Kitabı oku: «Noémi», sayfa 13

CHAPTER XXV.
A HELEBORE WREATH

The destruction of Le Gros Guillem's body of men at La Roque Gageac was the prelude to the surrender of the citadel of Domme. The small garrison left in charge of that stronghold was panic-stricken when it heard the tidings from La Roque. The whole country was in arms. The citizens had marshalled in the square, and the soldiers, deserting the town, had taken refuge in the castle. Without head, without prospect of relief, hemmed in by the Bishop's troops that arrived from Sarlat and La Roque on one side, menaced from Beynac, where was a royal garrison, on another, and from Fénelon on a third, where the baron was loyal to the French crown as well as a personal enemy of Guillem, the remnant of the Company that had acknowledged Guillem as Captain was fain to capitulate; and the confederate troops under the governor of La Roque were content to accord terms, knowing the danger of driving these freebooters to desperation.

They were suffered to march forth with their arms. They retreated up the Dordogne to Autoire, an impregnable stronghold, at that time in the power of a Chief of Companies, who they knew would welcome them, and afford them fresh opportunities of ravage and of gaining spoil.

The history of France presents but one period of greater horror than that of the Free Companies – namely, the epoch of the wars of religion. But practically these latter wars were the outcome of the former. For three hundred years the barons and the great seigneurs of Aquitaine had been free to act in accordance with their passions, uncontrolled by any hand. They had made war against each other on no provocation; they had made the cities and commercial towns their common prey. The only possible way in which a community of peaceful citizens or of villagers could struggle on was by contracting patis or compacts with the barons, whereby they undertook to pay them an annual sum, and on this agreement were freed from vexation by his armed men. The younger sons of the barons, and bastards, collected about them the scum of society, runaway serfs, escaped felons, adventurers from Spain, from Brabant, from Italy, but chiefly Gascons, drilled them, armed them, maintained them in strict discipline, captured such castles as seemed to them most advisable centres as dominating fertile districts, or else constructed others wherever was a rock that lent itself to defence; and thence they carried their arms in all directions. They came in torrents down from the Causses and the Cevennes upon Languedoc. They ravaged Auvergne, they carried their incursions into Berry and the Limousin. The king of France, the estates of the several provinces, were powerless to rid the country of them. Again and again vast sums of money were collected and poured into their bottomless purses, and the Companions promised on receipt of these sums to surrender their castles and quit the country. But very generally they only half-fulfilled their undertaking. They yielded up a fortress or two; they drifted off over the Pyrenees into Spain, or over the Alps into Italy, and not finding there the spoil they wanted, or meeting there with reverses, they turned their faces again toward France and reoccupied their old nests or constructed fresh ones, and all the old evils returned in aggravated form.

The mediæval historian Villani, who died in 1363, gives an account of the formation of one of these terrible bands, which may serve as an example of the constitution of all. He says that in 1353 a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, wearied of his order and its discipline, renounced his vows and formed a Company of Free Companions in the marches of Ancona.

"Brother Moriale called together by letter and message a great number of soldiers out of employ. He bade them come to him, and promised to defray their expenses and to pay them for their services. This succeeded admirably; he gathered about him fifteen hundred bassinets and more than two thousand comrades, all men greedy to live at the cost of others." Very speedily this Company began its ravages. "They rode about the country and pillaged on all sides. They attacked Feltramo, took it by storm and killed five hundred men. As the country round was rich they remained in Feltramo a month, ravaging it. During the period of these incursions the terror inspired by the Company made every castle in the neighbourhood surrender. Crowds of mercenaries who had finished their term of service flocked to Moriale, hearing exaggerated rumours of the great spoil gained by the Company, and many soldiers refused all engagements, saying that they would serve under this freebooter only."

Moriale observed the greatest exactitude in the distribution of the booty. Objects that had been stolen were sold by his orders, and he gave free passes to purchasers, so that by this means men who had been plundered might come to the fair he held and recover by payment the goods of which they had been despoiled. He instituted a treasurer, and had regular accounts kept of what was taken, and what prices were paid for things sold. He exacted as strict obedience as any feudal lord. He administered justice, and his judgments were invariably executed.

It was not till long after the English domination had ceased, and which had furnished these ruffians with an excuse for their violence, that the plague of the Free Companies was put down. One of the very worst of all was that of the "Ecorcheurs," or Flayers, and had nothing whatever to do with the English. It was headed by Alexander de Bourbon, a mere boy, who had been given minor orders to enable him to hold a fat canonry. The Flayers professed "that all the horrors hitherto committed from the beginning of the war would be but as child's play compared to their exploits."

A great Council of Captains of Companies was held at Monde, in the Gevaudan, in 1435, when the soil of France, of Aquitaine, of Languedoc, of Provence was parcelled up among them, each having his region allotted him in which to plunder and work havoc.

So long as the English held Aquitaine it was impossible for the crown of France to control this terrible plague. Every baron, every little noble, as well as every great prince who found his liberty in the least touched, his misdeeds reproved, at once transferred his allegiance to the English crown, and the English king was too far off, and too greatly in need of assistance, to be nice in choosing his partisans, and not to wink at their misdoings.

The money that had been taken from Levi was restored by Jean del' Peyra, but not without murmurs from those who had assisted in the capture of l'Eglise Guillem. The peasants could see the justice in surrendering every article recovered to the claimants who could establish their rights and show that they had been plundered of these objects. Even the book of the Chanson de Geste of Guerin de Montglane had found an owner. Most of the ecclesiastical goods had been restored to churches. Articles of clothing had been divided among those who had helped to take and destroy the vulture's nest. This all seemed to them reasonable enough, but that so large a sum as a hundred livres should be surrendered to a dog of a Jew, solely because he had been despoiled of it – that was what they could not understand. If he had been robbed of the money it was well – Jews were made to be plundered. Equal justice was not due to those who had crucified the Christ. Jean, had however, been firm, and had held to his intention. Rather than irritate the peasants to rebellion against his decision, he surrendered to them his entire share in the spoil of the robber's stronghold.

The gratitude of the Jew at the unexpected recovery of his money was profuse. Jean paid little regard to his demonstration. A year later and he had reason to congratulate himself on having done an act of justice, for Levi assisted him in the purchase of the Seigneurie of Les Eyzies with it feudal stronghold and the flourishing village at its feet. But this is an event of the future. We are concerned now only with what took place in the memorable winter that saw the destruction of the band of Le Gros Guillem, and that preceded the great battle of Castillon and the ruin of the English cause in Guyenne.

Jean had become exceedingly anxious to obtain tidings of Noémi. After the terrible death of her father, the butchering of his followers, the surrender of Domme, and the dispersion of the remainder of his band, he knew not what had become of her. She had relatives at La Roque – the Tardes – that he knew, and he was therefore satisfied that she was not homeless and destitute. But that anything out of the wreck of Le Gros Guillem's accumulations had been preserved for her, he was doubtful. Who Guillem was, whence sprung, of what parents, no one knew. Whether he had any surname no one could say. Like many another Captain of the period he had escaped from the common mass of adventurers by the force of his abilities, by his superior power, by his daring courage. It had been so with that redoubted soldier of fortune, "Le petit Meschin," ¹⁰ who from a scullion had risen to be the scourge of whole provinces, and to defeat and well-nigh exterminate a royal army under a prince of the blood. Even renegade priests had headed bands of brigands and distinguished themselves by their outrages of all laws human and divine.

The "Eglise Guillem" in the rocks of the left bank of the Vézère was no inheritance of the robber chief, but had been taken by him and occupied as a stronghold of his own, and none had dared to reclaim it and attempt to dislodge him, till the attack by the peasants that has been recorded.

Jean felt that a painful obligation lay on him to see Noémi. Her father had met with a terrible death at the hands of his father, who had played with the wretched man as a cat with a mouse before he had cut the cord and precipitated him to his death. Le Gros Guillem had forfeited every right to command sympathy by his treatment of Ogier – in casting him down the oubliette and then by his treacherous attempt to have him murdered by his two men-at-arms. Nevertheless, he was Noémi's father, and his mangled corpse lay between Jean and her, and across that and the terrible wrongs committed by the dead man and the revengeful execution the hands of Jean and Noémi could never meet.

But the word of affiance had been spoken, and spoken solemnly, before many witnesses, and it had been sealed with the giving of a ring. Such a word could not be broken. In popular superstition it bound even beyond the grave. Release could be had only by mutual consent and the restoration of the pledge. Jean rode to La Roque, full of trouble at heart. He loved Noémi, he greatly esteemed her. He saw in her a noble soul struggling to its birth with aspirations after something better than what she had known – gladly would he have taken her to be his, and helped this uncertain, restless, eager spirit to unfold its wings, to break out of its shell, to look up and to soar into a pure atmosphere – but it might not be. The terrible shadow of Le Gros Guillem, the awful story of the past made this impossible.

As he was nearing La Roque, he suddenly drew rein – he saw Noémi. She was seated on a mass of brown fallen leaves, and was plucking helebore flowers. Even that act struck Jean to the heart. "She plays with poison – seeks out the noxious, the deadly," he said. He leaped to the ground, and holding the rein of his horse came to her.

"Noémi, what are you doing?"

"I am making a chaplet for the grave of my father."

"Of helebore?"

"What else suits? Would you have it of the innocent flower of the field? On such he trampled. They call this the wolf's flower – enfin! It is a flower!"

"Noémi, do you know why I have come?"

She stood up, holding the half-finished wreath in her hands and looking down. She did not answer, tears filled her eyes and trickled over her cheeks.

"Noémi," said he gravely, "you recall that incident by the charcoal-burner's lodge, that moment of terrible danger when the peasants, mad with revenge and success and the blood of the wolves they had killed, would have torn you – "

She did not answer. As she raised her hand with the helebore wreath, he saw that the ring was on her finger where he had placed it.

"I said what I did then, and I placed on your finger that ring, which is indeed your own – as you had entrusted it to me to show to your father – and I declared before all present that you were affianced to me. It was so."

She bowed her head.

"But, Noémi, you know that this can never, never be."

She looked up quickly, sadly at him. Her eyes were full of tears.

Jean was deeply agitated.

"You must return me the ring – if only for the form's sake, so as to undo the pledge and dissolve the engagement – I will give it back to you as a surrender of a loan – as nothing else."

She put her fingers to the ring and drew it off, and without a word offered it to him.

He took the ring and looked at it, doubtful what more to say.

"Noémi," he asked, "whose arms are these engraved on it? They seem to me to belong to the Fénelon family."

"Yes – they are the Fénelon arms."

"Was the ring – " He was about to ask if it had been stolen, but checked himself.

"It was my father's ring," she said in a low tone.

"Your father's! Was Le Gros Guillem a Fénelon?"

"Le Gros Guillem! Oh, no! Do you not know and understand?"

"Know, understand what?"

"Le Gros Guillem was not really my father; he carried off my mother from Fénelon, along with me when I was an infant in arms. Le Gros Guillem killed my father, who was the Baron de Fénelon. But I was a child and I was brought up at Domme. I knew nothing of that. Le Gros Guillem always treated me as his child and loved me as such, and I – I always called him and looked up to him as father."

"Noémi – is this true?"

She gazed at him full in the face. "I am no liar, Jean."

"Noémi, throw aside that helebore, open your arms. To my heart! to my heart! Take back the ring, all is well, is well. Mine for ever!"

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE ELEVENTH CROSS

Ogier del' Peyra had returned to Le Peuch Ste. Soure. His appearance greatly astonished the people, as his beard and moustachio had been shaved, and his hair, usually worn very thick and long, had been clipped close. So transformed was he in appearance that they could hardly recognise him. It was not till the story of the exploit of La Roque had reached them in its entirety that this transformation was understood.

Ogier would say nothing about what he had done. He relapsed into indifference and silence, and appeared morose and inaccessible. He took no interest in anything connected with his lands, none whatever in the great political events that ensued.

On September 20th, 1452, John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, disembarked on the coast of Medoc and entered Bordeaux on the 22d. Several small towns and fortresses surrendered. Then a large French army descended into Guyenne. On July 14th, 1453, the main body, under the command of the Count of Penthièvre and the Admiral Jean de Bueil, encamped at La Mothe-Montravel, and prepared to lay siege to Castillon that was held by the English. Talbot at once quitted Bordeaux, accompanied by between eight hundred and a thousand horsemen, and followed by from four to five thousand foot soldiers. He arrived before Castillon on the 17th of July.

At the approach of the English the French withdrew to their camp, and were followed by Talbot, who arrived breathless, his troops exhausted with a long march. Misinformed as to their numbers, believing that the French were retreating in alarm, without waiting to recruit his troops, the Earl of Shrewsbury resolved on storming the French camp.

The mistake was fatal. Not only did the French army vastly outnumber his own, not only was it fresh, whilst his troops were fagged, but their camp was well chosen and well defended with artillery that played upon the English from every side with disastrous effect. The defeat was complete. Talbot and his gallant son fell, and their death has been immortalised by Shakespeare. Nor has the great dramatist failed to point out the cause of the failure – the disunion among the English leaders.

This memorable battle prepared the way for the final deliverance of Guyenne and of France, not from English arms only, but from the plague of the Free Companies, which had grown and spread under the shadow of the English domination. At length the south – which as yet had not been in name even French – was absorbed into the kingdom, and partook of the benefits of union, and began to tingle with the lifeblood of the nation.

Ogier del' Peyra resigned all concern relative to his estates into the hands of his son, or rather the management was taken from him by Jean, because the old man could or would attend to nothing himself. Whether his mind had been affected by his imprisonment in the oubliette, or whether the inactivity was constitutional, and when the necessity for exertion and the motive for revenge were passed he could no longer rouse himself to action, remained uncertain. He had expressed no surprise when Jean brought Noémi to Le Peuch as its mistress. He accepted whatever happened as a matter of course.

For long he did absolutely nothing but sit in the sun and bite pieces of twig and straw. If addressed, he replied only with a "Yes" or "No," and gave tokens of annoyance if anyone was persistent in forcing a conversation. Whether he was thinking of the past, or thinking of nothing at all, none could say. Most certainly he gave no thought to the future, for he made no provision for the morrow and left everything to Jean.

At last he became feeble, and when feeble suddenly took it into his head to absent himself for a good part of the day.

On inquiry, Jean learned that he crossed the river taking with him a hammer and chisel; and he was informed that the old man had been seen scrambling up the slope to the ruins of l'Eglise Guillem. One day, accordingly, Jean went after him, and on reaching the cave-habitation found his father seated on the floor engaged in chipping with his tools.

"What are you doing, father?" asked Jean.

The old man did not answer with words, but pointed to the floor. He had been trimming into shapeliness the crosses that marked the lives taken at the storming of l'Eglise.

"But there are eleven, father," said Jean, pointing to one larger than the rest, fresh cut.

The old man nodded. "For Le Gros Guillem," he said. "I killed him."

THE END