CHAPTER VI.

THE GATHERING STORM.

Louis the Lusty had made his entry into the city of Laon on the eve of Holy Thursday of the year 1112. On the day following the arrival of the Prince, Colombaik, his mother and his wife were seated together in the basement chamber of their house. Dawn was about breaking. Fergan's son, Martine and Joan the Hunchback had watched all night. A lamp threw its light upon them. The two women, uneasy in the extreme, were stripping old linen into bandages and lint, while Colombaik, together with his three apprentices, plying their saws and planes, were actively engaged in fashioning pike-shafts, four feet long, of oak and ash branches recently lopped off. Colombaik did not seem to share the apprehension of his mother and his wife, who silently pursued their work, listening from time to time in the direction of the little window that opened on the street. They awaited, with as much impatience as anxiety, the return of Fergan, absent since the previous evening. What tidings would he bring?

"Lively, my lads," Colombaik was jovially saying to his apprentices, "ply your planes and your saws with dispatch! It does not much matter if these pike-shafts be rough. They are to be used by hands as callous as our own. May there be a chance to use them!"

"Oh, master Colombaik," remarked one of the young apprentices laughing, "as to that, these handles will be less smooth to the touch than the fine doe skins that we tan for the embroidered gloves of the noble dames and their elegant young ladies."

"The ornament of a pike is its iron head," rejoined Colombaik; "but little Robin the Crumb-cracker, the apprentice of the blacksmith, is long in fetching us those ornaments. However, with him it will not be as with the little apprentice of our friend the baker. There is no fear of Robin's nibbling at his goods on the way." The lads laughed at the joke of Colombaik. But accidentally turning his eyes in the direction of Joan and Martine, he was struck by the increasing uneasiness of their looks. "Good mother," said he to Joan in a tender and beseeching voice, "pardon me if I have saddened you with jokes that may be out of season at this time."

"Oh, my child," answered Joan, "if I look sad, it is not on account of your jokes, but the result of thoughts suggested by the sight of men shaping weapons, and women preparing lint for the wounded."

"And when we consider," put in Martine, unable to keep back her tears, "that a father, a son, a husband may happen to be among the wounded! Confound the people who brought war upon the city! Confound this clergy of the devil and their train of churchmen!"

"Dear Martine, and you, good mother," Colombaik rejoined, seeking to calm the two women, "to prepare for war is not to wage it. It is prudent to be on one's guard, just in order to secure peace, honorable peace."

"Your father!... Here is your father!" Joan cried out abruptly, hearing a rap at the street door. She rose, together with Martine, while one of the apprentices ran to open the door. But the expectation of the two women was not verified. They heard a childish voice cry out gleefully: "It burns!... It burns!... Who wants buns.... It burns!" And Robin the Crumb-cracker, the blacksmith's apprentice, a lad about twelve years of age, wide awake, but all black with the smoke of the forge, stepped in, holding in his little leather apron about twenty pike-heads which he dropped on the floor. "Who wants fire-buns!... They are hot!... They just come from the furnace!..."

"Master Colombaik feared you had been nibbling the goods on the way," one of the young tanners observed with a laugh. "We hold you quite capable of doing so, little Robin!"

"You are right. I took my bite on the way!" laughingly answered the urchin. "But in order to chew my pretty piece of pointed iron, I need one of your fine ash branches. Let me have one."

"What the devil would you do with a pike?" asked Colombaik, smiling upon him. "You are barely twelve years old. That is no toy for urchins."

"I want to use it, if there be blows coming. My master, Paynen-Oste-Loup, will tap the backs of the great episcopals; so will I! I shall roll over the little noblemen in my best style. Those scamps have hurt my feelings quite often, pointing their finger at me and calling out: 'Look at the little villain with the black face! He looks like a blackamoor!'"

"Hold, my bold lad," said Colombaik to Robin; "here is a good oak handle for you. Give us the news. What is doing in the city?"

"They are rejoicing as on Christmas eve. Light is seen at all the windows. The forges are shooting up flame. The anvils ringing. They are making an infernal racket. One would think that the blacksmiths, locksmiths and armorers were all working at their master-pieces; and one would think all the shops are smithies."

"This time it is your father!" Joan cried out to her son, hearing a second rapping at the door. Fergan soon appeared. He entered at the moment when Robin was leaving, brandishing his oak branch and shouting: "Commune! Commune! Death to the episcopals!"

"Oh!" said the quarryman, following the blacksmith's apprentice with his eye. "How could we fear for our cause when even the children--"; and interrupting himself to address his wife, who ran with Martine to meet him: "Come, now, dear bundles of timidity! The news makes for peace."

"Can it be true!" exclaimed the two women, folding their hands together. "There is to be no war?" And running to Colombaik, on whose neck she threw herself, Martine cried out: "Did you hear your father? There is to be no war! What happiness! It is over! Let's rejoice!"

"Upon my soul, dear Martine, so much the better!" remarked the young tanner, returning the embrace of his wife. "We shall not recoil before war, but peace is better. So, then, father, everything is adjusted? The bishop pays, or surrenders the horse? Justice will be enforced against that scamp of a Black John? And the King, true to his oath, backs the Commune against the bishop?"

"My friends," answered the quarryman, "we must, all the same, not hope for too much."

"But what about what you said just before," replied Joan with returning uneasiness, "did you not tell me the news was good?"

"I said, Joan, that the news was favorable to peace. Here is what happened last night: You heard the insolent answer of the bishop, reported at the meeting of the Councilmen by our neighbor Quatre-Mains, the baker, an answer that was rendered all the more threatening by the entry of the King into our city at the head of an armed troop of men. The Councilmen decided to take measures of resistance and safety. As constable of the militia, I ordered watchmen placed at all the towers that command the gates of the city, with orders to close them and allow none to enter. I likewise issued orders to the guilds of the blacksmiths, locksmiths and armorers to turn out quickly a large number of pikes, to the end of being able to arm all the male inhabitants. Quatre-Mains, like a man of foresight and good judgment, proposed sending under a good escort for all the flour in the mills of the suburbs, fearing the bishop may have them pillaged by his men to starve out Laon. These precautions being taken, they were reported to the Council. We did not recoil before war, but did all we could to conjure it away. It was agreed that John Molrain was to appear before the King and pray him to induce the bishop to do us justice, and to promise henceforth to respect our charter. The Mayor went to the house of the Sire of Haut-Pourcin, where the King had taken quarters. Unable, however, to see the Prince, he conferred long with Abbot Peter de la Marche, one of the royal counselors, and showed him that we demanded nothing but what was just. The abbot did not conceal from John Molrain that the bishop, having ridden ahead with the King, had entertained him for a long time, and that Louis the Lusty seemed greatly irritated against the inhabitants of Laon. John Molrain had had dealings with the Abbot de la Marche on the confirmation of our Commune. Knowing the abbot's cupidity, he said to him: 'We are resolved to maintain our rights with arms, but before arriving at such extremities we desire to try all the means of conciliation. No sacrifice will be too great for us. Already have we paid Louis the Lusty a considerable sum to obtain his adhesion to our charter, let him deign to confirm it anew and to order the bishop to do us justice. We offer the King a sum equal to that which he received before. And to you, seigneur abbot, a handsome purse as a testimony of our gratitude.'"

"And attracted by such a promise," put in Colombaik, "the abbot surely accepted?"

"Without making any promises, the tonsured gentleman agreed to communicate our offer to the King when he retired, and he made an appointment with John Molrain for eleven in the evening. The Councilmen, having approved the proposition of the Mayor, went over the city, soliciting each of our friends to contribute according to his power towards the sum offered to the King. This last sacrifice was expected to roll away from our city the threatened dangers of war. All the inhabitants hastened to put in their quota. Those who had not enough money, gave some vessel of silver; women and young girls offered their trinkets and their collars; finally, towards evening, the sum or its equivalent in articles of gold and silver was deposited in the communal treasury. John Molrain returned to the King to hear his answer. The Abbot de la Marche informed the Mayor that the King did not seem indisposed to accept our propositions, but that he desired to wait till morning before taking a definite resolution. There is where matters now stand. In a hurry to make the rounds of our watchmen, and having no time to come here for money, I requested our good neighbor the baker to pay for us our share of the contribution. Colombaik shall take to Ancel the money he advanced for our family."

"Surely the King will accept the offer of the Councilmen," observed Joan, "what interest could he have in refusing to profit by so large a sum? He is a greedy prince. He will accept our money."

"What a wretched trader that Louis the Lusty is!" exclaimed Colombaik. "He has us pay him to confirm our charter, and he has us pay him a second time to re-confirm it. Patient people that we are! We must pay, and pay again!"

"What does it matter, my child," said Joan; "provided no blood flows, let us pay a double tribute, if necessary!"

"'It is with iron that tribute should be paid to kings,' said our ancestor Vortigern to that other tonsured representative sent by Louis the Pious," rejoined Colombaik, looking almost with regret at the iron pikes that his apprentices, who had not intermitted their work, were engaged upon. "Oh, those times are long gone by!"

"Fergan!" suddenly Joan called out, inclining her head towards the street; "listen! Is not that the bell, and the voice of a crier. Let's find out what is up--"

At these words the quarryman's family approached the open window. The sun had just risen. A crier of the bishop, distinguishable by the arms embroidered on the breast of his coat, was seen passing the house. He alternately rang his bell and then cried out: "In the name of our seigneur the King! In the name of our seigneur the Bishop! Inhabitants of Laon assemble in the market-place at the eighth hour of the day!" and the crier rang anew his bell, the sound of which was soon lost in the distance. For an instant the family of the quarryman remained silent, each seeking to guess the object of the King and the bishop in ordering the assemblage. Joan, always yielding to hope, said to Fergan: "The King probably wishes to assemble the inhabitants in order to announce to them that he accepts the money and confirms the charter anew."

"If such was the intention of Louis the Lusty, if he had accepted the offer of the Commune, he would have notified the Mayor," the quarryman answered, sadly shaking his head.

"Perhaps he has done that. We may expect him to have done so, father."

"In that case the Mayor would have issued orders to ring the belfry bell, in order to assemble the communiers and announce to them the happy tidings. I do not like this convocation, made in the name of the King and the bishop. It presages nothing good. We have everything to fear from our enemies."

"Fergan!" replied Joan alarmed, "must we, then, renounce all hope of an accommodation? Is it war? Is it peace?"

"We shall soon be clear upon that. It will not be long before the eighth hour will sound," whereupon Fergan resumed his casque and his sword, which he had put away upon entering, and said to his son: "Arm yourself and let's go to the market-place. As to you, my young ones," said he, turning to the apprentices, "continue adjusting the pike-heads to the shafts."

"Fergan!" exclaimed Joan anxiously, "you foresee war?"

"Oh, Colombaik," said Martine, weeping and throwing herself upon the neck of her husband, "I die with fear, when I think of the dangers that you and your father are about to run!"

"Be comforted, dear wife, by ordering these preparations of resistance to continue, my father only adopts a measure of prudence," answered Colombaik. "The situation is not desperate."

"My dear Joan," the quarryman said sadly, "I have seen you bear up more bravely on the sands of Syria. Remember what perils you, your child and I escaped during our long journey in Palestine, and when we were serfs of Neroweg VI--"

"Fergan," Joan broke in, overcome with anguish, "the dangers of the past were terrible, and the future looks menacing."

"We were all so happy in this city!" muttered Martine. "Those wicked episcopals, so anxious to turn our joy into mourning, have, nevertheless, the same as the communiers, wives, mothers, sisters, daughters!"

"That is true," said Fergan bitterly; "but those men of the nobility and their families, driven by the pride of station and living in idleness, are furious at no longer being able to dispose of our hard labor. Oh! If they tire our patience and if they mean to reconquer their hateful rights, woe be unto the episcopals! Terrible reprisals await them!" And embracing Joan and Martine, the quarryman added: "Good-bye, wife; good-bye, my child."

"Good-bye, good mother; good-bye, Martine," Colombaik said in his turn, "I accompany my father to the market-place. Soon as we shall have definite information, I shall return to let you know. Remain at ease and without any apprehensions."

"Come, daughter," said Joan to Martine, after once more embracing her husband and her son, who forthwith went out, "let's resume our sad task. For a moment I had hoped we could drop it."

The two women began anew to prepare lint and bandages, while the young apprentices, resuming their work with renewed ardor, continued shafting the iron pikes.