CHAPTER VI.
WARRIOR AND ABBESS.
Refreshed by his bath and daintily dressed, Berthoald was half an hourlater led by Ricarik to the apartment of the abbess. When he appeared inthe hall where Meroflede awaited him, he found her alone. The abbess haddoffed her black vestments to array herself in a long white robe. Alight veil half hid the tresses of her thick and reddish hair. Anecklace and bracelets of precious stones ornamented her neck and barearms. The Franks, having preserved the custom, introduced before them inGaul by the Romans, of surrounding their banquet tables with couches,the abbess, extended almost at full length upon a long and wide loungefurnished with cushions, made a sign to the young chief to sit down nearher. Berthoald obeyed, increasingly taken with the unusual beauty ofMeroflede. A large fire flamed in the hearth. Rich vessels of silverglistened on the table, which was covered with embroidered linen;daintily carved flagons stood near gold cups; the plates held toothsomedishes; a candelabrum, on which two little wax candles were burning,barely lighted the spacious apartment, which was thrown intosemi-obscurity a few paces away from Meroflede and her guest, and intocomplete darkness at its further ends. The lounge stood against awainscoted wall from which hung two portraits, one of them, coarselypainted on an oak panel in Byzantine style, representing a Frankishwarrior barbarously accoutred after the fashion of the leudes of Clovisthree centuries earlier. Below the painting was the inscription:"Gonthram Neroweg." Beside this picture was one of the abbess Merofledeherself, draped in her long black and white veils; in one hand she heldher abbatial crosier, in the other a naked sword. The second picture wasmuch smaller than the first; it was painted on parchment, in the styleof the miniatures that sacred books were then commonly illuminated with.Berthoald's eyes fell upon the two pictures at the moment when he wasabout to sit down beside his hostess. At their sight a tremor ranthrough him, and he remained as if thunder-struck. Presently he lookedfrom Gonthram Neroweg to Meroflede, and from the abbess back to theformer. He seemed to compare the resemblance between the two, an obviousresemblance; like Neroweg, Meroflede's hair was reddish, her nosebeaked, her eyes green. The young chief could not conceal hisastonishment.
"You seem to contemplate with deep interest the portrait of one of myancestors, deceased several centuries ago!"
"You are of the race of Neroweg!"
"Yes, and my family still inhabits its vast domains of Auvergne,conquered by my ancestors' swords, or bestowed upon them by royalgifts.... But that is quite enough for the past. Glory to the dead, joyto the living! Sit down here near me, and let us take supper.... I am anodd abbess. But by Venus, I live like the other abbots and bishops of mytime, with the only difference that these mitred folks sup with younggirls, while I shall spend the night with a handsome soldier.... Willthat be to your taste?" and raising one of the heavy silver flagons witha virile hand, she filled to the brim the gold cup that was placed nearher guest. After merely moistening her own red lips in the cup, shereached it to the young chief and said resolutely:
"Let us drink your welcome to this convent!"
Berthoald held the cup for a moment between his two hands, and castingone more look at the portrait of Neroweg, he smiled caustically, fixedupon the abbess a look as bold as that which she cast at him, andreplied: "Let us drink, beautiful abbess!" and emptying the cup at onedraught, he added: "Let us drink to love!... which overpowers theabbesses as it does the simple maids!"
"Aye! Let us drink to love, the god of the world, as the pagans used tosay!" answered Meroflede, and filling her own cup from a little redflagon, and replenishing the cup of the young chief, who fixedly gazedat her with eyes that shot fire, she added: "I have drunk to your toast;now drink to mine!"
"Whatever it be, holy abbess, and even though this cup be filled withpoison, I shall empty it to your toast, I swear by your snow-whitearms!--by your beautiful eyes!--by your voluptuous lips! I drink toVenus Callipyge!"
"Well, then," said the abbess, fixing a penetrating look upon the youngman, "let us drink to the Jew Mordecai!"
Berthoald had his cup at his lips, but at the name of the Jew heshivered, laid his cup down abruptly, his face grew dark and he cried interror:
"Drink to the Jew Mordecai?"
"Come, by Venus, the patroness of lovers, do not tremble like that, mybrave friend!"
"Drink to the Jew Mordecai!... I----"
"You said to me: 'Let us drink to Love!'" replied the abbess, withoutlosing the effect of her words upon Berthoald; "you swore by thewhiteness of this arm," and she raised her sleeves, "you swore to drinkmy toast. Fulfill your promise!"
"Woman!" cried Berthoald with impatience and embarrassment, "what whimis that? Why do you wish me to drink to the Jew Mordecai, to a merchantof human flesh?"
"I shall satisfy your curiosity.... Had not Mordecai sold you as a slaveto the Seigneur Bodegesil, you would not have stolen your master's horseand armor to go in search of adventures, and palmed yourself off uponthat devil of a Charles Martel--you, a Gaul of the subject race--for anoble of the Frankish race and son of a dispossessed beneficiary, andfinally, Charles, one of whose best captains you have become, would nothave presented you with this abbey. Consequently, you would not be herenow, at my side, at this table, where we are together drinking toLove.... That is the reason why, my valiant warrior, I empty this cup tothe memory of that filthy Jew! And now, will you drink to the JewMordecai?"
While Meroflede was uttering these words, Berthoald contemplated herwith increased astonishment, now mixed with fear, and could find not oneword in answer.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" said the abbess laughing, "see how dumb he has become. Whygrow alternately pale and red? What does it matter whether you are ofGallic or Frankish race? Does that render your eyes less blue, your hairless black, your shape less comely? Come, shame upon you, my warrior!Must I teach a soldier how cups are emptied, and how love is made?"
Berthoald felt as if in a dream. Meroflede did not seem to despise him;she did not seem to triumph at the advantage that she had gained overhim by the knowledge of his secret. Frank in her cynicism, shecontemplated the young chief with mild and ardent eyes. Her looks thatat once troubled his mind and fired his veins; the strangeness of theadventure; the effect of the large cup that he had just drained at onedraught, either a heady wine or perchance mixed with some philtre, andthat began to throw his brain into disorder;--all these thoughts crowdedupon Berthoald's mind. He took a sudden resolve--to vie with the abbessin audacity, and said resolutely to her: "You are of the race ofNeroweg, I of that of Joel!"
"We shall drink to Joel ... he has raised a breed of handsome soldiers."
"Are you acquainted with the death of the son of Gonthram Neroweg, whoseportrait I see there on the wall?"
"A tradition in my family has it that he was killed in his domain ofAuvergne by the chief of a troop of bandits and revolted slaves. May thedevil keep his soul!"
"The chief of those bandits was named Karadeucq ... he was the greatgrandfather of my grandfather!"
"By heaven! That is a singular coincidence! And how did the bandit killNeroweg?"
"Your ancestor and mine fought valiantly with axes, and the countsuccumbed. The Gaul triumphed over the Frank!"
"Indeed ... you refresh the recollections of my childhood. Did not yourancestor cut some words in the trunk of a tree with the point of adagger after the combat?"
"Yes--'_Karadeucq, a descendant of Joel, killed Count Neroweg_'!"
"A few months after her husband's death, the count's wife, Godegisele,gave birth to a son, who was the grandfather of my grandfather."
"Strange coincidence, indeed ... and you, my beautiful abbess, listen tothe story with great calmness!"
"What are those combats of our ancestors and of our races to me? ByVenus! By her beautiful hips! I know but one race in all the world--therace of lovers! Empty your cup, my valiant warrior, and let us supmerrily. To-night there is a truce between us two.... War to-morrow!"
"Shame! Remorse! Reason! Duty!--let them all be drowne
d in wine!... Iknow not whether I am awake or dreaming on this strange night!" criedthe young chief, and taking up his full cup, he rose and proceeded withan air of feverish defiance while turning towards the somber and savageportrait of the Frankish warrior: "To you, Neroweg!" Having emptied hiscup, Berthoald felt seized with a vertigo and threw himself upon thelounge, saying to Meroflede: "Long live Love, abbess of the devil! Letus love each other to-night, and fight to-morrow!"
"We shall fight on the spot!" cried a hoarse and strangling voice, thatseemed to proceed from the extremity of the large hall that lay in utterdarkness, and, the curtains of one of the doors being thrust aside,Broute-Saule, who, without the knowledge of the abbess and driven bysavage jealousy, had managed to penetrate into the apartment, rushedforward agile like a tiger. With two bounds he reached Berthoald, seizedhim by the hair with one hand and raised a dagger over him with theother, determined to plunge the weapon into the young chief's throat.The latter, however, although taken by surprise, quickly drew his sword,held with his iron grip the armed hand of Broute-Saule, and ran hisweapon through the unfortunate lad. Deadly wounded, Broute-Saulestaggered about for a few seconds and then dropped, crying: "Meroflede... my beautiful mistress ... I die under your eyes!"
Still holding his bloody sword in his hand, and aware that the powerfulwine was making further inroads upon his senses, Berthoald mechanicallyfell back upon the lounge. The dazed chief for a moment scrutinized thedarkness of the apartment, apprehensive of further attempts upon hislife, when he saw the abbess knock over with her fist the candelabrumwhich alone lighted the room, and in the midst of the total darknessthat now pervaded the place he felt himself in the close embrace of themonster. Hardly any recollection remained to him of what happened duringthe rest of that night of drunkenness and debauchery.