, and sing at the top of your voices! You, Septimine, sit down and polish this vase. May God prevent that poor young man from remaining at the air-hole or from being seen by Ricarik!" Saying this the old goldsmith started to hammer upon his anvil, striking with a sonorous voice the old and well-known goldsmith's song in honor of the good Eloi:
"From the station of artisanHe was raised to that of bishop, —With his duties of pastor,Eloi purified the goldsmith.His hammer is the authority for his word,His furnace the constancy of zeal,His bellows the inspirer,His anvil, obedience!"Ricarik entered the workshop. The goldsmith seemed not to notice him, and proceeded with his song while flattening with hammer blows a silver leaf into which the abbatial cross terminated. "You are a jolly set," remarked the intendant stepping to the center of the workshop; "stop your singing … you dogs … you deafen my ears!"
"I have not a drop of blood in my veins," Septimine whispered to Bonaik. "That wicked man is drawing near the window… If he were to see the Frankish chief – "
"Why have you so much fire in the forge?" the intendant proceeded to say, taking a step towards the fireplace, behind which was the cave that Rosen-Aër was concealed in. "Do you amuse yourself burning coal uselessly?"
"No, indeed! This very morning I shall melt the silver that you brought me yesterday."
"Metal is melted in crucibles, not in forges – "
"Ricarik, everyone to his trade. I have worked in the workshops of the great Eloi. I know my profession, seigneur intendant. I shall first subject my metal to the strong fire of the forge, then hammer it, and only after that will it be ready for the crucible. The cast will then be more solid."
"You never lack for an answer."
"Because I always have good ones to give. But there are several necessary things that I shall want from you for this work, the most important of any that I shall have made for the monastery, seeing the silver vase is to be two feet high, as you may judge from the cast on the table."
"What do you need, dotard?"
"I shall need a barrel that I shall fill with sand, and in the middle of which I shall place my mold… That is not all… I have often found that, despite the hoops that hold the staves of the barrel, where molds are placed inside of the sand, the barrel bursts when the molten metal is poured into the hollow. I shall need a long rope to wind tightly around the barrel. If the hoops snap, the rope will hold. I shall also need a long thin string to hold the sides of the mold."
"You shall have the barrel, the rope and string."
"These young folks and I shall be forced to spend part of the night at the work. The days are short at this season. Order a pouch of wine for us, who otherwise drink only water. The good cheer will keep up our strength during our hard night's work. On casting days, at the workshops of the great Eloi, the slaves were always treated to something extra… Eatables were not spared."
"You shall have your pouch of wine … seeing that this is a holy-day at the convent. A miracle has taken place – "
"A miracle! Tell us about it!"
"Yes… A just punishment of heaven has struck a band of adventurers upon whom Charles the accursed had the audacity of bestowing this abbey that is consecrated to the Church. They camped last night upon the jetty, expecting to attack the monastery at daybreak. But the Lord, by means of a redoubtable and astonishing prodigy opened the cataracts of heaven. The ponds swelled and the whole band of criminals was drowned!"
"Glory be to the Lord!" cried the old goldsmith, making a sign to his apprentices to imitate him. "Glory be to the Lord, who drowns impious wretches in the cataracts of his wrath!"
"Glory be to the Lord!" repeated the young slaves in chorus at the top of their voices. "Glory be to the Lord, who drowns impious wretches in the cataracts of his wrath! Amen!"
"It is a miracle that does not at all surprise me, Ricarik," added the goldsmith; "it is surely due to the teeth of St. Loup, to the holy relic that you brought me yesterday."
"That's probable … it is certain… You do not need anything else?"
"No," answered the old man, rising and looking into several boxes; "I have here for the mold enough sulphur and bitumen, there is also enough charcoal; one of my apprentices shall go with you, Ricarik, and bring the barrel, rope and cord, and do not forget the pouch of wine and the victuals, seigneur intendant!"
"You will get them later, together with your pittances at double rations."
"Ricarik, we shall not be able to leave the workshop one instant, on account of the mold. Let us have our daily pittance this morning, if you please, so that the work may not be interrupted. We shall lock the door to keep out intruders."
"Let one of your apprentices come with me; he shall bring all the things, but be sure and have the vase cast to-morrow so as to please our holy abbess; if you fail your backs will have to pay for it."
"You may assure our holy and venerable abbess that when the vase shall come out of the mold it will be worthy of an artisan who saw the great Eloi handle the file and burin." Bonaik then said in a low voice to one of the apprentices, while Ricarik was moving towards the door: "Pick up on your way a dozen stones of the size of walnuts; keep them in your pockets, and bring them to me." He then said aloud: "Accompany the seigneur intendant, my boy; and be sure not to loiter on the way back."
"Rest assured, master," said the apprentice with a significant gesture to the old man while following the intendant out of the shop; "your orders will be obeyed to the letter."
CHAPTER IX.
BRENN – KARNAK
The goldsmith remained a few moments at the threshold of the workshop listening to the retreating steps of the intendant; he then closed and bolted the door and went to the vault where Rosen-Aër was in hiding, while Septimine ran to the window to see whether Berthoald was still in sight. But the sight that presented itself to her eyes made her exclaim with terror: "Great God, the young chief is lost!.. The water has reached the air-hole!"
"Lost!.. My son!" cried Rosen-Aër in despair, rushing to the window despite the old man's efforts to restrain her. "Oh, my son! To have seen you again only to lose you… Amael, Amael!.. Answer your mother!"
"The woman will betray us … if she is heard outside!" said the fear-stricken old man, vainly endeavoring to drag Rosen-Aër from the window bars to which the distracted woman clung, hysterically calling out to her son. But Amael did not reappear. The flood had gained the opening of the air-hole, and despite the width of the moat that separated the two buildings, the muffled sound of the water was heard pouring through the opening and falling into the cavern. Pale as death, Septimine could not utter a word. In the frenzy of her despair, Rosen-Aër sought to break the stout iron bars of the window, while she sobbed aloud: "To know that he is there … in agony … dying … and we unable to save him!"
"Have hope!" cried the old man with tears in his eyes at the sight of the mother's anguish; "hope!.. I have been watching the moss-covered stone at the corner of the air-hole. The water does not rise to it… It has stopped rising… See for yourselves!"
Septimine and Rosen-Aër dried their tears and looked at the stone that Bonaik pointed out. In fact it was not submerged. Presently even the noise of the water flowing down through the air-hole sounded with less distinctness, and finally ceased altogether. The flood seemed checked.
"He is saved!" cried Septimine. "Thank God, the young chief will not drown!"
"Saved!" stammered Rosen-Aër in a heart-rending tone of doubt. "And if enough water has poured into the cavern to drown him… Oh! If he were still alive he would have answered my voice… No, no! He is dying! He is dead!"
"Master Bonaik, some one knocks," an apprentice said. "What shall I do? Open?"
"Return to your hiding place," the old man said to Rosen-Aër, and as she did not seem to hear, he added: "Are you determined to perish and have us all perish with you, we who are ready to sacrifice ourselves for you and your son?" Rosen-Aër left the window and returned to the vault, while the old man walked to the door and inquired: "Who is there?"
"I," answered from the outside the voice of the apprentice who had gone out with Ricarik; "I, Justin, I have executed your commissions, Father Bonaik."
"Come in, quick," said the goldsmith to the lad who carried an empty barrel on his shoulders and had in his hand a basket of provisions, the wine pouch, and a large roll of rope and cord. Re-bolting the door, the old man took the wine pouch out of the basket and going to the vault where Rosen-Aër was hiding said to her: "Take a little wine to comfort you."
But Amael's mother pushed the pouch aside, crying in despair: "My son! My son! What has become of my son Amael?"
"Justin," the old man said to the apprentice, "give me the stones I told you to pick up."
"Here, Master Bonaik, are they. I filled my pockets with them."
The old man picked out a small stone and went to the window, saying: "If the unfortunate man is not drowned, he will understand, when he sees this stone drop into the cave, that it is a signal." Father Bonaik took accurate aim and threw the stone through the air-hole. Rosen-Aër and Septimine awaited the result of Bonaik's attempt in mortal anguish. Even the apprentices observed profound silence. A few seconds of intense anxiety passed. "Nothing," murmured the old goldsmith with his eyes fixed upon the air-hole.
"He is dead!" cried Rosen-Aër, held by Septimine in her arms. "I shall never more see my son!"
The old man threw a second stone. Another interval of anxiety ensued. All held their breath. A few seconds later, as Rosen-Aër raised herself on tip-toe, she cried: "His hands! I see his hands! He is holding to the bar of the air-hole. Thanks, Hesus! Thanks! You have saved my son!" and the woman fell upon her knees in an attitude of prayer.
Bonaik thereupon saw the pale face of Amael, framed in his long black hair that now streamed with water, rise between the iron bars of the air-hole. The old man made him a sign to withdraw quickly, while saying in a low voice as if he expected to be heard by the prisoner: "Now, hide yourself, disappear and wait!" and turning to Rosen-Aër: "Your son has understood me. No imprudence. Be calm." Bonaik then went to his work-bench, took a piece of parchment from a little roll that he used to trace his models on, and wrote these words:
"If the water has not invaded the cavern so that you cannot stay there without danger until night, then give three pulls to the string at the end of which will be attached the stone tied in this note. This cord can then serve as a means of communicating. When you see it shake get ready for further information. Until then do not show yourself at the air-hole. Courage!"
Having written these words, the goldsmith rolled the stone in the parchment, happily impermeable to water, and tied both in a knot to one end of the string, at about the middle of which he attached a piece of iron in order that the body of the rope might be held under water, and thus the means of communication between the workshop and the cavern remain invisible. Bonaik slung the stone through the air-hole, retaining in his hand the other end of the string. Almost immediately after, three pulls given to the string announced to Bonaik that Amael could remain until evening without danger in his prison, and that he would follow the orders of the old man. Hope revived the spirits of Rosen-Aër. In the fulness of her thanks she took the goldsmith's hands and said to him: "Good father, you will save him, will you not? You will save my son?"
"I hope so, poor woman! But let me collect my thoughts… At my age, you know, such experiences are trying. In order to succeed, we must be prudent. The task is difficult… We cannot be too cautious."
While the goldsmith, leaning on his elbows at his work-bench, held his head in his hands, and the apprentices remained silent and uneasy, Rosen-Aër, struck by a sudden recollection, said to Septimine: "My child, you said my son had been good to you, like an angel from heaven… All that concerns you interests me. Where did you meet him?"
"Near Poitiers, at the convent of St. Saturnine… My family and I, touched with pity for a young prince, a boy, who was kept confined in the monastery, wished to help him to escape; all was discovered, they meant to punish me in a shameful, infamous manner," Septimine said blushing; "and they decided to sell me and separate me from my father and mother… It was at that moment that your son, a favorite of Charles, the Chief of the Franks, interceded in my behalf and took me under his protection – "
"My son, say you, dear child?"
"Yes, madam, the seigneur Berthoald."
"You call him Berthoald?"
"That is the name of the young Frankish chief who is locked up in that cavern – "
"My son Amael with the name of Berthoald! My son a favorite of the Frankish chief!" cried Rosen-Aër struck with amazement. "My son, who was raised in horror for the conquerors of Gaul, those oppressors of our race! My son one of their favorites! No, no… It is impossible!"
"Live a hundred years, and never shall I forget what happened at the convent of St. Saturnine – the touching kindness of the seigneur Berthoald towards me, whom he had never seen before. Did he not obtain my liberty from Charles, and also the liberty of my father and mother? Was he not generous enough to give me gold to meet my family's wants?"
"I am lost in the attempt to penetrate this mystery. The troop of warriors, that brought us slaves in their train, did indeed stop at the abbey of St. Saturnine," replied Rosen-Aër in great agony, and she added: "but if he whom you call Berthoald obtained your freedom from the chief of the Franks, how come you to be a slave here, my poor child?"
"The seigneur Berthoald trusted the word of Charles, and Charles trusted the word of the abbot of the convent. But after the departure of the chief of the Franks and your son, the abbot, who had previously sold me to a Jew named Mordecai, kept his bargain with the Jew… In vain did I beseech the warriors whom Charles left behind in possession of the monastery, and as a guard over the little prince, to stand by me. I was torn away from my family. The Jew kept the gold that your son had generously given me, and brought me to this country. He sold me to the intendant of this abbey that was donated by Charles to the seigneur Berthoald, as I learned at the convent of St. Saturnine."
"This abbey was donated to my son!.. He a companion in arms of these accursed Franks!.. He a traitor! a renegade! Oh, if you speak truly, shame and perdition upon my son!"
"A traitor! A renegade!.. The seigneur Berthoald! The most generous of men! You judge your son too severely!"
"Listen, poor child, and you will understand my sorrow… After a great battle, delivered near Narbonne against the Arabs, I was taken by the warriors of Charles. The booty and slaves were divided by lot. I and my female fellow prisoners were told that we belonged to the chief Berthoald and his men."
"You, a slave of your own son!.. But, God, he did not know it!"
"Yes, the same as I did not know that my new master, the young Frankish chief Berthoald, was my son Amael."
"And probably your son, who marched at the head of his troop, did not see you on the journey."
"We were eight or ten female slaves in a covered cart. We followed the army of Charles. Occasionally the men of chief Berthoald visited us, and … but I shall spare your blushes, poor child, and shall not dilate upon their infamous conduct!" added Rosen-Aër shuddering at the disgusting and horrible recollection. "My age protected me from a shame that, however, I was determined to escape by death… My son never joined in those orgies, frequently stained with blood and moistened in tears – the men beat the girls to the point of shedding their blood when they sought to resist being outraged. In that way we arrived in the vicinity of the convent of St. Saturnine. We stopped there several hours. The Jew Mordecai happened to be at the monastery. Learning, no doubt, that there were slaves to buy in the train of the army, he came to us accompanied by some men of the band of Berthoald. You were sold, poor child; you know the disgraceful examination that these dealers in Gallic flesh submit the slaves to."
"Yes, yes; I had to undergo the shame before the monks of the abbey of St. Saturnine when they sold me to the Jew," answered Septimine, hiding her face, purple with shame.
Rosen-Aër proceeded:
"Women and young girls, despite their prayers and resistance, were stripped of their clothes, profaned and spoiled by the looks of the men who wanted either to sell or to buy us. My age could not spare me this general disgrace – " and breaking out into tears and wringing her arms in despair, the mother of Amael added amidst moans: "Such are the Franks whose companion of war my son is!"
"It is horrible!"
"The baseness confounds my senses and makes my heart to sicken. At the age of fifteen my son disappeared from the valley of Charolles, where he lived free and happy … before the Saracen invasion. What happened since? I do not know."
Hearing the name of the valley of Charolles, Bonaik, who had remained steeped in thought, trembled and listened to the conversation between Septimine and the mother of Amael, who proceeded to say: "Perhaps the Jew holds the secret of my son's life."
"That Jew?.. How?"
"When, despite the pain it gave me, the Jew came to inspect me, I had to undergo the fate of the rest. I was stripped of my clothes… Oh, may my son never know of my shame! The thought alone would haunt him as a perpetual remorse through life, if he should live," Rosen-Aër interjected in a low voice. "While I underwent the fate of my companions in slavery … the Jew observed with a start on my left arm these two words traced in indelible letters: 'Brenn,' 'Karnak.'"
"'Brenn,' 'Karnak'!" cried the old goldsmith.
"The custom of doing so was adopted in my family several generations back, because, alack, in those troubled days of continuous war, families were exposed to being rent apart and dispersed far and wide. 'Twas an indelible sign which might help them to recognize one another."
Rosen-Aër had hardly pronounced these words when, drawing near her in deep emotion, Bonaik cried: "Are you of the family of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak?"
"Yes, father!"
"Did you live in Burgundy in the valley of Charolles, once ceded to Loysik, the brother of Ronan, by King Clotaire I?"
"But, good father, how do you know all that?"
For only answer, the old man rolled up the sleeve of his blouse and pointed with his finger to two words indelibly traced on his left arm: "Brenn," "Karnak."
