Eternal Life;Cursed Gift

8

They did not imagine how terrible it would be for them in the dark night forest. The thought of having a Grim House nearby with a skeleton in the basement made me shudder. But the thirst for adventure, the eternal companion of the boys at all times, stubbornly drove them forward.

It was decided to bypass the abbey from behind. They walked slowly, constantly stumbling and clinging to the thorns with their cloaks. It was quiet, the cry of a night bird or the crackling of a fallen branch made them flinch. Philip involuntarily switched to a whisper.

- The tomb is in the basilica, we saw it last time. You need to climb over the wall and crawl to it.

- Fine.

They made their way through the thickets and came to a wall. It was not possible to throw a rope ladder on the wall - it was even and had practically no protrusions. Then Rene climbed a tree and from it climbed a thick branch to the wall. Catching his breath, he tossed the end of the ladder to Philip. A minute later, both jumped off the wall into the grounds of the abbey.

Numerous stone buildings rose all around. What was not there - a chapel, a refectory, an orphanage, a library and even a winery. However, it was not difficult to find a basilica among them - it towered above all other structures, the moonlight played on its stained-glass windows.

Bending over, the boys ran from building to building, it was quiet around. “Of course, because the monks go to bed early,” thought Rene, and at that moment he heard distant singing.

How could we not realize? Philip whispered. “Tomorrow is St. Martin’s Day, so tonight must be Mass at night.” And it certainly takes place in the basilica.

But they were lucky: the prayer service was held in a small chapel, standing at the very gates of the abbey. They reached the basilica, unnoticed by anyone, and began to look for ways to get into it. Very soon, friends found an open window and easily squeezed through it. Jumping inside, they looked around and froze in admiration. Ahead, at the altar, candles were burning, emphasizing the beauty and solemnity of the surrounding decoration. No wonder this abbey was the spiritual pillar of France for many centuries - every stone here breathed power and strength. Huge carved columns supported the dome, which was lost in the darkness, moonlight played on stained-glass windows with a height of a dozen toises, adding something mystical to the biblical scenes depicted on them.

“The tombs must be down in the crypt,” Philip whispered.

Rene nodded in agreement.

After waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, they set off to look for the stairs. She was in the left aisle.

Having descended, the friends found themselves in the dungeon of the basilica. It was safe to light candles here.

They saw the tomb of the kings at once. Tombstones and slabs were piled up in the depths of the crypt. The space was occupied by huge tombs on which marble kings and queens stood, sat, lay. Majestic monuments rose to the vaulted ceiling. Friends became creepy, I wanted to leave their idea and get out of here as soon as possible. If each of them were alone here, they would immediately run away without looking back, but not one of them wanted to show weakness in front of a friend. After hesitating, they went to the tomb.

“Look how many there are,” Philip whispered. - There are names written on the side of the plates, look for Philip the Handsome.

Keeping close, they walked along the tombstones, illuminating the inscriptions on them with the flame of a candle. The history of France appeared before them in faces.

- Look, Rene, Clovis!

- And here is Hugo Capet himself!

- Philip Augustus, who erected a wall around Paris!

- Carl Winner! He was afraid that he would be poisoned, refused to eat and as a result died of starvation.

- Pepin the Short!

Gradually, fear gave way to reverence and awareness of the greatness of this place. It was impossible to believe that the ashes of so many great people were nearby. They were so carried away that they almost forgot about the purpose of their arrival.

- Saint Louis!

- Dagobert!

- Philip Handsome!

- Joan of Navarre!

Struggling with excitement, Philip stared at his friend:

- What you said?

Here already Rene realized that he had found the right tomb. My heart was beating so hard, as if it wanted to burst out of my chest.

The tombstone of Philip the Handsome was made in the form of a dome over a pedestal, mounted on four twisted pillars. On the pedestal lay a marble statue of the king. One hand was pressed to the chest, the other clutched the scepter; at the feet is a lion. Friends with bated breath peered into the stone face of the deceased monarch.

- And now what? René asked in a barely audible voice.

Let's take a closer look at everything.

By candlelight, they began to examine every inch of the headstone. Inspection of the pedestal and pillars did not give anything, the guys turned their attention to the statue. Examining the stone mantle, Rene noticed a small chip in the paw of the lion lying at the feet of the king . The boy looked closer.

- Found!

Philip rushed to him.

It was not a chip, but a small notch in the shape of a symmetrical palm with two thumbs. Trembling with excitement, Rene took out the Hand of Fatima from the pouch at his belt and put it in the recess. It fit perfectly, there was a soft click. Friends watched in amazement as one of the folds of the robe easily moved aside, revealing a small rectangular niche in the statue. They held their breath and looked inside. The cache was empty. Bitter disappointment showed on their faces. Frustrated, they sank to the floor.

“Someone has been here before us,” Rene said in confusion.

Philip was silent for a long time, then he said doubtfully:

- I can't understand how it happened. After all, we have the Hand of Fatima. We were clearly following the chain of signs. Could there be multiple references to the same place?

He stood up and began to examine the niche again. And suddenly froze.

- Give me a candle.

René held out the candle to him in bewilderment.

- Oh my God! Philip whispered.

- What?!

- Take a look.

In the flickering light, Rene saw that the inscription was engraved on the end of the niche:

“Not hamsu, but put your hand here,

And when it is destined, He will fulfill the wish.

The dumbfounded boys silently looked at each other, then at the inscription. In a moment, they were overwhelmed with unbridled joy.

We found it, we found it! Rene exclaimed in a broken voice.

- We made it! - echoed Philip.

Recovering their breath and calming down a little, they stood in front of the statue.

"Come on," said Philip.

Rene put his hand on the bottom of the hiding place and froze. His wish had been considered beforehand, but he still hesitated. “Perhaps this is the most important chance in my life. I can think of anything, even become a king. But even kings are mortal, here they are, lying here as if they had never lived. Finally, Rene made up his mind. “I want death to bypass me until I call it myself,” he mentally said and pulled his hand away. And then he stepped aside, making way for a friend.

Philippe put his hand in the niche and quickly uttered the prepared words to himself: "I want to marry Genevieve Boucher, if Rene for some reason cannot be her husband."

He took two steps back, and then the niche door silently closed. The folds of the marble mantle closed, and the guys could not see the slightest crack where the niche had been. The boys rushed to the feet of the statue: the Hand of Fatima was visible in the paw of the lion, but it looked more like a drawing - it was impossible to pull the talisman out of the recess in the paw. They could not recover from their astonishment.

- The niche is gone!

- Incredible!

After a brief consultation and deciding that there was nothing more for them to do here, they set off on the return journey.

Jacques Tillon lost the boys at the abbey. It was quite some time before he found the basilica and went down to the crypt. Hiding behind a column, he watched René and Philippe trample around the niche. With difficulty waiting for the boys to leave, he rushed to the tomb of Philip the Handsome and carefully examined it. Jacques was not stupid and guessed what happened: the hiding place was closed, and now it is not possible to reach it. These upstarts made their cherished wishes, but he could not. His rage knew no bounds.

An hour later, friends got out of the abbey and walked towards the city. They were filled with jubilation. Rene seemed to have grown wings. Just think - he is immortal! He, a simple boy, was able to cheat death and will never die! No king could boast of such a treasure! The richest and most powerful men on earth would give all their jewels and lands, all their power, for the gift now possessed by the son of a Parisian glover.

He suddenly remembered Marie Duchon. "What did she call me, immortal black demon? Looks like the old woman really is a witch, since she already knew then that I would receive such a gift ... But why a demon?"

Suddenly Philip stopped.

"Rene, we must return to the Gloomy House once more," he said decisively.

- For what? Rene was scared.

“This noble knight… We must bury him.

- Crazy? Drag the skeleton to the tomb ... Yes, we will die of horror, as soon as we touch it.

- It doesn't matter. He has prepared a resting place for himself, and we must put him there.

- Yes, why us? yelled Rene.

- We took the box, - said Philip, emphasizing the word "we". We have learned his secret. We made cherished wishes. So, you see...

- All right, - Legrand grumbled reluctantly, - let's go sometime.

Philip, after a pause, thoughtfully asked:

- Do you think that what we wished for will really come true?

René looked at him in surprise.

- Certainly.

Early in the morning they entered the city, excited and joyful. The miracles of that night were enough for them for the rest of their lives. Many years later, recalling this day, René could not understand how they managed to get into the abbey so easily and find the hiding place. But that night it seemed to him absolutely natural that their reckless undertaking had succeeded.

Jacques Tillon returned to Paris angry and disappointed. For once, he managed to find out something worthwhile, and now it broke. Rage and resentment bubbled in his chest, clouding his mind. It’s good that he didn’t tell any of the guys about his plans - if only they would laugh at him now. I didn't want to go back to the barracks.

Passing by the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, Jacques stopped - he remembered this church from childhood, his mother often took him there on Sundays. So, nearby, around the corner is Paivi Street, where their house once was. Probably the hated father still lives there. "I'll be patient, son, only grow faster." His heart sank: "I grew up, mom." Jacques' eyes lit up, now he knew where to apply his fury. Almost at a run, he headed for Paivi Street.

***

Lately, Patrick Tillon has been thinking more and more about his life. What kind of worthless creature is he? His wife died by his grace, his son ran away... The Lord will never forgive him. And all the damned inn! Ah, if only he could get past him. He would have stopped drinking, would have found his little Jacques... We must try, he will definitely try to pass by the tavern!

Oddly enough, he did it quite easily. The first days he was tormented by the desire to miss a cup or two, but the thought of his son held him back. When the owner of the docks, Mr. Verdier, praised him, Patrick seemed to grow wings. He could! Now nothing will prevent him from starting a new, pious life.

Having given up drinking, Patrick was surprised to find that the money, which had never been enough before, is now quite enough. Of course, his earnings are enough for two, just to find Jacques.

That evening, approaching his house, Tillon saw in the street a dirty, black-haired boy about nine years old. Patrick tossed him a coin. Something about this boy reminded him of his son. However, then he drank so much that he vaguely remembered what his Jacques looked like. I would like to know where he is now, what he is doing.

Patrick had a quick supper and went to bed. Tomorrow is St. Martin of Tours, you need to get up early so as not to be late for the morning mass.

Tillon awoke with the feeling that someone was looking at him. He opened his eyes and in the dim morning light saw a young man standing next to the bed. Patrick was surprised, but not scared. He sat up in bed and asked:

- Who are you, sir? What do you want?

The young man smiled grimly.

I have come to repay your debt.

Jacques stared at his father, trying to see the fear on his face. But I saw only confusion. Jacques did not need it: he wanted him to be afraid, to the point of convulsions, to the point of panic, as once he and his unfortunate mother were afraid of this eternally drunk monster. The young man pulled out a thick wooden stick from behind his back and lightly hit his father on the arm.

- Yes, what is it? - he was indignant, rubbing the bruised place. There was resentment in his eyes now.

Again, not that. "Wait a minute!" Jacques slammed his club hard on Patrick's shoulder, and this time got his way. Something crackled, the father let out a loud cry, his face twisted in pain, he stared in horror at the uninvited guest. Finally! The son watched with grim joy as fear and hatred flared in his father's eyes. Here they are, the very feelings with which he himself so often looked at Tillon Sr.! The sight of his father grimacing in pain, who tried to protect himself from punches, further inflamed the young man's rage. "I hate it! I hate it!" He swung and brought the stick back to his shattered shoulder. Patrick howled, and Jacques again raised his club, he beat and beat on the lying body, completely losing control of himself and as if feeding on his father's pain. And he no longer screamed, only wheezed, blood gushed from his mouth, the bones turned into a continuous mess.

In the last seconds of his life, Patrick Tillon realized who was standing in front of him. Already losing consciousness, he managed to whisper "Jacques!" before the blow of a heavy club fell right on his head.

***

René hoped that his friend would forget about the reckless idea of ​​burying the knight, but soon Philippe spoke about it again. Rene took a deep breath and shook his head.

- I will not go.

- Why? Philip was surprised.

- Lord, well, how do you not understand? - he sighed again and whispered barely audible: - I'm afraid.

But Philip just laughed.

- It's nothing, Rene. My father always said that fear has a limit.

- Like this?

- If you scare yourself very, very much, then you stop being afraid.

- Hmm... and you believe it?

How can I not trust my own father? Philip asked with dignity.

- And what do you suggest?

- We will sit in the basement and tell each other terrible legends until we are frightened to the limit. Then the fear will go away and we can bury the knight.

Rene shrugged in disbelief.

- Okay, let's try.

Jacques Tillon, hearing their whisper, froze and turned his ear.

Friends stocked up with a new rope ladder, a rectangular piece of cloth the size of a human being, candles and set off. Finding two long branches in the forest, they cut them off and took the resulting poles with them.

They went out into the clearing and again felt turmoil in their souls.

It was decided, like the first time, to climb through the window. The house was quite light. To the legs of a heavy bench, standing near the entrance to the basement, Philip tied a rope ladder, and lowered the other end into the hatch. Rene at this time strengthened the corners of the purchased canvas on poles. It turned out something like a stretcher. Friends lit candles and crossed themselves and began to descend.

It was easier to breathe than last time: the fresh air from the open hatch dispelled the age-old mustiness of the cellar.

At first it wasn't scary at all. The light of two candles was enough to see everything a few steps around. But as soon as they approached the tomb, Rene felt an unpleasant chill inside.

"Maybe we should bring the Templar first?"

"Then we'll have to put him on the floor while we open the sarcophagus, and that doesn't fit his status." Help me move the lid.

The boys, having fixed the candles on the floor, leaned on the stove with their whole bodies, and with a screech it crawled to the side.

- Stop! Rene exclaimed. - If we move it a little more, it will fall to the floor. We don't have the strength to lift this heavy slab back.

- But we can not put the knight through such a narrow gap - objected Philip.

- Let's put it back, and then lift it from one end and prop it up with something.

Bypassing the slab on the other side, they fell on it, exerting all their strength, and soon the sarcophagus was closed. Exhausted, they leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Suddenly Philip held his breath and listened.

- Don't you think that someone is walking upstairs? he whispered.

For a moment it seemed to René that his heart had stopped. Is it a ghost?! But, no matter how much he listened, he could not make out a sound, except for his heavy breathing. He laughed softly.

- You should at least warn that you have already begun to tell your terrible legends.

- No, there really was some kind of sound, I swear. But now I can't hear anything anymore.

They fell silent, trying to cope with the fear. When the anxiety subsided somewhat, Philip said:

- You need something to prop up the lid.

René, still listening, went to the weapons rack and brought back a long piece of wood.

- Is a spear shaft suitable?

- Yes.

The friends grabbed the stove again, exerting all their strength and puffing hard.

- Get over that corner...

- How heavy!

- Carefully!

- Oh, now I'll drop ...

- Put the shaft in quick!

Finally the job was done, the boys finally managed to lift and support the stove, and now they sat against the wall, trying to catch their breath.

"I don't understand... how we... handled this," René muttered with difficulty.

- Nothing... the hardest part is over...

René smiled ruefully.

- You think?

- Certainly. Well, shall we go?

Legrand reluctantly got up and nodded at the travel bag.

“Light other candles, but we’ll leave these here, otherwise we won’t see the tomb in the dark.”

Friends cautiously approached. While René was staring at the skeleton, Philippe spread the makeshift stretcher on the floor and turned around.

- Well, are you ready? Maybe we can do without legends?

René shook his head frantically.

- No, let's wait... let's try your father's way.

Retreating to a corner, they sat down directly on the floor and fixed a candle in front of them. Glancing fearfully at the skeleton, Rene prepared to listen.