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Read Ebook: Yorktown and the Siege of 1781 by Hatch Charles E Jr
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Ebook has 694 lines and 35405 words, and 14 pages
"What is the difference, good looking or not?... I am not allowed to leave this convent.... What have I done to be so wretched?"
"Alack, poor little one ... you are the son of a king!"
The boy made no answer, but he hid his face in his hands and fell to weeping, from time to time crying in a smothered voice: "My father.... Oh, my father.... Alas!... He is dead!"
"Oh, if you again start crying, and, worst of all, to speak of your father, you will make me also cry. Although I scold you for your negligence, I do pity you. I came to give you some hope, perhaps."
"What do you mean, Septimine?"
Having finished dressing the boy's hair, the young girl sat down near him on a stool, took up her distaff, began to spin and said in a low and mysterious voice: "Do you promise to be discreet?"
"Whom do you expect I can talk to? Whom could I reveal secrets to? I have an aversion to all the people in this place."
"Excepting myself.... Not true?"
"Yes, excepting you, Septimine.... You are the only one who inspires me with some little confidence."
"What distrust could a little girl, born in Septimany, inspire you with? Am not I as well as my mother, the wife of the outside porter of this convent, a slave? When eighteen months ago you were brought to this place and I was not yet fifteen, I was assigned to you, to entertain you and play with you. Since then we have grown up together. You became accustomed to me.... Is it not of course that you should have some confidence in me?"
"You just told me you had some hope to give me.... What hope can you give me? I want to hear?"
"Do you first promise to be discreet?"
"Be easy on that score. I shall be discreet."
"Promise me also not to begin to weep again, because I shall have to speak about your father, a painful subject to you."
"I shall not weep, Septimine."
"It is now eighteen months since your father, King Thierry, died on his domain in Compiegne, and the steward of the palace, that wicked Charles Martel, had you taken to this place and kept imprisoned ... poor dear innocent boy!"
"My father always said to me: 'My little Childeric, you will be a king like myself, you will have dogs and falcons to hunt with, handsome horses, chariots to ride in, slaves to serve you'; and yet I have none of these things here. Oh, God! Oh, God! How unhappy I am!"
"Are you going to start weeping again?"
"No, Septimine; no, my little friend."
"That wicked Charles Martel had you brought to this convent, as I was saying, in order to reign in your place, as he virtually reigned in the place of your father, King Thierry."
"But there are in this country of Gaul enough dogs, falcons, horses and slaves for that Charles to have an abundance and I also. Is it not so?"
"Yes ... if to reign means simply to have all these things ... but I, poor girl, do not understand these things. I only know that your father had friends who are enemies of Charles Martel, and that they would like to see you out of this convent. That is the secret that I had for you."
"And I, Septimine, would also like to be out of here! The devil take the monks and their convent."
After a moment's hesitation, the young girl stopped spinning and said to the young prince in a still lower voice and looking around as if fearing to be heard: "It depends upon you to get out of this convent."
"Upon me!" cried Childeric. "That would be quickly done on my part. But how?"
"Mercy! Do not speak so loud," replied Septimine uneasily and casting her eyes towards the door. "I always fear some one is there listening." She rose and went on tip-toe to listen at the door and peep through the keyhole. Feeling reassured by the examination, Septimine returned to her seat, again started to spin, and went on talking with Childeric: "You can walk in the garden during the day?"
"Yes, but the garden is surrounded by a high wall, and I am always accompanied by one of the monks. That is why I prefer to remain in this room to walking in such company."
"They lock you up at night--"
"And a monk sleeps outside before my door."
"Just look out of this window."
"What for?"
"To see whether the height of the window above the ground would frighten you."
Childeric looked out of the window. "It is very high, Septimine; it is really very high."
"You little coward! It is only eight or ten feet at most. Suppose a rope with large knots were fastened to that iron bar yonder, would you have the courage to descend by the rope, helping yourself with your feet and hands?"
"Oh, I never could do that!"
"You would be afraid? Great God, is it possible!"
"The attempt looks to me above my strength."
"I would not be afraid, and I am only a girl.... Come, have courage, my prince."
The boy looked once more out of the window, reflected and proceeded to say: "You are right.... It is not as high as it looked at first. But the rope, Septimine, how am I to get it? And then, when I am down there, at night.... What shall I do then?"
"At the bottom of the window you will find my father. He will throw upon your shoulders the caped cloak that I usually wear. I am not really much taller than you. If you wrap the mantle well around you and lower the cape well over your face, my father could, with the help of the night, make you pass for me, traverse the interior of the convent, and reach his lodge outside. There, friends of your father would be waiting on horseback. You would depart quickly. You would have the whole night before you, and in the morning, when your flight was discovered, it would be too late to start in your pursuit.... Now answer, Childeric, will you have the courage to descend from this window in order to regain your freedom?"
"Septimine, I have a strong desire to do so ... but--"
"But you are afraid.... Fie! A big boy like you! It is shameful!"
"And who will give me a rope?"
"Septimine, I shall have the courage to descend, yes ... I promise you."
"Forget not, Childeric, that my mother, my father and I are exposing ourselves to terrible punishment, even death perhaps, by favoring your flight. When the proposition was made to my father to help in your escape, he was offered money. He refused, saying: 'I want no other reward than the satisfaction of having contributed in the deliverance of the poor little fellow, who is always sad and weepful all these eighteen months, and who is dying of grief.'"
"Oh, be easy. When I shall be king, like my father, I shall make you handsome presents; I shall give you fine clothes, jewelry--"
"I do not need your presents. You are a child that one must sympathize with. That is all that concerns me. 'It is not because the poor little fellow is the son of a king that I take an interest in him,' my father has said to me, 'because, after all, he is of the race of those Franks who have held us in bondage, us the Gauls, ever since Clovis. No, I wish to help the poor little fellow because I pity him.' Now, remember, Childeric, the slightest indiscretion on your part would draw terrible misfortunes upon my family."
"Septimine, I shall say nothing to anybody, I shall have courage, and this very night I shall descend by the window to join my father's friends. Oh! What happiness!" the child added, clapping his hands, "what happiness! I shall be free to-morrow!... I shall be a king like my father!"
"Wait till you are away to rejoice!... And now, listen to me carefully. You are always locked in after evening prayers. The night is quite dark by that time. You will have to wait about half an hour. Then tie the rope and let yourself down into the garden. My father will be at the foot of the window--"
"Agreed.... But where is the rope?"
"Here," said Septimine, taking from amidst the flax that she held in her apron a roll of thin but strong rope, furnished with knots at intervals. "There is at the end, as you see, an iron hook; you will fasten that to this bar, and you will then let yourself down from knot to knot till you reach the ground."
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