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Table of Contents

ATTALUS DISAPPOINTED IN AN EXPECTED JOURNEY TO METZ.—GOES OUT TO PLOUGH.—POPULARITY OF LEO.—THE HARVEST-HOME.—PLAN OF ESCAPE.—LICENTIOUSNESS OF THE FRANKS.—ATTALUS AND LEO FLY THE CASTLE.—PERILS IN THE WOOD.—ARRIVE AT THE HOUSE OF A CHRISTIAN PASTOR.—REACH HOME, AND ARE RESTORED TO THE BISHOP.—DEATH OF THE KING.—CONCLUSION.

When spring-time came, Clodobert took all his fine horses, except a few which he reserved for Dagobert's use and his own, to Metz, and sold them for a large sum to the courtiers of King Theodoric. Attalus had vainly hoped that he should be employed to ride or lead one of these noble animals to that city, intending, when he arrived at a convenient spot, to have put him to his speed, and so made off. Clodobert probably guessed his intention, for he would not permit him to attend the horses on this expedition, but gave orders that he should abide in the castle and take care of the children, and wait on his Lady Countess during his absence.

Attalus was deeply disappointed at this arrangement, and heartily sick of his new office, for the Lady Countess Marna, of Gurm, as she was called, was to the full as unamiable in her manners as her husband and her father; and as for the children, they grew more and more intolerable in their behaviour every day. Attalus was, therefore, very glad when Clodobert, on his return, sent him forth with some of his rustic barbarians to assist in ploughing the barren lands of Gurm, to prepare them for spring sowing. Even this hard labour was far more agreeable to Attalus than the company of such ill-mannered Pagans as Clodobert's countess and children.

At length summer approached, but Leo still delayed the execution of his project for the escape of Attalus, who sometimes began in his impatience to suspect that the vivacious cook had no serious intentions of aiding him to break his bonds. Leo, in fact, appeared thoroughly to enjoy his situation in the kitchen of Dagobert the Frank. He not only prepared all the meals with peculiar pains and infinite satisfaction, but, when not engaged in cooking, he delighted the Countess Marna, Count Clodobert, and their uncouth children, by dancing, singing, and playing a hundred droll antics, for their amusement. If the children were ever so troublesome, Leo found no fault with them. He had, indeed, conducted himself so obligingly to everyone, and thus obtained such influence in the castle, that nothing was done there without consulting him.

The fierce old Pagan, Dagobert, had hitherto led all his cooks a sad life; having cruelly beaten some, and ordered others into solitary confinement, on bread and water, if any of his favourite dishes were spoiled. But he was so fond of Leo, that he gave him rings for his fingers, and a gold chain for his neck, as a reward for having so completely tickled his palate; and he one day declared that he should be more concerned for his death than for the loss of all his family.

Count Clodobert carried his gluttony to a like excess. Indeed, he went far beyond his father-in-law in some things,—for, not contented with devouring four meals a day, he always had a rich buttered cake, and a bowl of strong drink, sweetened with honey, carried into his bed-chamber by Leo, in order that he might take it the last thing before he went to sleep. This bad practice made him grow so fat that he could hardly see out of his eyes, and reduced him to the necessity of walking on foot for the rest of his life: a great affliction to a man so fond of horses as he was. But from his great bulk, he was unable to mount or dismount, or to manage a horse with safety; and in those days coaches were not invented.

Attalus at length became indignant at seeing his grandfather's cook employing himself with such apparent satisfaction in pampering the appetites of these barbarians day after day, till months passed by, and the toils of harvest, in which he was compelled to assist, commenced. He had long been weary of importuning Leo to assist him in effecting his escape, for he had now concluded that Leo preferred the service of Dagobert, and the privileges he enjoyed in his kitchen, to the peril of his difficult and dangerous enterprise.

On the evening of the harvest-home feast, however, when Attalus was engaged in turning the spit for Leo, the cautious cook, as he stooped to baste a pig that was roasting for Dagobert's own especial eating, whispered in his ear:—

"Hold thyself in readiness, Count Attalus; for this night, when all the intemperate inhabitants of the castle are overpowered with sleep, we two will flee from the heathen walls of Gurm!" The heart of Attalus leaped within him at this welcome intimation, and for the first time, he lent a cheerful hand in placing the savoury dishes on the loaded supper-board.

The two Counts, Dagobert and Clodobert, the Countess Marna, and her children, with all their barbarian guests, servants, and followers, ate like wolves, and drank like fishes. At the hour of midnight, they retired to their beds very much the worse for their intemperate indulgence at table.

When Leo attended Clodobert in his chamber with his accustomed potation, the pagan count, who was much intoxicated, said to him,—"We are all in thy power to-night, Leo, for I think thou art the only sober person in the castle. Verily, if thou wert not the most trustworthy fellow in the world, thou mightest rob and murder us all with impunity."

"Nay," replied Leo, "thou mayest trust me for that, good count; I have no temptation to do either of the things of which your lordship speaks." With these words he withdrew, but carefully locked the door after him, and put the key in his pocket. He then softly entered the chamber where Dagobert was snoring in his bed, and took away his spear and shield, and the key of the stable, which was under his head. When he left the room he locked this door also, and then proceeded to the stable, where Attalus had in the mean time saddled two of the fleetest horses, on which they both mounted, and started at fiery speed.

They rode on, without uttering a single word, save to encourage their steeds, throughout the dark, lonely night. When the morning dawned they found themselves on the banks of the river Moselle, beyond which they perceived a thick forest at a little distance.

"What shall we do now!" said Attalus; "for the banks are steep, and the stream is deep and rapid; our horses are wholly spent, and will not, I fear, be able to stem the tide."

"Let us abandon them," said Leo, "and swim to the opposite shore. We shall be able to shift for ourselves in the tangled forest better without them than with them."

None but a newly-enfranchised slave can tell the joy that Attalus felt, when he had swam through the rushing waters of the opposing stream, and gained the forest-glades in safety. He leaped and bounded with delight, exclaiming, "I am free; I shall behold my own fair land, and my beloved grandsire, once more."

"Softly, softly, my young lord," whispered the cautious Leo; "your chain is broken, it is true, but you are not yet out of danger; and, in sooth, I know not what is to become of us, for we have no clue to guide us out of this forest. I begin, too, to be in need of a breakfast, to recruit my spirits. Are you not hungry, good my lord?"

"I am free, and that sufficeth me," replied Attalus.

Nevertheless the calls of hunger soon began to be felt by the high-souled youth as well as by his humble companion; and when they had roamed the tangled wildwood the whole day, and at last lay down to sleep, supperless, his jocund spirits were somewhat abated.

When they rose the next morning, they were not only faint with hunger, but much at a loss which way to proceed. However, they marched straight forward, trusting that if the wood had an end, they should in time reach it. Attalus kept his eye fixed, as it were, on the direct line they were to pursue; but Leo looked to right and left with eager glances; at length he clapped his hands together, in a sort of ecstasy, exclaiming, "Oh, blessed prospect!"

"Is it an outlet from this dismal forest, Leo, that you have discovered?" asked Attalus. "No; it is a wild plum-tree, loaded with purple fruit," replied Leo, springing into a tree that overhung their path, and giving it a hearty shake. Down came a fine shower of ripe plums, rather of a sour kind, it must be acknowledged; but never had the richest fruits of the sunny valleys of Auvergne appeared so refreshing as these crude wildings of the forest were to the parched lips of the faint and weary wanderers.

Scarcely, however, had they appeased their hunger, when the tramp of horses and the jingling of steel, close at hand, reached their ears, and they hastily concealed themselves in a dark thicket behind the plum-tree. While they lay there, trembling with apprehension, they recognised the harsh voice of old Dagobert, swearing in the most heathenish manner at his horse, for stumbling over the stump of a tree; and, peeping through the bushes, they plainly perceived him, with a whole troop of his barbarian followers, beating the bushes apparently in search of them. They did not, however, search the thicket in which the fugitives were concealed, but they stopped under the wild plum-tree, and began to thresh down the fruit with their spears.

While so engaged, Clodobert's eldest boy, who was very active in the pursuit, asked his grandfather, "What he would do with Attalus and Leo, if he caught them?" The ferocious Pagan replied,—"I would hew Attalus to pieces with my battle-axe, and hang the false knave, Leo, on a gibbet, till the crows and the kites had picked his bones."

Attalus and Leo relieved by a Christian.

Leo shuddered at this barbarous speech, and Attalus scarcely ventured to draw his breath! At length the blood-thirsty Franks, after bestowing a wicked execration on the sour plums, which, having tasted, they did not approve, turned their horses about, and struck into another track.

Attalus and Leo were glad enough to make a second meal on the despised plums, and to fill their pockets with them before they proceeded on their march. On the third day, they cleared the forest, and found themselves near the country of the Rhemois, in France.

The first house they saw they approached, and, well nigh dead of hunger and fatigue, they knocked at the door and asked for food and shelter. They obtained both, and much kindness, too, for the master of the house was a Christian, who bade them enter and freely share the hospitality of his humble roof.

"May I inquire," said their host, "whom I have the happiness of entertaining?"

When Attalus informed him that he was the grandson of the Bishop of Langres, the old man was delighted, for he had received baptism at the hands of that holy prelate, who had converted him to the Christian faith. The next day, he undertook to conduct Attalus and Leo on their way to the diocese of Langres.

The joy of the venerable bishop, on once more beholding his beloved grandson, was great. Attalus, on the following Sunday, returned public thanks to Almighty God for his deliverance from the heathen Franks; and the Bishop of Langres rewarded Leo for his faithful services with the present of a farm, where he lived happily with his wife and children during the rest of his life.

The death of the Austrasian monarch soon after relieved Auvergne from his heavy yoke; and the lands of Autun were restored to Attalus by his successor, King Clodomic.