Part 12 (1/2)
”Chrotechilde, I want my milk--my cake--I am hungry.”
”Corbe,” Sigebert whispered to him with his face bathed in tears and his lips palpitating; ”brother--wake up. Alack, we are no longer in our palace at Chalon.”
At these words, Corbe woke up completely, and answered with a sigh:
”I thought we were in our palace.”
”We are not there any longer, brother; I am so sorry!”
”Why do you say that? Are we no longer the King's sons?”
”We are poor King's sons--we are here in prison. But grandmother, where is she? And where is our brother Childebert? Where can they be? Perhaps they also are prisoners.”
”And whose fault is it? It is the fault of the army that betrayed us!”
cried little Corbe angrily. ”I heard everybody say so around us--the troops fled without striking a blow. I heard them say that Duke Warnachaire prepared the treason! Oh, the scoundrel!”
”Not so loud, Corbe, not so loud!” cautioned Sigebert with a smothered voice. ”You will wake up Merovee--poor little fellow! I wish I could sleep like him. I would not then be thinking.”
”You are always weeping, Sigebert; tell me why?”
”Are we not now in the hands of our grandmother's enemies?”
”Be not afraid; she will soon come with another army and set us free; she will kill Clotaire. Are you not hungry?”
”No! Oh, no! I am neither hungry nor thirsty.”
”The sun has long been up; they will surely soon bring us something to eat. Grandmother was right; war is tiresome and uncomfortable, but only when one is not a prisoner. But how Merovee does sleep! Wake him up!”
”Oh, brother, let him sleep quietly; perhaps he also thinks, as you did, that he is in our palace at Chalon.”
”So much the worse! We woke up--I do not want him to sleep any longer--why should he?”
”Corbe, you can not have a good heart.”
”Sigebert! They are opening the door--they are bringing us something to eat.”
Indeed, the door opened. Four personages stepped into the house. Two of them were clad in jackets of hides, and one of these carried a roll of rope. Clotaire II and Warnachaire accompanied the two men. The duke had his battle armor on, the King a long light blue silk robe bordered with ermine.
”Seigneur King,” said Duke Warnachaire in a low voice, ”will you not wait for the return of Constable Herpon?”
”Who can tell whether he will be back to-day?”
”You must remember that his horses are fresh; Brunhild's are exhausted with the march. It is impossible that he should have failed to overtake the Queen at the foot of the Jura mountains, into which she will not dare to risk herself. The constable may be back with her from one moment to another.”
”Warnachaire, I am in a hurry to be done with it; such a blow will be of little moment to Brunhild; why delay it to wait for her to witness?
It should be done quickly.”
Saying this, the young King made a sign to the two men, who thereupon stepped towards the three children on the straw pallet. The sleep of childhood is so profound that little Merovee was not yet awakened by the noise. His two brothers, however, crouched back into the remotest corner of the pallet, stunned and frightened, especially at the sinister faces of the two men clad in hide jackets. The two cowering children held each other in a close embrace, trembling and without uttering a word. At a second sign from Clotaire II, one of the two men, he who carried the coil of rope, unwound it and stepped closer to the children, while his companion drew from his belt a long, straight and sharp knife, of the kind that is used by butchers; he slightly tested the freshly sharpened edge of the blade with the tip of his thumb, while Fredegonde's son urged the executioners on with the impatient order: