Chapter VIII

It cannot be but thou hast murdered him;
So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim!
SHAKESPEARE: _Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

“Upon my honor, old man,” said Ordener to Spiagudry, “I began to think that the corpses who lodge in this building would have to open the door.”

“Excuse me, sir,” replied the keeper, in whose ears the names of king and viceroy still rang, as he repeated his trite excuse, “I was--I was sound asleep.”

“Then I suppose your dead men do not sleep, and it was probably they whom I heard talking just now.”

Spiagudry was confused.

“You--stranger,--you--heard?”

“Oh, yes! but what does it matter? I did not come here to meddle with your affairs, but to interest you in mine. Let us go inside.”

Spiagudry was by no means anxious to allow the new-comer to see Gill’s body, but these last words comforted him considerably; and besides, how could he prevent his entrance?

He accordingly allowed the young man to pass, and closing the door, said: “Benignus Spiagudry is at your service in all that relates to human science; yet if, as your unseasonable visit seems to show, you suppose that you are dealing with a sorcerer, you are wrong; _ne famam credas_; I am only a learned man. Enter my laboratory, stranger.”

“Not at all,” said Ordener; “my errand is with these corpses.”

“These corpses!” said Spiagudry, beginning to tremble again. “But, sir, you cannot see them.”

“What! I cannot see bodies which are placed here for the sole purpose of being seen! I repeat, that I wish to question you concerning one of them; it is your duty to answer. Obey cheerfully, old man, or you will be forced to obey.”

Spiagudry had a sincere respect for swords, and he saw the flash of steel at Ordener’s side.

“_Nihil non arrogat armis_,” he muttered; and fumbling with his bunch of keys, he opened the grating, and admitted the stranger into the second section of the hall.

“Show me the captain’s clothes,” said the latter.

At this instant a ray from the lamp fell upon Gill Stadt’s bloody head.

“Good God!” exclaimed Ordener, “what abominable sacrilege!”

“Great Saint Hospitius, pity me!” sighed the poor keeper.

“Old man,” continued Ordener, in threatening tones, “are you so remote from the tomb that you can safely violate the respect which is its due? And do you not fear, wretched fellow, that the living will teach you what you owe to the dead?”

“Oh,” cried the poor keeper, “mercy! It was not I! If you only knew--” And he stopped; for he remembered the little man’s words: “Be faithful, be dumb.” “Did you see any one escape through that aperture?” he asked faintly.

“Yes; was it your accomplice?”

“No; it was the guilty man, the only guilty man! I swear it by all the torments of hell, by all the blessings of heaven, by this same body so infamously profaned!” and he fell upon the pavement before Ordener.

Hideous as Spiagudry was, there was yet an accent of truth in his despair and protestations, which convinced the young man.

“Old man,” said he, “rise; and if you did not outrage death, do not degrade age.”

The keeper rose. Ordener continued: “Who is the culprit?”

“Oh, silence, noble youth! You know not of whom you speak. Silence!”

And Spiagudry mentally repeated: “Be faithful, be dumb.”

Ordener answered coldly: “Who is the culprit? I must know!”

“In Heaven’s name, sir, do not say so! Be silent, for fear--”

“Fear will not silence me, but shall make you speak.”

“Excuse me; forgive me, young master!” said the agonized Spiagudry. “I cannot.”

“You can, for I insist. Tell me the profaner’s name!”

Spiagudry still strove to evade.

“Well, noble master, the profaner of this corpse is the assassin of that officer.”

“Then that officer was murdered?” asked Ordener, reminded, by this abrupt transition, of the object of his search.

“Yes, undoubtedly, sir.”

“And by whom,--by whom?”

“In the name of the saint on whom your mother called when she gave you birth, do not seek to know his name, young master; do not force me to reveal it.”

“If my desire to know it required any spur, you would add it, old man, in the shape of curiosity. I command you to name the murderer.”

“Well, then,” said Spiagudry, “see these deep wounds, made by long, sharp nails on the body of this unfortunate man. They will name the assassin.”

And the old man showed Ordener a number of ugly scratches on the naked, freshly washed corpse.

“What!” said Ordener, “was it some wild beast?”

“No, my young lord.”

“But unless it was the Devil--”

“Hush! Beware, lest your guesses come too close to the mark. Did you never hear,” added the keeper in a low voice, “of a man or a monster with human face, whose nails are as long as those of Ashtaroth who ruined us all, or of Antichrist who will yet destroy us?”

“Speak more plainly.”

“‘Woe unto you!’ says the Apocalypse--”

“I demand the assassin’s name!”

“The assassin--his name? My lord, have pity on me; have pity on yourself!”

“The second of those prayers would destroy the first, even if serious reasons did not compel me to tear that name from your lips. Abuse my patience no longer.”

“So be it, if you insist, young man,” said Spiagudry, raising himself, and in a loud voice. “The murderer, the profaner, is Hans of Iceland.”

This terrible name was not unknown to Ordener.

“What!” he cried, “Hans! that execrable bandit!”

“Do not call him a bandit, for he has no followers.”

“Then, wretch, how do you know him? What common crimes have brought you together?”

“Oh, noble master, do not stoop to believe in appearances. Is the oak-tree poisonous because the serpent finds shelter within its trunk?”

“No idle words! A scoundrel has no friend who is not an accomplice.”

“I am not his friend, and still less his accomplice; and if all my oaths fail to convince you, sir, let me implore you to observe that this monstrous sacrilege exposes me, twenty-four hours hence, when Gill Stadt’s body is to be removed, to the torture allotted to those guilty of profanation, and thus casts me into the most fearful state of anxiety ever endured by innocent man.”

These considerations of personal interest moved Ordener more than the suppliant voice of the poor keeper, much of whose pathetic though useless resistance to the little man’s sacrilegious act they had doubtless inspired. Ordener reflected a moment, while Spiagudry tried to read in his face whether this pause meant peace or boded a storm.

At last he said, in a severe though quiet tone: “Old man, speak the truth! Did you find any papers upon that officer?”

“None, upon my honor.”

“Do you know if Hans of Iceland found any?”

“I swear by Saint Hospitius that I do not know.”

“You do not know? Do you know where this Hans of Iceland hides?”

“He never hides; he roams about perpetually.”

“Perhaps; but where is his den?”

“That pagan,” whispered the old man, “has as many dens as the island of Hitteren has reefs, or the dog-star rays.”

“I order you again,” broke in Ordener, “to speak in plain terms. Let me set you an example; hearken. You are mysteriously allied with a brigand, whose accomplice you still declare that you are not. If you know him, you must know where he has gone. Do not interrupt me. If you are not his accomplice, you will not hesitate to lead me in search of him!”

Spiagudry could not contain his fright.

“_You_, noble lord! _you_,--great God! full of youth and life,--_you_ would provoke, seek out that demon! When four-armed Ingiald fought the giant Nyctolm, at least, he had four arms!”

“Well,” said Ordener, with a smile, “if four arms are a requisite, will you not be my guide?”

“I! your guide! How can you jest with an old man who almost needs a guide himself?”

“Listen,” replied Ordener; “do not try to jest with me. If this profanation, of which I would fain believe you innocent, exposes you to be punished for sacrilege, you cannot stay here. You must fly. I offer you my protection, but on condition that you lead me to the brigand’s lair. Be my guide, I will be your saviour. Nay, more: if I catch Hans of Iceland, I shall bring him here, dead or alive. You can then prove your innocence, and I promise to restore your office. Stay; meantime, here are more coins than your place brings you in a year.”

Ordener, by keeping his purse until the last, had observed that gradation in his arguments required by the wholesome laws of logic. They were strong enough in themselves to make Spiagudry consider. He began by taking the money.

“Noble master, you are right,” said he; and his eye, hitherto vague and uncertain, was fixed upon Ordener. “If I follow you, I incur the future vengeance of the terrible Hans. If I stay, I fall to-morrow into the hands of Orugix the hangman. What is the penalty of sacrilege? Never mind. In either case, my poor life is in danger; but as, according to the wise remark of Saemond-Sigfusson, otherwise called the Sage, _inter duo pericula æqualia, minus imminens eligendum est_, I will follow you. Yes, sir, I will be your guide. Pray do not forget, however, that I have done all I could to dissuade you from your daring scheme.”

“Very good,” said Ordener. “Then you will be my guide. Old man,” he added, with a meaning glance, “I count upon your fidelity.”

“Oh, master!” replied the keeper, “Spiagudry’s faith is as pure as the gold which you so graciously gave me.”

“Let it remain so, or I will show you that the steel which I bear about me is as sterling as my gold. Where do you think Hans of Iceland is?”

“Why, as the southern part of the province of Throndhjem is full of troops sent thither on some errand of the lord chancellor, Hans must have gone in the direction of Walderhog cave, or toward Lake Miösen. Our road lies through Skongen.”

“When can you start?”

“At the close of the day now dawning, when night falls and the Spladgest is closed, your poor servant will begin his duties as your guide, for which he must deprive the dead of his care. We will try to hide the mutilation of the miner from the eyes of the people for this one day.”

“Where shall I meet you to-night?”

“In the market-place, if it please my master, near the statue of Justice, which was formerly Freya, and which will doubtless protect me with her shadow, in gratitude for the fine devil which I had carved at her feet.”

Spiagudry would probably have repeated the terms of his petition to the governor, had not Ordener interrupted him.

“Enough, old man; it is a bargain.”

“A bargain,” repeated the keeper.

He had scarcely uttered these words, when a low growl was heard above their heads. The keeper shuddered.

“What is that?” he said.

“Is there not,” asked Ordener, equally surprised, “any other living being dwelling here besides yourself?”

“You remind me of my assistant, Oglypiglap,” replied Spiagudry, reassured by the thought. “It was probably his snores which we heard. A sleeping Lapp, Bishop Arngrimmsson says, makes as much noise as a waking woman.”

As they talked, they approached the door of the Spladgest. Spiagudry opened it softly.

“Good-by, young sir,” he said to Ordener; “may Heaven keep you merry. Good-by until to-night. If your road lead you by the cross of Saint Hospitius, deign to utter a prayer for your wretched servant, Benignus Spiagudry.”

Then hastily closing the door, as much through fear of being seen as to guard his lamp from the early morning breezes, he returned to Gill’s corpse, and did his best so to arrange it that the wound might not be perceived.

Many reasons combined to persuade the timid keeper to accept the stranger’s perilous offer. The motives for his bold resolve may be ranked as follows: (1) fear of Ordener here and now; (2) dread of Orugix the hangman; (3) an ancient grudge against Hans of Iceland,--a grudge which he scarcely dared acknowledge even to himself, so strong was the power of fear; (4) a love of science, which would benefit largely by his journey; (5) confidence in his own cunning, which would enable him to evade Hans; (6) a wholly speculative attraction for certain metal contained in the young adventurer’s purse, and probably also in the iron casket stolen from the captain and intended for Widow Stadt, a message which now ran a great risk of never leaving the messenger’s hands.

Still another and a final reason was the well or ill founded hope of returning sooner or later to the post which he was about to desert. Besides, what did it matter to him whether the robber killed the traveller, or the traveller the robber? At this point in his meditations he could not help saying aloud: “It will be one more corpse for me, anyhow.”

Another growl was heard, and the unhappy keeper shivered.

“Indeed, that is not Oglypiglap’s snore,” said he; “that noise comes from without.”

Then, after a moment’s thought, he added: “How silly I am to be so frightened! The dog on the wharf probably waked and barked.”

Then he finished his arrangement of Gill’s disfigured remains, and closing all the doors, threw himself upon his mattress to sleep off the fatigue of the past night and gain strength for the coming one.

Photo-Etching.--From drawing by Démarest.]