CHAPTER V
THE CRESSETS OF DOOM
Never had Tristan's feelings been more hopelessly involved than sincethat eventful night by the Arch of the Seven Candles when, like a ghostof the past, Hellayne had once more crossed his path and had givenhis solemn pledge the lie. And the more Tristan's thoughts revertedto that fateful hour, when his oath seemed like so many words writtenupon water, and the man who believed him guilty held his life in thehollow of his hand, the greater grew his misery and unrest. Physicallyexhausted, mentally startled at the vehemence of his own feelings,he was suffering the relapse of a passion which he thought had burntitself out, letting his mind drift back to the memory of happierdays--days now gone forever.
Why had she followed him? What was she doing here? Was the old fight tobe renewed? And withal happiness mingled with the pain.
In the midst of these thoughts came others.
Had she accompanied the Count Laval to Rome and were his questioningsmere pretense, to surprise the unguarded confession of a wrong of whichhe knew himself sinless? Had she been here all these days, seeking himperchance, yet not daring to make her presence known?
And now where was she? Hardly found had he lost her? And see her hemust--whatever the hazard, even to death. How much he had to say toher. How much he had to ask. Her presence had undone everything. Wasthe old life to begin again, only with a change of scenes?
He had read her love for him in her eyes, and he could have almostwished that moment to have been his last, ere the untimely arrival ofTheodora saved him from the death stroke of his enraged enemy. For hehad seen the light fade from Hellayne's blue eyes when she faced theother woman, and Laval's taunts had found receptive ears. Everythinghad conspired against him on that night, even to seeming the thing hewas not, and with a heart heavy to breaking Tristan scoured the city ofRome for three days in quest of the woman, but to no avail.
His duties were not onerous and the city was quiet. No farther attemptshad been made to liberate the Pontiff and the feuds between the rivalfactions seemed for the nonce suspended.
Nevertheless Tristan felt instinctively, that all was not well. Nightafter night Basil descended into the crypts of the Emperor's Tomb,sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two companions, men Tristanhad never seen. Ostensibly the Grand Chamberlain visited the cells ofcertain prisoners of state, and one night Tristan ventured to followhim. But he was seized with so great a terror that he resolved toconfide in Odo of Cluny, who possessed the entire confidence of theSenator of Rome, and be guided by his counsel.
In the meantime, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, the terriblething had happened again. From the churches of Santa Maria inTrastevere and Santa Sabina of the Aventine, the Holy Host had beentaken, notwithstanding the increased number of guards keeping watch inthe sanctuaries.
Rome shivered in the throes of abject terror. People whispered ingroups along the thoroughfares, hardly daring to raise their voices,and many asserted that the Antichrist had returned once more to earthand that the End of Time was nigh. Like a dread foreboding of evil itgripped Tristan's soul.
And day and night interminable processions of hermits and monkstraversed the city with crosses and banners and smouldering incense.Their chants could be heard from the ancient Flaminian to the AppianGate.
Once more the shades of evening laid their cool touch upon the city'sfevered brow, and as the distant hills rose into a black mass againstthe sunset two figures emerged on the battlements of the Emperor's Tomband gazed down on the dimmed outlines of the Pontifical City.
Before them lay a prospect fit to rouse in the hearts of all who knewits history an indescribable emotion. There, before them, lay the broadfield of Rome, whereon the first ominous activities of the Old World'sconquerors had been enacted. There in the mellow light of eve, lay theLatin land, once popular and rich beyond all quarters of the earthsince the plain of Babylon became a desert, and now no less desertedand forlorn. And from the height from which these two looked down uponit, its shallow hills and ridges were truly minimized to the aspect ofone mighty plain, increasing the vast sense of desolation. Rome--Romealone--denied the melancholy story of disaster, utter and complete, thework of Goth and Hun and of malarial terror.
But now over all this solemn prospect was the luminous blue light ofevening, fading to violet and palest yellow in the farthest west, wherelay the Tyrrhene Sea.
Presently one of the two laid aside his cloak and, baring his armsto the kiss of the wind that crept softly about them, said in wearyaccents:
"Never in all my life, Father, have I known a day to pass as tardilyas this, for to me the coming hour is fraught with evil that may abidewith me forever, and my soul is eager to know its doom, yet shrinksfrom the sentence that may be passed."
Odo of Cluny looked into Tristan's weary face.
"I, too, have a presentiment of Evil, as never before," the monkreplied, laying a gentle hand on his companion's shoulder. "There arethings abroad in Rome--one dares not even whisper. The Lord Albericchose an evil hour for his pilgrimage to Monte Gargano. Have you notidings?"
"No tidings," reechoed Tristan gloomily.
Odo of Cluny nodded pensively.
"It seems passing strange. I know not why--" his voice sank to awhisper. "I mistrust the Grand Chamberlain. Whom can we trust? A poisonwind is blowing over these hills--withering--destroying. The awfulsacrilege at Santa Maria in Trastevere, following so closely uponthe one at the Lateran, is but another proof that dark powers are atwork--powers defying human ken--devils in human shape, doomed to burnto a crisp in the eternal fires."
"Meanwhile--what can we do?"
"Have you seen the Lord Basil?"--
"He was much concerned, examined the place in person, but found noclue."
"Are your men trustworthy?"
"I know not, Father! For a slight service I chanced to do the LordAlberic he made me captain of the guard in place of one who hadincurred his displeasure. My men are Swiss and Lombards, a Spaniard ortwo--some Calabrians--no Romans."
"Therein lies your salvation," interposed the Benedictine. "How manyguard this tomb?"
"Some four score men--why do you ask?"
"I hardly know--save that there lurks some dark mystery behind thecurtain. Let no man--nor woman--relax your watchfulness. There aretempests that destroy even the cedars of Lebanon," the monk continuedwith meaning. "And such a one may burst one night."
"Your words are dark, Father, and fill me with misgivings."
"And well they should," Odo interposed with a penetrating glance at theyoung captain. "For rumor hath it that another bird has strayed intothe Lady Theodora's bower--"
Tristan colored under the monk's scrutiny.
"I was present at her feast. Yet I know not how I got there!"
The monk looked puzzled.
"Now that you have crossed the dark path of Marozia's sister I fear theambushed gorge and the black arrow that sings from the hidden depths.Why seek the dark waters of Satan, when the white walls of Christ riseluminously before you?"
"What is the import of these strange words so strangely uttered?"Tristan turned to the monk with a puzzled air.
"That shall be made known to you in time. Treason lurks everywhere.Seal your ears against the Siren's song. Some say she is a vampirereturned to earth, doomed to live on, as long as men are base enoughto barter their soul for her kisses. And yet--how much longer? TheMillennium draws nigh. The End of Time is near."
There was a pause. Tristan tried to speak, but the words would not comefrom his lips.
At last with an effort he stammered:
"At the risk of incurring your censure, Father--even to the palace ofTheodora must I wend my steps to recover that which is my own."
And he informed the Monk of Cluny how he had lost his poniard and hisscarf of blue Samite.
"Why not send one you trust to fetch them back?" protested the monk."It is not well to brave the peril twice."
"Myself must I go, Father. For once and all ti
me I mean to break herspell."
"Deem you to accomplish that which no man hath--and live?"
"There is that which shall keep my honor inviolate," Tristan replied.
The cloudless sky was shot with dreamy stars, and cooling breezes werewafted over the Roman Campagna. Through the stillness came the muffledchallenges of the guard.
The twain crossed the ramparts of the Mausoleum in silence, holdingto their way which led towards a postern, when suddenly, out ofthe battlements' embrazure, peered two gray, ghastly faces, whichdisappeared as suddenly. But Tristan's quick eye had marked them and,plucking at the monk's sleeve, he whispered:
"Look yonder, Father--where stand two forms that scan us eagerly. Mybewildered brain refuses me the knowledge I seek, yet I could vouch thesight of them is somehow familiar to my eyes."
"That may well be," replied the monk. "For all this day long haveI been haunted by the consciousness that our movements are beingwatched. Yet, I marvel not, for until Purgatory receive the soul ofthis accursed wanton, there is neither peace nor security for us.Her devilish hand may even now be informing all this dark plot, thatseethes about us," Odo of Cluny concluded in apprehensive tones.
Presently they drew near the great gateway, before which the flicker ofcressets showed a company of the guard, with breast plates and shields,their faces hidden by the lowered visors of their Norman casks. Amongthem they noted a wizened eunuch, who, after peering at them with hisferret-like eyes, pointed to a door sunk in the wall, the while hewhispered something in Tristan's ear. Thereupon Odo and Tristan enteredthe guard chamber.
It was deserted.
Beneath the cressets' uncertain gleam, as they emerged beyond, stoodthe eunuch with the same ferret-like glance, pointing across the dimpassage, to, where could be made out the entrance to a gallery. Thegroup behind them stood immobile in the flickering light and the spaceabout them was naught but a shadowy void. Yet, as they went, theirears caught the clink of unseen mail, the murmur of unseen voices, andTristan gripped the monk's arm and said in husky tones:
"By all the saints,--we are fairly in the midst of Basil's creatures.An open foe I can face without shrinking, but I tell you this peril,ambushed in impenetrable night, saps my courage as naught else would.If but one battle-cry would shatter this numbing silence, one simplesword would flash, as it leaps from its scabbard, I should be myselfagain, ready to face any foe!"
They entered the half gloom of a painted gallery where dog-headeddeities held forth in grotesque representation beside the crucifiedChrist. They stole along its whole deserted length until they reacheda door, hardly discernible in the pictured wall. The lamps burned low,but in the centre of the marble floor a brazier sent up a brighterflame, filling the air with a fragrance as of sandal wood.
Tristan's hand groped for a spring along the outer edge of the door.At his touch a panel receded. Both he and the monk entered and thedoor closed noiselessly behind them. Tristan produced a candle andtwo flints from under his coat of mail. But ere he could light it bystriking the flints, the approach of a dim light from the farther endof the tortuous gallery caused him to start, and both watched itsapproach with dread and misgiving.
Soon a voice fell on their ear, answered by another, and Tristanswiftly drew his companion into a shadowy recess which concealed themwhile it yet enabled them to hear every word spoken by the two.
"Thus we administer justice in Rome," said the one speaker, in whomTristan recognized the voice of the Grand Chamberlain.
"Somewhat like in our own feudal chateaux," came back the surly reply.
Tristan started as the voice reached his ear. How came Roger de Lavalhere in that company?
"You approve?" said the silken voice.
"There is nothing like night and thirst to make the flesh pliable."
"Then why not profit thereby?--But are you still resolved upon thisthing?"--
There was a pause. The voice barked reply:
"It is a fair exchange."
Their talk died to a vague murmur till presently the harsher voice roseabove the silence.
"Well, then, my Lord Basil, if these matters be as you say,--if youwill use your good offices with the Lady Theodora--"
"Can you doubt my sincerity--my desire to promote your interests--evento the detriment of my own?"
His companion spat viciously.
"He who sups with the devil must needs have a long spoon. What is to beyour share?"
"Your meaning is not quite clear, my lord."
"Naught for naught!" Roger snarled viciously. "Shall we say--the priceof your services?"
"My lord," piped Basil with an injured air, "you wrong me deeply. Itis but my interest in you, my desire to see you reconciled to yourbeautiful wife--"
"How know you she is beautiful?" came the snarling reply.
"I, too, was an unseen witness of your meeting at the Arch of the SevenCandles," Basil replied suavely.
"Was all Rome abroad to gaze upon my shame?" growled Basil's companion."Though--in a manner--I am revenged," he continued, through hisclenched teeth. "Instead of giving her her freedom, I shall use hershrinking body for my plaything--I shall use her so that no other lovershall desire her. As for that low-born churl--"
With a low cry Tristan, sword in hand, made a forward lunge. The monk'sgrip restrained him.
"Madman!" Odo whispered in his ear. "Would you court certain death?"
The words of the twain had died to a whisper. Thus they were lostto Tristan's ear, though he strained every nerve, a deadly fear forHellayne weighting down his soul.
The two continued their walk, passing so near that Tristan could havetouched the hem of their garbs. Basil was importuning his companion onsome matter which the latter could not hear. Laval's reply seemed notin accord with the Grand Chamberlain's plans, for his voice became moreinsistent.
"But you will come--my lord--and you will bring your beautifulCountess? Remember, her presence in Rome is no longer a secret.And--whatever the cause which prompted her--pilgrimage, would you havethe Roman mob point sneering fingers at Roger de Laval?"--
"By God, they shall not!"
"Then the wisdom of my counsel speaks for itself," Basil interposedsoothingly. "It is the one reward I crave."
There was a pause. Whatever of evil brooded in that brief space of timeonly these two knew.
"It shall be as you say," Roger replied at last, and from their chainmail the gleam of the lantern they carried evoked intermittent answer.
When their steps had died to silence Tristan turned to the monk. Hisvoice was unsteady and there was a great fear in his eyes.
"Father, I need your help as have I never needed human help before.There is some devil's stew simmering in the Lord Basil's cauldron. Ifear the worst for her--"
Odo shot a questioning glance at the speaker.
"The wife of the Count Laval?" he returned sharply.
"Father--you know why I am here--and how I have striven to tear thislove from my heart and soul. Would she had not come! Would I had neverseen her more--for where is it all to lead? For, after all, she is hiswife--and I am the transgressor. But now I fear for her life. You haveheard, Father. I must see her! I must have speech with her. I must warnher. Father--I promise--that shall be all--if you will but consent andfind her--for I know not her abode."
"You promise--" interposed the monk. "Promise nothing. For if you meet,it will not be all. All flesh is weak. Entrust your message to my careand I shall try to do your bidding. But see her no more! Your souls arein grave peril--and Death stands behind you, waiting the last throw."
"Even if our souls should be forever stamped with their dark errors Imust see her. I must know why she came hither--I must know the worst.Else should I never find rest this side of the grave. Father, in mercy,do my bidding, for gloom and misery hold my soul in their clutches, andI must know, ere the twilight of Eternity engulfs us both."
"We will speak of this anon," the Monk of Cluny interposed, as togetherthey left the gallery, now sunk in
the deepest gloom and, passingthrough the vaulted corridors, emerged upon the ramparts. No sign oflife appeared in the twilight, cast by the towering walls, save wherein the shadowy passages the dimmed lights of cressets marked thepassing of armed men.
Below, the city of Rome began to take shape in the dim and ghostlystarlight, thrusting shadowy domes and towers out of her dark slumber.
In the distance the undulating crests of the Alban Hills mingled withthe night mists, and from the nearby Neronian Field came the croakingof the ravens, intensifying rather than breaking the stillness.
Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome Page 29
