11: CAESAR'S SENTENCE
Before the storm spent itself, snow lay twelve feet deep in Grand St.Bernard Pass and some of the drifts were three times as deep. Everycliff and slope held a huge burden of snow, but it was not a burdenwillingly accepted. And the danger increased a hundred times over.
Enough snow to mold an ordinary snowball might be wind-blown and startmore, which in turn gathered more. Finally, carrying boulders, ice andeverything else that lay in its path, an all-destroying avalanche wouldroar down. Such avalanches were a daily occurrence on the peaks aboutthe Hospice.
Franz stood in front of the stable, Caesar beside him. He was watchingthe sun glance from the surrounding peaks. Wherever it touched snow orice, it gave back a reflection so dazzling that to face it for more thana few minutes meant to risk blindness. A million jewels, Franz thought,a hundred million jewels, and each one more brilliant than the brightestornament in any emperor's crown.
The Hospice itself, with ski trails radiating in every direction, likethe spokes of a giant wagon wheel, was banked high with snow. Except forthe House of the Dead, toward which he looked only when he could notavoid doing so, Franz thought it the most beautiful sight he had everseen.
Anton Martek, sitting on a chair beside the stable's open door,fashioning a ski pole, did not look up from his work. A completecraftsman, regardless of whether he was honing an ax, making a ski pole,milking a cow, skiing, or doing anything else, Anton believedwholeheartedly that anything worth doing was worth doing well, and itcould not be well done unless it received his undivided attention.
Presently, Franz saw a man leave the refectory and ski toward thestable. It was Father Mark, who smiled when he came near and said, "Goodafternoon, Franz."
"And a very good afternoon to you, Father Mark," Franz replied. "Havethe travelers come up?"
"Not yet," Father Mark told him. "But Fathers Stephen and Benjamin havegone down to guide them. On a day such as this, let us hope there willbe no trouble."
"Let us hope so," Franz agreed.
He felt a pang of sorrow. Father Benjamin, who always took Caesar withhim when he went down to the rest house, had not even told Franz he wasgoing. But it was not his place, Franz reminded himself, to tell theFathers what they should or should not do. If Father Benjamin had notasked for Caesar, it was because he did not want him.
Anton Martek stood up respectfully and said, "Good afternoon, FatherMark."
"And to you, Anton." Father Mark noted the half-finished ski pole. "Busyas usual, I see. Well, they do say Satan finds work for idle hands."
Anton said, "I fear he has found enough for mine."
"Tut, tut," Father Mark reproved. "You must not be gloomy on a day sofine. The Prior would speak with you."
"At once," Anton said.
He slipped into his skis and departed with Father Mark. Franz staredwistfully after them. He himself had seen the Prior, in the chapel orfrom a distance, but he had never dared even think of speaking with him.On those few occasions when their paths would have crossed, and theycould not have avoided speaking, Franz had fled as swiftly as possible.Winter in St. Bernard Pass inspired awe, but it was not nearly asawe-inspiring as the Prior of St. Bernard Hospice.
Franz picked up and inspected the ski pole Anton was fashioning, and hetried to fix each detail exactly in his mind. Making proper skis or skipoles was more than just a craft. It was a very precise art, and onethat Franz hoped to master some day. Good was not enough. In the Alps,who ventured out on skis took his life in his hands and must haveperfection.
A few minutes later, Anton returned alone. He did not look at Franz whenhe said, "The Prior would talk with you."
"With me?" Franz said bewilderedly. "You," Anton said.
Franz protested, "But--I cannot talk with the Prior!"
"I fear you have no choice, little Franz," Anton told him. "The Priorawaits in the refectory."
Franz asked fearfully, "What does he want, Anton?"
"That you must discover for yourself," Anton replied.
Franz pleaded, "Go with me, Anton!"
"Yes," Anton said quietly, "I will go with you."
Franz put on his skis and, with Caesar trailing, they went to therefectory. The boy's head reeled. His heart fluttered like the wings ofa trapped bird. At the entrance to the refectory, he could go nofarther.
"Come, little Franz," Anton urged gently.
"Y-yes, Anton." Franz shivered.
Dressed in the habit of his order, the Prior sat before a pile of logsthat smoldered in the huge fireplace. With him, and almost as hard toface, were two of the Canons, the Clavandier, whose task it was to watchover Hospice provisions, and two priests.
Franz clasped his hands behind him, so nobody could see them shake, andwished mightily that the floor would open up so he could sink throughit.
"It is time we met, young _maronnier_," the Prior said. "I like to knowall who share this work with me. But for some reason, we have neverspoken."
"Y-yes, Most Holy Prior," Franz stammered.
"There is nothing to fear," the Prior said.
It was a very gentle voice and, when Franz took courage to look, he sawalso that, though it was weather-scarred and storm-beaten, the Prior'swas a very gentle face. The boy felt more at ease.
"I am not afraid," he said.
"That is good," the Prior approved. "I wear the Prior's habit and youare a _maronnier_, but, for all that, we are equal. I have receivedexcellent reports of your diligence and industry. You are a credit tothe Hospice."
"Thank you, Most Holy Prior," Franz said.
The Prior smiled, knowing that he should not be addressed in such afashion but understanding why he was. He continued, "Now that we havefinally met, I would that it were for a different reason. I fear that Ihave sad tidings for you."
"For me?" Franz's heart began to pound again.
"You have a dog," the Prior said, "a great dog that, according to ourgood Clavandier, eats a great amount of food. Yet, he does no work."
Franz whispered miserably, "That is true."
"Believe me, I understand what this dog means to you." The Prior wasvery gentle. "I hope to make you understand what the Hospice of St.Bernard means to wayfarers. Every ounce of food we have here is far moreprecious than gold. Without it, we could neither preserve our own livesnor provide for our guests. It is a harsh order that I must issue,Franz, but with the next travelers who are going there, your dog must bereturned to your native village of Dornblatt."
For the moment, Franz was stricken speechless. Then he spoke wildly."Please!" he begged. "Please do not send Caesar away, Most Holy Prior!It is true that he will not turn the spit, but he saved Father Benjaminfrom the crevasse! He guided all of us safely to the Hospice while ablizzard raged!"
"That tale I have heard," the Prior said, "and your Caesar surelydeserves all praise. But, as you have surely seen for yourself, we havethe welfare of travelers well in hand--"
Outside, someone shouted. Those inside looked questioningly toward thedoor and one of the priests rushed to open it. Looking out, Franz sawtwo men on skis. One was obviously injured. The other was helping tosupport him. The unhurt man was Father Benjamin.
The other was Jean Greb, from Franz's native Dornblatt.