"You, a slave of your own son!... But, G.o.d, 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-Aer 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-Aer 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-Aer 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-Aer had hardly p.r.o.nounced 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_."
Rosen-Aer remained stupified, and recovering said: "You also?... You also.... You, good father.... Are you of the family of Joel?"
"One of my ancestors was Kervan, the uncle of Ronan. That is my affiliation."
"Does your family live in Brittany, near Karnak?"
"My brother Allan or his children remained at the cradle of our stock."
"And how did you fall into slavery?"
"Our tribe crossed the frontier and came, according to their custom from time immemorial, to trade arms for the vines of the Franks near the county of Rennes. I was then fifteen, and accompanied my father on his journey. A troop of Franks attacked us. I was separated during the fight from my father, was captured and taken far away into bondage. Sold from one master to another, accident brought me to this country where I am now twelve years. Alack! Often have my eyes wandered towards the frontier of our old Brittany, ever free! My advanced age coupled to the habit of a profession that I love and that consoles me, have kept me from thinking of escape. And so we are relatives!... The unhappy young man yonder, near us, imprisoned in the cavern, is of our blood?... But how did he become chief of this Frankish troop that the inundation has just swallowed up?"
"I was telling this poor child that a Jew, a dealer in slaves, having noticed these two words--"_Brenn_," "_Karnak_"--on my arm seemed astonished, and said to me: "Have you not a son who must be about twenty-five years old, and who carries like you, those two words traced on his arm?" But despite the horror that the Jew inspired me with, his words revived in me the hope of finding my son again. "Yes," I answered him, "ten years ago my son disappeared from the place where we lived."
"And you lived in the valley of Charolles?" the Jew asked. "Do you know my son?" I cried. But the infamous man refused to answer me, and he walked away casting a cruel look upon me."
"And you have seen him since?" asked Septimine.
"Never again. The carts resumed their march to this country, where I arrived with my fellow female slaves. All the women must have perished this morning ... and without the efforts of this brave girl I would have perished also."
"The Jew Mordecai," replied the goldsmith reflecting, "that dealer in the flesh of Gauls, a great friend of the intendant Ricarik, arrived here a few days ago. He was at the convent of St. Saturnine when the donation of this abbey was made to your son and his band. He must, undoubtedly, have run ahead to warn the abbess, and she, accordingly, made her preparations of defence against the warriors who came to dispossess her."
"The Jew was in a great hurry to arrive here after his departure from the convent of St. Saturnine, where he took me from," replied Septimine.
"We were only three slaves and he packed us on his light wagon that was drawn by two horses. He must have arrived here two or three days ahead of the troop of the seigneur Berthoald, who must have been delayed on his march by his large baggage."
"So that the Jew must have notified Meroflede in advance, and must also have revealed to her the secret of the alleged Frankish chief being of the Gallic race," observed Bonaik. "Hence the terrible vengeance of the abbess, who must have had your son cast into that subterranean prison, expecting to expose him to certain death. The thing now is how to save him, and to protect ourselves from the vengeance of Meroflede. To remain here after your son"s escape would be to expose these poor apprentices and Septimine to death."
"Oh, good father! What shall we do?" put in Septimine, joining her hands. "No one can penetrate into the building under which the seigneur Berthoald is imprisoned."
"Call him Amael, my child," said Rosen-Aer bitterly. "The name of Berthoald constantly reminds me of a shame that I would forget."
"To extricate Amael out of the cavern is not an impossible feat," said the old goldsmith, raising his head. "I have just been thinking it over.
We have a fair chance of success."
"But, good father," asked Rosen-Aer, "what about the iron bars at the window of this workshop, and those at the air-hole of the cave in which my son is confined? And then that large and deep moat? What obstacles!"
"These are not the most difficult obstacles to surmount. Suppose night has set in and Amael is with us, free. What then?"
"Leave the abbey," said Septimine; "escape ... we shall all flee--"
"And how, my child? Do you forget that with nightfall the gate of the jetty is locked? A watchman is there on guard. But, even if we cleared the gate, the inundation covers the road. It will take two or three days for the waters to withdraw. Until then this abbey will remain surrounded by water like an island."
"Master Bonaik," said one of the young apprentices, "there are the fishing boats."
"Where are they usually fastened, my boy, at what part of the pond?"
"On the side of the chapel."
"To reach them we would have to cross the interior court of the cloister, and its door is every evening bolted and barred from within!"
"Alack!" exclaimed Rosen-Aer, "must we renounce all hope of escape?"
"Never give up hope. Let us first think of Amael. Whatever may happen, once he is out of the cavern, his fate will not be worse. Now, my lads,"
the goldsmith added, addressing the apprentices, "what we are about to attempt is grave ... your lives and ours are at stake. You have no choice but to help us or betray us. To betray us would be a base act.
Nevertheless your only interest in this flight is the uncertain hope of recovering your freedom. Do you prefer to betray us? Say so frankly, and now.... In that event I shall not undertake anything, and the fate of the worthy woman and her son is sealed.... If, on the contrary, we succeed with your help to save Amael and leave this abbey, this is my plan: I am told it is about four days" march from here to Armorica, the only territory in all Gaul that is still free. Arrived in Brittany, we shall take the road to Karnak. There we shall find my brother or his descendants. My tribe will receive us all as children of its own family.
From goldsmith"s apprentices you will become apprentices in field-labor, unless you should prefer to pursue your trade in some town of Brittany, only no longer as slaves but as free artisans. Reflect ripely, and decide. The day is slipping by. Time is precious."
Justin, one of the apprentices, consulted with his companions in a low voice, and then answered: "Our choice is not doubtful, Master Bonaik. We shall join you in restoring a son to his mother; hap what hap may, we shall share your fate."
"Thank you, my generous boys!" said Rosen-Aer, with her eyes full of tears. "Alack! All I can offer you in exchange for your n.o.ble conduct is the grat.i.tude of a mother!"
"Now," said the goldsmith, who seemed to have regained the agility and vivacity of his youth, "no more words! To work! Two of you will see to the sawing of the bars of the window. But do it so that they remain in position."