“They are fast rising at least,” said
Ulrica, with frightful composure; “and a signal
shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to press hard
upon those who would extinguish them.—–Farewell,
Front-de-Boeuf!—–May Mista, Skogula,
and Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons—–fiends,
as the priests now call them—–supply
the place of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica
now relinquishes!—–But know, if it
will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is
bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the companion
of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt.—–And
now, parricide, farewell for ever!—–May
each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to echo
that title into thine ear!”
So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf
could hear the crash of the ponderous key, as she
locked and double-locked the door behind her, thus
cutting off the most slender chance of escape.
In the extremity of agony he shouted upon his servants
and allies—“Stephen and Saint Maur!—–Clement
and Giles!—–I burn here unaided!—–To
the rescue—–to the rescue, brave
Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy!—–It
is Front-de-Boeuf who calls!—–It
is your master, ye traitor squires!—–Your
ally —–your brother in arms, ye perjured
and faithless knights!—–all the curses
due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon
me to perish thus miserably!—–They
hear me not—–they cannot hear me—–my
voice is lost in the din of battle.—–The
smoke rolls thicker and thicker—–the
fire has caught upon the floor below—–O,
for one drought of the air of heaven, were it to be
purchased by instant annihilation!” And in the
mad frenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with
the shouts of the fighters, now muttered curses on
himself, on mankind, and on Heaven itself. —–“The
red fire flashes through the thick smoke!” he
exclaimed; “the demon marches against me under
the banner of his own element —–Foul
spirit, avoid!—–I go not with thee
without my comrades —–all, all are
thine, that garrison these walls—–Thinkest
thou Front-de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone?—–No—–the
infidel Templar—–the licentious De
Bracy—–Ulrica, the foul murdering
strumpet—–the men who aided my enterprises—–the
dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who are my prisoners—–all,
all shall attend me—–a goodly fellowship
as ever took the downward road —–Ha,
ha, ha!” and he laughed in his frenzy till the
vaulted roof rang again. “Who laughed there?”
exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, for the
noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of
his own mad laughter from returning upon his ear —–“who
laughed there?—–Ulrica, was it thou?—–Speak,
witch, and I forgive thee—–for, only
thou or the fiend of hell himself could have laughed
at such a moment. Avaunt---avaunt!------”
But it were impious to trace any farther the picture
of the blasphemer and parricide’s deathbed.
CHAPTER XXXI
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or, close the wall up with our English dead.
--------------- And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture—–let us
swear
That you are worth your breeding.
King Henry V
