The Abbatial Crosier; or, Bonaik and Septimine. A Tale of a Medieval Abbess

CHAPTER XII.

MOTHER AND SON

At noon of the day following the exciting night in which the fugitives left the abbey, they halted for rest after having been uninterruptedly on the march from the time that they disembarked at the other shore of the abbey's pond. Thanks to the precaution of the apprentices, one of whom had brought provisions and another a pouch of wine, their strength was speedily restored. The travelers had sat down upon the grass under a wide-spreading oak whose foliage was yellowed by the late season. At their feet flowed a stream of limpid water, behind them rose a hill that they had just traveled over, following the track of an old Roman road that had fallen into decay. The road continued for a long distance until the turning of a wooded headland behind which it disappeared. Far away in the distant horizon stood outlined the dark blue mountain-tops that form the boundaries and frontier of Brittany. Guided by one of the apprentices who was familiar with the surroundings of the abbey, the fugitives had struck the old Roman road. It led to Nantes, at the boundary line of Armorica, and in the neighborhood of which, seven centuries earlier, Julius Cæsar established several entrenched camps in order to protect his military colonies. Accustomed through his profession of war to measure distances, Amael calculated that by marching until sunset, resting an hour, and then resuming their tramp, it would be possible to reach Brittany at the end of the next day. Septimine sat near Rosen-Aër and Amael, and the apprentices, spread out upon the grass, had just finished their frugal meal. The old goldsmith having also repaired his forces, pulled out of the pocket of his blouse a little packet that was carefully wrapped up in a piece of smooth skin. The young folks followed the old man's movements with curiosity, and to their great surprise they saw him take from its wrapping the little abbatial crosier of silver, at which he had for some time been chiseling. There were also two burins in the package. Noticing the look of astonishment on the faces of the apprentices, he said to them:

"You seem surprised, my children, to see that I carried this jewel from the abbey. It is not the value of the metal that tempted me."

"I believe that, Master Bonaik; the little crosier has but little silver in it. But we still wonder why you brought it along."

"Well, my boys, I love my trade… I shall have no further opportunities to exercise it during the remaining days of my life… I preserved my two best burins… I mean to chisel this crosier so nicely that by working upon it a little every day I shall consume the rest of my life at it. It will be the masterpiece of my long career."

"You congratulated us upon our foresight, Master Bonaik, because we thought of the pouch of wine and the provisions. But we must admit that your foresight exceeds ours."

"Good father, and you, my friends," said Amael, addressing himself to the goldsmith and his apprentices, "please draw near; I wish you to hear what I have to say to my mother. I have committed a wrong, I should now have courage to make a public confession … and beseech forgiveness."

Rosen-Aër sighed and listened with sad and severe curiosity to her son's account of his conduct and career since she saw him as a boy. Looking at her with a surprised face Septimine seemed to beseech the indulgence of the mother, of this Gallic mother who felt so justly and so painfully mortified at her son.

"From the moment that all peril to me was over," Amael began, "my mother has not spoken to me during this long journey, either by day or night; she has refused the support of my arm, preferring that of this poor girl, who saved her life. My mother's severity is just, I cannot complain of it, though it pains me… May the truthful account of my faults, the confession of my errors, and my sincere repentance merit her pardon."

"A mother always forgives," said Septimine timidly, looking at Rosen-Aër, but the latter answered in a tremulous and grave voice, without deigning to look at Amael:

"My son's abandonment has torn my heart; a prey to unceasing and ever renewing anxieties on his behalf, I gave myself up alternately to despair and to insane hope… These torments have lasted long years. I can pardon my son for having caused them; but what is not in my power to pardon is his criminal alliance with the oppressors of our race, with those accursed Franks, who enslaved our fathers, outraged our mothers, and who continue to hold our children in bondage!"

"My crime is great. But I swear to you, mother, that long before I saw you again remorse gnawed at my heart. It is ten years since I left the valley of Charolles, where I lived happily with my family. But I yielded to curiosity, to an overpowering thirst for adventure. I believed that beyond our own confines I was to see an entirely new world. One evening I left, but not without shedding many a tear, not without turning more than once to take a parting look at our valley."

"In my youth," said the old man, "my father often told me how Karadeucq, one of our ancestors, also left his family to run what then was called the 'Bagaudy' – to tramp free through the woods and lie in ambush for our oppressors. May, Rosen-Aër, the remembrance of our ancestor soften your heart towards your son."

"The Bagauders and the Vagres warred against the Romans and then against the Franks; they did not ally themselves with our oppressors, and fight on their side, as my son has done."

"Your reproaches are merited, mother! You will see in the course of my account that I often made them to myself. Almost immediately upon quitting the valley I fell into the hands of a band of Franks. They were on their way back from Auvergne and were traveling north. They made me a slave. Their chief kept me for a time to oversee and tend his horse, and to furbish his weapons. I had the instinct of war. The sight of arms or of a fine horse always fascinated me since childhood. You know it, mother."

"Yes, your holidays were those on which the colonists of the valley exercised themselves in arms … or ran races on horseback."

"Led a slave by that Frankish chief, I never sought to flee. He treated me kindly. Besides, it was to me a pleasure to polish armors and to ride on the march. At least, and at last, I was seeing a new country… Alas, quite new! The fields were ravaged, the harvest was neglected, the frightful distress of the subjugated populations of the districts that we traversed contrasted cruelly with the independent and happy life of the inhabitants of our valley. It was on such occasions that, thinking of our happy region, of you, and of my father, tears dropped from my eyes, and my heart felt like breaking. Occasionally, the thought came to me of running away from the Franks and returning to you. But the fear of a severe reprimand held me back."

"I would have felt the same way, had I committed the same fault," said Septimine, who listened to Amael's report with tender interest. "I never would have dared to return to my family."

"After being more than a year with the Frankish chief, I had become a good groom, and I could master the most spirited horses. By cleaning the weapons I had learned to handle them. The Frank died. I was to be sold with all his other slaves. A Jew named Mordecai, who traveled over Gaul as a trafficker in slaves, happened to be in Amiens at the time; he inspected my deceased master's slaves. He bought me and told me in advance that he was to sell me to a rich Frankish seigneur named Bodegesil, Duke of the country of Poitiers. The seigneur, said the Jew, owned the finest horses and the finest armors imaginable. 'If you flee' said the Jew to me, 'I would lose a fat sum of money, because I bought you for a large amount, knowing I could dispose of you to the seigneur Bodegesil at a good profit. If you run away you will lose a chance of making your fortune. Bodegesil is a generous seigneur. Serve him faithfully and he will take you to war with him whenever he is called to take the field with his men, and we have seen in these days of war more than one manumitted slave become a count.' The Jew's words fired my ambition, pride intoxicated me, I believed what he said, and did not try to run away. He himself, in order to confirm my purpose, treated me at his best; he even promised me to have a letter that I wrote to you reach you through another Jew who was to go to Burgundy."

"The man did not keep his promise," said Rosen-Aër. "No tidings from you ever reached me."

"I am not surprised at his breach of promise. That Jew was greedy and faithless. He took me to Duke Bodegesil. That Frank did indeed raise superb horses on the immense meadows of his domain, and one of the halls of his burg, an ancient Roman castle, was fitted out with splendid armors. But the Jew had lied to me on the duke's character. He was a violent, cruel man. Still, struck almost immediately after my arrival at the manner in which I broke in a savage colt that had until then been the terror of the stable slaves, he treated me with less severity than he did my Gallic or Frankish companions, because, you know, mother, that, thanks to the ups and downs of the times, a large number of the descendants of the conquerors of the Gauls have fallen into poverty, and from poverty into slavery. Bodegesil was as cruel towards his slaves of his own German extraction as towards those of the Gallic race. Always on horseback, always busy furbishing and handling weapons, I now steadily pursued an idea that was destined to be realized. The renown of Charles, the steward of the palace, had reached my ears; I had heard some of the Frankish friends of Bodegesil say that Charles, being compelled to defend Gaul in the north against the Frisians and in the south against the Arabs, and finding himself ill-supported by the old lay and clerical seigneurs, who furnished him little money and only small forces, gave a friendly reception to adventurers, several of whom by bravely fighting under his orders, had arrived at unexpected wealth. I was twenty years old when I learned that Charles was approaching Poitiers for the purpose of driving back the Arabians, who then threatened to invade the region. The moment, long dreamed of by my ambition, had arrived. One day I took the handsomest suit of armor from Bodegesil's racks, I sequestered a sword, a battle-axe, a lance and a buckler. When night fell I picked out of the stable the finest and most spirited horse. I put on the armor, and rode rapidly away from the castle. I wished to join Charles and decided to conceal my extraction and pass for the son of a Frankish seigneur so as to interest Charles in my fortunes. About five or six leagues from the castle, I was attacked early the next morning by bandits who infested the roads. I defended myself vigorously. I killed two of the robbers and said to the others: Charles needs brave men. He leaves a large part of the booty to them. Come with me. It is better to fight in an army than to attack travelers on the road. The danger is the same, but the profit is larger! The bandits took my advice and followed me. Our little troop was increased on the route by other idle but determined men. We arrived at the camp of Charles on the eve of the battle of Poitiers. I claimed to be the son of a noble Frank who died poor and left me his horse and arms as only inheritance. Charles received me with his habitual roughness. 'There will be a fight to-morrow,' he answered me, 'if you and your men behave well you will be pleased with me.' Accident willed it that at that battle against the Arabs I saved the life of the Frankish chief by helping him to defend himself against a group of Berbery riders who attacked him furiously. I was wounded in several places. That day secured the affection of Charles to me. I shall not tell you, mother, of the many proofs of favor that he gave me. My great fortune was ever poisoned by the thought ever present in my mind: 'I have lied; I have denied my race; I have allied myself to the oppressors of Gaul; I have given them the aid of my sword in repelling the Saxons and Arabs, who are neither more nor less barbarous than our accursed Frankish conquerors.' More than once, during the incessant struggles between the seigneurs of Austrasia and those of Neustria or Aquitaine – impious wars in which the counts, the dukes, and the bishops drafted their Gallic colonists as soldiers – I fought against the men of my own race… I reddened my sword with their blood. These are crimes."

"Oh, shame and sorrow," murmured Rosen-Aër, covering her face with her hands, "to be the mother of such a son!"

"Yes, shame and sorrow … not for you only, but also for me. Alack! I yielded to the consequence of a first false step; I fought the men of my race, out of fear to be taken for a coward by Charles, out of fear to betray my extraction. Pride intoxicated me when I saw myself admiringly surrounded by the proudest of our conquerors – I, the son of that conquered and subjugated people. But after such moments of vertigo were over, I often envied the fate of the most miserable slave. They at least were entitled to the respect that undeserved misfortune inspires. Vainly did I look for death in battle. I was condemned to live. Only in the intoxication of battle, in perilous undertakings did I find temporary relief from the remorse that haunted me. Oh, how often did I not think with sorrow of our valley of Charolles, where my family lived! When I afterward learned of the ravages of the region by the Arabs, of the desperate resistance that its inhabitants had offered … my relatives, my friends; when I thought that my sword might have defended you, or at least avenged you, mother, from that time forward remorse embittered my life. I never since had one instant of happiness."

"Your father fought up to his last breath for freedom and for the freedom of his kin. I saw him fall at my feet riddled with wounds! Where were you when your father was defending his hearth, his freedom and his family?.. Near the Frankish chief, fawning for his favor! Perchance even fighting your own brothers!"

Amael covered his face with his hands and answered only with a smothered sob.

"Oh, for pity's sake, do not overwhelm him!" said Septimine to Rosen-Aër. "See how wretched he feels … how contrite he is!"

"Rosen-Aër," added the old man, "remember that yesterday your son was still the favorite of the sovereign chief of Gaul, and that to-day he renounces the favors that intoxicated him. He is no less wretched than we, and has no other wish than to live a poor and hard but free life in the old Armorica that is the cradle of our family."

"By Hesus!" cried Rosen-Aër. "Did my son voluntarily renounce those goods, those lands, those favors, the accursed gifts of Charles? Did you not extract him from a prison, where, without you, he would have perished? Oh! The gods are just. My son owed his fortune to an impious ambition … and the fortune came near being fatal to him. Glorified and enriched by the Franks, he has been shamefully punished and stripped of all by a woman of their race."

"Oh!" cried Septimine, breaking down in tears, "do you believe that Amael, even if in full possession, would not have renounced all to follow you, his mother?"

"The man who falls away from his duty to his country and his race can also fall away from his duty to his mother! I am justified to question the goodness of my son's heart!"

"Master Bonaik," suddenly cried one of the apprentices in an accent of fear, "look down below there, at the turning of the road … there are soldiers. They are approaching rapidly. They will be here within short!"

At these words of the lad the fugitives jumped to their feet. Amael himself, forgetting for a moment the sorrow into which his mother's just severity plunged him, dried his face that was moist with tears and took a few steps forward to reconnoiter.

"Great God!" cried Septimine. "They may be in pursuit of Amael… Good father Bonaik, let us hide in this thicket – "

"My child, that would be to expose ourselves to being pursued. The riders have seen us… Our flight would awaken their suspicion. Besides, they come from the side opposite to Nantes; they cannot have been sent in our pursuit."

"Master Bonaik," said one of the apprentices, "three of the riders are hastening their horses' steps, and motion us with their hands to come to them."

"Perhaps a new danger now threatens us!" said Septimine, drawing close to Rosen-Aër, who had alone remained seated, and seemed indifferent to what went on around her. "Alack, what is to become of us!"

"Oh, poor child!" said Rosen-Aër, "I care little for life at this moment!.. And yet the mere hope of some day finding again my son, served to sustain my sad life!"

"But you have found again that son whose loss you so tenderly regretted. He is here, near you!"

"No!" answered the Gallic mother with sorrow, "no, that is not my son!"

Feeling not a little uneasy, Amael had walked toward the three Frankish horsemen, who rode at the head of a more numerous troop. One of them reined in his steed, and said to Rosen-Aër's son: "Does this road lead to Nantes?"

"Yes; it is the nearest road."

"Does it also lead to the abbey of Meriadek?"

"Yes," answered Amael, as much surprised at the meeting as at the questions.

"Arnulf," said the rider to one of his companions, "ride back and tell Count Bertchram that we are on the right road; while waiting for your return to us, I shall let my horse drink at this stream."

The rider departed, and while his two companions were allowing their horses to take a few throatfuls of water, Amael, who had not been able to overcome the growing curiosity that seized him at hearing the name of Count Bertchram, asked the two riders: "What brings Count Bertchram to this country?"

"He comes as a messenger of Charles, the chief of the Franks. Tell us, young man, whether we still have a long way to ride before we reach the abbey of Meriadek."

"You could not reach the place until late to-night."

"Is that abbey as rich as they claim?"

"It is rich… But why do you ask?"

"Why?" said the soldier with a merry smile, "because Bertchram and we are to take possession of the abbey, which the good Charles has bestowed upon us."

"But I heard it said that Charles had bestowed the monastery and all its dependencies upon one Berthoald."

During this conversation the other riders had joined their vanguard, followed by several carts drawn by mules and a few horses led by the bridle. The carts were loaded with baggage. Bertchram rode at the head of the main body. He was an elderly warrior of rude and stupid physiognomy. Amael took a few steps toward the count. The latter suddenly stopped his horse, dropped the reins, and rubbed his eyes as if he could not believe the evidence of their sense. He contemplated the son of Rosen-Aër for a few seconds in utter amazement, and then cried: "Berthoald! Count Berthoald!"