CHAPTER IV
FACE TO FACE
Roger de Laval had chosen for his abode in Rome a sombre and frowningbuilding not far from the grim ways of the Campo Marzo, half palacehalf fortalice, constructed about a huge square tower with massivedoors. Like all palace fortresses of the time which might at anymoment have to stand a siege, either at the hands of a city mob or atthose of some rapacious noble, it contained in its vaulted halls andtower chambers all the requisites for protracted resistance as wellas aggression. On the walls between flaunting banners hung the manyquartered shields and the dark coats of chain, the tabards of theheralds and the leathern jerkins of the bowmen. On the shelves betweenthe arches stood long rows of hauberks and shining steel caps. Darktapestries covered the walls and the bright light of the Roman day fellmuted through the narrow slits in the sombre masonry which served aswindows.
It was not to seek his wife that Roger had come to Rome, and hismeeting with Tristan in the gardens of Theodora had been purelyaccidental. While his vanity and selfishness had received a severeshock in Hellayne's departure, without even a farewell, he had notallowed an incident in itself so trifling to disturb the even tenor ofhis ways. He had loved to display her at his feasts as one displayssome exceeding handsome plaything that gives pleasure to the senses;otherwise he and the countess had no common bond of interest. Hellaynewas the only child of one of the most powerful barons of Provence, andhad been given in marriage to the older man before she even realizedwhat the bonds implied. Only after meeting Tristan had the awakeningcome, and youth sought youth.
That which brought every one to Rome in an age when Rome was still bycommon consent the centre of the universe, such as the Saxon Chroniclesof the Millennium pronounce it, had also caused Roger de Laval to seekthe Holy Shrines, not in quest of spiritual benefit, but of temporalaggrandizement, in the character of an investiture from the Vicar ofChrist himself. His disappointment at finding the head of Christendom aprisoner in his own palace was perhaps only mitigated by the disclosurethat he should have to rely upon his own fertility of mind for therealization of a long-fostered ambition.
On one of his visits to the Lateran, hoping to obtain an interviewwith the Pontiff, he had met Basil as representative of the Romangovernment, in the absence of Alberic, and a sinister attraction hadsprung up between them in the consciousness that each had somethingto give the other lacked. This bond was even strengthened by Basil'spromise to aid the stranger in the attainment of his desires, and atlast Roger had confided in Basil the story of the shadow that hadspread its gloomy pinions over the castle of Avalon. Basil had listenedand suggested that the Lord Laval drown his sorrows at the board ofTheodora. Therein the latter had acquiesced, with the result that hemet Tristan on that night.
Hellayne was sitting alone by the window in a long silent gallery. Shecould not take her eyes off the restless outline of the clouds wherehead on head and face on face continued taking shape. In vain herteased brain tried to see but clouds. Two nights ago had not a horridface grinned at her from out of these same clouds? The face of a wolfit had seemed. And it had taken human shape and changed to the face ofthe man who had brought her to this abode from the sanctuary where shehad fallen by the shrine.
And yet, as she looked at the sun, whose beams were fast dwindling onthe bar of the horizon, how she yearned to keep the light a littlelonger, if only a few short minutes. She could have cried out to thesun not to leave her so soon, again to wage her lonely war with theTwilight and with Fear. For during the hours of day her lord was away.Business of state he termed what took him from her side. With a leer heleft and with a leer he was wont to return. And with him the memory ofhis meeting with Tristan!
She had found him again, the man she loved! Found him--but how? AndHellayne covered her burning eyes with her white hands.
This other woman who had stepped in between her and Tristan, who hadlaid a detaining hand upon his arm and had silently challenged her forhis possession--what was she to him?
For three days and three nights the thought had tormented her even tothe verge of madness. Had she sacrificed everything but to find himshe loved in the arms of another? Silently she had borne the taunts ofher lord, his insults, his vile insinuations. He did not understand.He never understood. What of it? In the great balance what mattered itafter all?
She must see Tristan. She must hear the truth from his own lips. Invain she puzzled her brain how to reach him. She remembered his lastoutcry of protest. There was a mystery she must solve. Come what might,she was once more the woman who loved. And she was going to claim thepayment of love!
As regarded that other, to whom she had bound herself, her consciencehad long absolved her of an obligation that had been forced upon her.Had fate and fact not proved the thing impossible? Had fate not castthem again and again into each other's arms and made mock of theirconscience? Nature had made them lovers, let it be the will of God orthe devil.
And lovers till death should they be henceforth. He belonged to her.Away with faith--away with fear of this world, or the next. Away withall but the dear present, in which the brutality of others had set herfree. For a moment her thoughts turned almost pagan.
Was she to return to the old, loveless life in that far corner of theearth, while he whom she loved took up a new existence in the centreof the world, loving another to whose ambition he might owe a greatcareer? She needed indeed to sit in silence, she who had done daringthings without a misgiving, as if impelled by a power not her own. Shehad done them, marvelling at her own courage, at her own faith in himshe loved, and she had not faltered.
The torturing dusk was drowning every living thing in pallid waves ofshadow. One by one, through the wan gallery in which she was locked,the motley spectres of night would pass in all their horrors, and begintheir crazy, soundless nods and becks.
Suddenly she cowered back, shuddering, with her eyes fixed on thedarkening depths of the gallery and her day dreams died, like paleashes crumbling on the hearth.
Roger de Laval had entered and was regarding her with a malignant leerthat almost froze the blood in her veins. She knew not what businesshad taken him abroad. Nevertheless was assured that some dark deed wasslumbering in the depths of his soul.
"Are you thinking of your fine lover?" he said as he slowly advancedtowards her. "You are grieved to have your thoughts broken into by yourhusband? No doubt you wish me dead--"
"Spare me this torture, my lord," she entreated. "I have answered athousand times--"
"Then answer again--"
"I swear before God and the Saints he is guiltless. He knew not I wasin Rome."
"Swear what you will! A woman's oath is but a wind upon one's cheek ona warm summer day--gone ere you have felt it. The oath of a woman whohas followed her lover--"
"I have not done so!"
"You have done your best to make the world believe it."
"What of yourself?" There was a ring of scorn in her voice.
"You have brought me to shame!"
"What of the women you have shared with me?"
Hellayne's eyes met those of her tormentor.
"It is a man's part!"
"And you are a man!"
"One at least shall have cause to think so."
"Perchance you will have him murdered. Why not kill me, too? That, too,is a man's part."
He gave a great roar.
"And who says that I shall not?"
An icy fear, not for herself, but for Tristan, gripped her heart. Shetried to hide it under a mantle of indifference.
"What have you ever done to make yourself beloved?"
"By Beelzebub--you--the runaway mistress of a fop--dares to questionme--her rightful lord?"
"Who made the laws that bound me to your keeping? They are man-made,and God knows as little of them as he knows of you. It was yourmeasureless conceit, your boundless egotism, that whispered to you thatany woman should feel honored, should deem it the height of glory, tobe your wife."
"And is it not?"
She shuddered.
"You never dreamed there might be something in the depths of my soulthat cried out for more than the mere comforts and exigencies ofexistence! Something that craved love, companionship, and, above all,friendship. What have you done to waken this little slumbering voicewhich died in the shadow of your tremendous egotism?"
He stared at her.
"He has taught you this speech, by God!"
"He has awakened my true self! What was I to you but part of yourmagnificence, a thing to make your fellows envious--"
He roared. She continued:
"The one decent woman of your life--your world--"
His eyes glared.
"So then, this low-born churl is a better man than I?"
"At least he knew I had a soul of my own."
"Skillfully cultivated to his own sweet ends."
"His ends were innocent, else had he not fled."
"Knowing that you would follow him."
"He knew naught."
"That remains to be seen."
"It was you who brought us together!" she said with quiet scorn. "Youwere so sure in your pride and your power and of my own timidity thatyou thought it impossible that something might defy them. And you couldnot understand that another might be so much closer to my nature, orthat I had a nature of my own. In those days I well remember, ere myheart had strayed too far, I tried to waken you to the great danger.I tried to speak of mine. But you would not be apprised of aught thatwould seem a concession to your pride. So we are come to this!"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Come to what?" he thundered.
"My ruin--and your disgrace!"
His breast heaved.
"Of you I know nothing. As for myself--I suffer no disgrace. I am toomuch a man of sense for that. Not a soul but thinks that you are absentwith my consent. A pilgrimage to Rome! Many a woman has, for her soul'sgood gone alone. Not a soul, I warrant, has thought of your connectionwith that fellow's plight. Not a soul but thinks that this is the solecause of your disappearance. And when I, too, went I was careful toleave the rumor behind."
He stepped closer, his breath fanning her pale cheeks. She lookedalmost like a ghost in the grey twilight.
"And now--" he continued, licking his sensuous lips, "you arefound--you are found--my beautiful wife--you are found--and--to theeyes of the world at least--unstained. One alone whose lips are sealed,knows."
Hellayne's lips tightened.
"And a woman."
A strange expression came into his face.
"Have you spied upon me, too?"
"You forget the meeting at the Arch."
"No woman will spread the story of a rival's claims!"
There was a pause, then he continued, with deliberate slowness:
"You shall come back with me--my beautiful Hellayne--my wife in name,if not in deed! And you shall submit to my caresses, knowing, as Ido, how loathsome they are. And you shall smile--smile--and appearhappy--my wife henceforth in name only. And you shall smile no less atwhat henceforth your lord's pleasure may be with other women--fair asyourself--and you shall grow old and grey, and the thing you call yoursoul shall die and wither up your beauty--and never a word shall passyour lips anent this chastisement. And at last you shall die--and belaid by--and not a soul shall ever be the wiser for your shame."
Hellayne covered her face with her hands.
"And if I should refuse to accept this fate?"
"Then you shall be flung into a nunnery."
"And if I refuse to become a nun?"
"Then your lover shall pay the price--with his blood instead of yours.Know you the woman he so madly loves?"
"It is a lie!" she shrieked.
There was a moment's silence.
"Her name is Theodora. Saw you ever fairer creature?"
"God!"
"I want your answer!" leered the man.
"I do not refuse!"
An evil smile curved his lips.
"I knew you would be reasonable--my fair Hellayne!"
His lips were parted in a fatuous smile. He pictured to himself thepain at the parting and indeed his satisfaction was so great that hedecided to prolong it yet a little longer. How amusing it would be towatch the face of him who had dared to love Hellayne. Knowing as nowhe did all the motives for his actions, it gave him pleasure to thinkthat he could mar the astonishing good fortune of this adventurer whohad found employment in the service of Alberic by the intrusion of thispassion for another woman. It would be real joy to see this creatureof sentiment thus torn and tortured. And it was yet a greater joy toforce Hellayne to witness the struggle, forced to smile at the conquestof her lover by another woman. And he would watch the pangs of theirsuffering till the day of his departure.
With her own blue eyes Hellayne should witness the love of him she hadso madly followed, estranged by the beauty of Theodora, whose lure nomortal might resist.
After he had entered his own chamber, Hellayne flew like a mad thingdown the gloom-haunted gallery. Could she but escape from thishumiliation--even through death's doors--she would not shrink. Shefelt, if she remained, she would go mad.
It was true, then! Tristan loved another. The old love had beenforgotten and cast aside! All her fears and misgivings returned in onemad whirl.
Frantically she tried to remove the heavy bolt when she was paralyzedby a demoniacal laugh that issued behind her and swooning she fell atthe feet of the man whose name she bore.
Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome Page 28
