In the shadow of a wooded hillock sleeps the manor of La Vaulx-Renard. From there, the view extends over the Amblève valley which stretches out in a setting of prestigious mountains. This country residence, withdrawn from the world and surrounded by deep woods, immediately brings to mind the retreat of some good-natured lord, fervent devotee of the cult of Saint Hubert. Yet the lord of La Vaulx-Renard left a reputation as a haughty and bloodthirsty gentleman, and the memory of his crimes has not yet faded from popular memory.
The life of a peasant counted for nothing, for this lord worthy of living in the dark times of barbarism. His wishes had the force of law and he punished on the spot the bold one who dared to dispute his slightest whim. Witness the ferryman who paid with his life for presenting a simple request. Near the castle, there was a water crossing. The ferryman was granted for all payment of his troubles the use of a cottage and two days' worth of land. The good man had a wife and five children to feed; thus the income from this modest inheritance, although he made the most of it, was barely enough to maintain the household. The housewife harassed her husband, so that he would ask for help from his lord and master. But the landowner, knowing the violent character of the castellan, constantly delayed. And during this time, misery settled in the home of the hardworking laborer.
One fine day, the master of the place hailed the ferryman on his return from the hunt. The expedition had been fruitful. A forester carried a bulging game bag from which protruded hare's feet and to which hung partridges with speckled plumage. The lord seemed in good humor. The ferryman judged the moment opportune to present his request.
When the hunter had taken his place in the boat and it had moved away from the shore, the ferryman ventured:
"My lord, you know how devoted I am to you. Night and day, I stand at your orders for the crossing of the river and yet I am poorly paid, for my wages do not allow me to provide for the needs of my family. I dare hope your Lordship..."
The summer had been dry and the waters were very low. While he was speaking, the ferryman forgot to pull on the cable and the boat stopped in the middle of the water.
"This scoundrel is never satisfied," roared the gentleman whose face turned purple with anger; "come on, lazybones, get me across the water, I'll pay you afterwards."
The villager timidly resumed, seeing that he had taken the wrong path:
"May my Lord excuse me, if..."
"Enough, devil's beggar, your audacity will have the reward it deserves."
The boat had barely been moored when the lord, disdaining the help of his men, jumped onto the bank. He examined the primers of his arquebus, then coldly aimed at the ferryman who was fastening the boat's chains to the post. A gunshot shook the echoes and the unfortunate man collapsed bloodied, struck dead.
But the lord of La Vaulx-Renard did not act only in this way towards the commoners of his fief; he did not hesitate to plunder the lands of neighboring castellans.
Loving to feast, to drink wine like a Templar, the master of La Vaulx-Renard had fallen into debt. The lord of Froidcourt, wishing not to provoke the resentment of this irascible and whimsical man, had granted him a loan. The due date arrived and the borrower did not care about it. On several occasions, Monsieur de Froidcourt reminded him of his debt and, each time, the lord of La Vaulx-Renard promised to settle his debt shortly. But although his situation gave cause for concern, Monsieur de Froidcourt finally grew weary. He asked an inhabitant of Stoumont, known for his firm and determined character, to go to La Vaulx-Renard, to claim the sum and not to return without beautiful ringing and jingling coins. For all response, the squire merely had the messenger thrown into a dungeon from which he never emerged.
All these exactions, all these thefts, all these crimes that the lord of La Vaulx-Renard committed with impunity, finally exceeded the region's tolerance. Lords and commoners brought their grievances before their suzerain, the prince-abbot of Stavelot. The sovereign's men-at-arms surrounded the manor of La Vaulx-Renard and arrested its owner. He was thrown into a dungeon and put on trial. When they saw him firmly chained to the dock, the inhabitants who had had to silently endure the yoke of his tyranny revealed the facts of which they had been victims. The charges were overwhelming and the lord of La Vaulx-Renard was sentenced to death. The date of execution was set when the prince-abbot of Stavelot passed away. During the vacancy of the see, the Prince-Bishop of Liège governed the domain of the deceased. The lord of La Vaulx-Renard begged the prelate to grant him his pardon. He consented, on the formal condition that the prisoner go fight the Turks. As much as the criminal had been arrogant in his power, so much did he show himself cowardly when he had obtained his life. After having sworn to submit to the verdict, he did not care at all about being killed by the Infidels. He took refuge in Aywaille, which then depended on the Duchy of Luxembourg. In this enclave, safe from justice, he ended his days mocking those who had condemned him, as well as the one whose generosity he betrayed.