Part 5 (1/2)
The pirate's experience did not deceive him. Soon slight convulsive tremors began to agitate the lines on Lodbrog's face. His rigid fingers loosened and allowed the stone that they clenched to roll off. A few minutes later his limbs became supple. One of the Northmans ran to the river and dipped up some fresh water and dashed it in the berserker's face. The latter was soon heard to mumble in a ruffled voice while he rubbed his eyelids:
”My eyes burn me. Am I in the celestial Walhalla promised by Odin to departed warriors?”
”You are here among your companions of war, my brave champion,” Gaelo answered him. ”You have broken down a score of huge trees and demolished a house. Was that enough to limber up your strength? What do you still want?”
”Oh! Oh!” mumbled the giant, shaking his enormous head, and without ceasing to rub his eyes with his fists. ”I am not at all surprised at having played such havoc. I began to feel myself berserk when I cried out, 'To St. Denis!' and all the time after I imagined myself demolis.h.i.+ng the abbey and slaughtering the monks and their soldiers. I was trying to exterminate them all.”
”Do not be disappointed, my Hercules,” Gaelo replied encouragingly. ”The moon will rise early; we shall row all night; to-morrow evening we shall be at St. Denis, and day after to-morrow at Paris.”
CHAPTER V.
THE ABBEY OF ST. DENIS.
The abbey of St. Denis resembled a vast fortified castle. The high and thick walls that enclosed it, the only entrance through which was a vaulted gate, covered with heavy sheets of iron and, like the walls, pierced with narrow loop-holes through which the archers could reach the enemy with their arrows, rendered the place safe against any surprise.
In order to take this fortress, large engines of war would be required and a powerful attacking force.
Agreeable to her promise made to Father Fultrade, Martha and her daughter Anne the Sweet found themselves towards nightfall at the trysting place named by the monk. He also was on time. He arrived on his large horse, an animal powerful enough to carry Eidiol's wife on its crupper and in front of the saddle the young girl, whom the priest thus had an opportunity to hold in his arms. Despite its robust neck and haunches, the horse that bore the triple load could proceed only slowly along the ancient Roman route, which, connecting Paris with Amiens, led by the abbey of St. Denis. The nocturnal trip was long and made in silence. Martha, proud of finding herself riding at the crupper of a holy man, thought only of the relic whose divine influence was to preserve her as well as her daughter from all present and future ills.
Anne had come with repugnance. The monk ever inspired her with a vague sense of fear. The night was dark; the route uncertain. When, as it happened from time to time, the horse seemed to take fright, the maid felt Fultrade tighten his hold upon her, and his hot breath smite her cheeks.
When, finally, the monk arrived with his two female traveling companions at the ma.s.sive gate of the abbey, he knocked in a particular manner. The knock was speedily answered by the gleam of a lantern at the wicket; the wicket was then opened; a few words were exchanged in a low voice between the brother at the gate and Fultrade; the light went out; the ponderous door turned on its hinges, leaving a pa.s.sage for the new arrivals, and then closed again when all three had entered.
Martha and her daughter stood in utter darkness. An invisible personage took charge of the priest's horse and led it away. Fultrade then took the arm of Martha and whispered to her:
”Give your hand to your daughter, and both follow me. Your arrival here must be kept a profound secret.”
After descending a steep staircase, and following for a considerable time the windings of a vaulted pa.s.sage-way, the monk stopped and groped for the orifice of the lock of a door, which he opened.
”Step in, my dear daughters in Christ,” said the monk; ”you may wait for me here; in the meantime say your prayers.”
A few minutes later the door opened again, and returning without a light, as before, the monk said:
”Martha, you will first adore the relic; your daughter's turn will come after you.”
”Oh! No!” cried Anne the Sweet in deep anxiety. ”I will not remain alone here in the dark! No! I wish to remain near my mother!”
”My child, fear nothing,” said Martha rea.s.suringly; ”we are in a holy abbey, and besides, under the protection of Father Fultrade.”
”Moreover,” interjected the monk, ”one is never alone when thinking of G.o.d. Your mother will be back shortly.”
”Mother, I will not leave you--I am afraid,” screamed the young girl.
It was in vain. Before Anne could find her mother in the dark to cling to her, the girl felt a vigorous hand staying her off. Martha was hurried out, and the door closed behind her and upon her daughter. More and more affrighted, Anne screamed aloud. In vain again. The steps of Fultrade and Martha receded. Soon all sound ceased, and a brooding darkness reigned around the helpless girl. A minute later the blood rushed to Anne's heart. Distinctly she heard near her, as if groping about in the darkness, the respiration of one panting for breath.
Immediately she felt herself seized by two vigorous arms and raised from the floor. The young girl strove to free herself and called aloud to her mother for help. The struggle was so violent and the girl's outcry so loud that it at first drowned the sound of a rap at the door. But the rapping speedily became so vehement that it soon drowned the violent struggle within and a voice was heard uttering at the door some Latin words in a hurried tone and in accents of alarm. Anne felt herself immediately delivered from the close embrace that terrified her, and soon as released fell fainting to the floor. Someone pa.s.sed by her, opened and double-locked the door in great hurry, and ran away precipitately.
While, aided by another monk, his accomplice, Fultrade was locking up Martha and her daughter in separate subterranean cells of the abbey where serfs and other culprits under the jurisdiction of the abbot were usually confined, a great commotion reigned in another quarter of the holy place. Monks, suddenly shaken from their slumbers, were running about under the arches of the cloister, with torches in their hands. In the center of one of the interior courtyards a score of hors.e.m.e.n were seen. The sweat that streamed down the steeds gave evidence of the length and precipitancy of a recent run. They had escorted to the abbey the Count of Paris, who, arriving from his city in hot haste, proceeded immediately to the apartment of Fortunat, the Abbot of St Denis. The prelate, a man of shapeless obesity and with his eyes still half closed with sleep, was hastily donning a long and warmly furred morning robe that one of his servants was helping him into. Other menials of the abbey were lighting the candles of two candelabra made of solid silver and placed upon a richly ornamented table. There was nothing more sumptuous than the abbot's bedroom. Having finally put on his gown, the abbot rubbed his eyes, seated on the edge of his downy couch. Count Rothbert, who had been taken to the abbot, was impatiently demanding that Fultrade be called.
”Seigneur count, he has been sent for, but he was not in his cell,”
answered the abbot's chamberlain, who had accompanied the count to the abbot's apartment and was followed by several of his fellow officials--the marshal, the equerry, the butler and other dignitaries of the abbey.
”Father Fultrade must be in church,” put in a voice, ”he must have gone to early matins.”