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Updated: June 13, 2025
When I recovered, I found myself bound upon a horse behind one of the men. "On with him, men, to Cartillon; there we rest this night in the King's name." In this wise we rode along; Ortez openly exultant, I silent and scornful. "Aha, my fine brother," he spoke low at my saddle, "thy father's son has thee in his power now.
So thou art the proud Lord of Cartillon, and I the outcast soldier of fortune, the nameless adventurer, slayer of women what thou wilt. But things are changed now. Before many hours I will be the Count d'Artin, and thou a dishonored corpse, sweet brother." "Thou! Thou my brother?"
He had then crawled away to warn me, for the whole object of Ortez seemed to be to take my life. Gaston's distress was pitiful; as his mute eyes now and again sought mine, I could not find it in my heart to censure him. Having distanced my poorly mounted pursuers I stopped to water my horse at the spring before riding the few hundred yards to the gates of Cartillon.
The sight was enough to startle even a man so used to shedding human blood as had been the Lord of Cartillon. Pedro was slowly sinking to the ground, easing himself down somewhat upon his knees and elbows. His brother stood near watching, and calmly wiping the red drippings from his sword upon the grass. Not a semblance of regret did he show for the deed of blood.
Some further notes by the good abbot told of how Raoul, the second son of Pedro, slew his own brother, before their father's eyes, in order that he, Raoul, might be Count of Cartillon. And this same Raoul, some years later, did have the locket made and forced his own son to swear that he would restore the real sons of d'Artin, the true children of the Black Wolf's Breed, to their own again.
The holy Abbot, being retired at his prayer and pious meditations, Brother Jehan, worthy and devout, in humility of spirit inquired of their errand. Being informed in hot haste that the puissant and mighty Lord of Cartillon lay dying in sin, possessed of frenzies and fiends, and stood in need most urgent of extreme unction, we deliberated thereupon together.
I came to Chateau Cartillon in the year of grace one thousand six hundred and forty-two, upon the solicitation of its lord, he having known me upon the banks of the Douro for a master workman, well skilled in rare and curious devices, both of metals and precious stones. For more than two years I rested in and about the castle, seeing much whereof my soul hath need of ease and God's forgiveness. *
Until that moment I had never seen the Chateau Cartillon, still there was not a corner or a passage which did not seem well known to me. My feet fell into paths they seemed no strangers to. I seemed to know intuitively what each building was for, and even imagined most vividly scenes which had transpired there. The whole place had the most intense personal interest for me, why I knew not.
And let it be concealed by so secretly a hidden spring, no hand but mine can touch or find," and as he spoke on, his tongue flew the taster, his eyes roved about, he kept tight grip upon his sword as if he feared. He, Raoul of Cartillon, the man whose headlong courage was an army's byword, he feared in his own hall.
Arrived at Cartillon, we made great speed to repair to his bedside, where, of a truth, the man lay flat of his back, weak in flesh, but stout and rebellious of soul, contrary to the doctrines of our most blessed religion. Before he caught sight of us, he moaned and heaved, pointing his fingers ever out of the window, and uttering strange heathen blasphemies whereat we crossed ourselves piously.
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