Let that be buried with other records of
the great plague. Only in this case his mind triumphed for a while over
the dissolution of his body. When there was little left of him save bone
and sinew, still he found strength to cry out to God for mercy. Yes, and
to raise himself and cast what had been arms about the ivory rood and
kiss its feet with what had been lips, and in his last death struggle to
drag it down and pant out his ultimate breath beneath its weight.
So there they left him, a horrible, huddled heap upon which gleamed the
ivory crucifix, and went their way, gasping, into the air.
CHAPTER XVI
AT AVIGNON
Hard upon two months had gone by when at length these three, Hugh,
Grey Dick, and David Day, set eyes upon the towers of stately Avignon
standing red against the sunset and encircled by the blue waters of the
Rhone. Terrible beyond imagination had been the journey of these men,
who followed in the footsteps of Murgh. They saw him not, it is true,
but always they saw his handiwork. Death, death, everywhere death,
nothing but death!
One night they supped at an inn with the host, his family and servants,
twelve folk in all, in seeming health. When they rose in the morning
one old woman and a little child alone remained; the rest were dead
or dying. One day they were surprised and taken by robbers, desperate
outcasts of the mountains, who gave them twenty-four hours to "make
their peace with heaven"--ere they hanged them because they had slain so
many of the band before they were overpowered.
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