Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome
"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 too
much a man of sense for that. Not a soul but thinks that you are absent
with my consent. A pilgrimage to Rome! Many a woman has, for her soul's
good gone alone. Not a soul, I warrant, has thought of your connection
with that fellow's plight. Not a soul but thinks that this is the sole
cause of your disappearance. And when I, too, went I was careful to
leave the rumor behind."
He stepped closer, his breath fanning her pale cheeks. She looked
almost like a ghost in the grey twilight.
"And now--" he continued, licking his sensuous lips, "you are
found--you are found--my beautiful wife--you are found--and--to the
eyes 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 I
do, how loathsome they are. And you shall smile--smile--and appear
happy--my wife henceforth in name only. And you shall smile no less at
what henceforth your lord's pleasure may be with other women--fair as
yourself--and you shall grow old and grey, and the thing you call your
soul shall die and wither up your beauty--and never a word shall pass
your lips anent this chastisement. And at last you shall die--and be
laid 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 the
pain at the parting and indeed his satisfaction was so great that he
decided to prolong it yet a little longer. How amusing it would be to
watch the face of him who had dared to love Hellayne. Knowing as now
he did all the motives for his actions, it gave him pleasure to think
that he could mar the astonishing good fortune of this adventurer who
had found employment in the service of Alberic by the intrusion of this
passion for another woman. It would be real joy to see this creature
of sentiment thus torn and tortured. And it was yet a greater joy to
force Hellayne to witness the struggle, forced to smile at the conquest
of her lover by another woman. And he would watch the pangs of their
suffering till the day of his departure.
With her own blue eyes Hellayne should witness the love of him she had
so madly followed, estranged by the beauty of Theodora, whose lure no
mortal might resist.
After he had entered his own chamber, Hellayne flew like a mad thing
down the gloom-haunted gallery. Could she but escape from this
humiliation--even through death's doors--she would not shrink. She
felt, if she remained, she would go mad.
It was true, then! Tristan loved another. The old love had been
forgotten and cast aside! All her fears and misgivings returned in one
mad whirl.
Frantically she tried to remove the heavy bolt when she was paralyzed
by a demoniacal laugh that issued behind her and swooning she fell at
the feet of the man whose name she bore.
CHAPTER V
THE CRESSETS OF DOOM
Never had Tristan's feelings been more hopelessly involved than since
that eventful night by the Arch of the Seven Candles when, like a ghost
of the past, Hellayne had once more crossed his path and had given
his solemn pledge the lie. And the more Tristan's thoughts reverted
to that fateful hour, when his oath seemed like so many words written
upon water, and the man who believed him guilty held his life in the
hollow of his hand, the greater grew his misery and unrest. Physically
exhausted, mentally startled at the vehemence of his own feelings,
he was suffering the relapse of a passion which he thought had burnt
itself out, letting his mind drift back to the memory of happier
days--days now gone forever.
Why had she followed him? What was she doing here? Was the old fight to
be 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 questionings
mere pretense, to surprise the unguarded confession of a wrong of which
he knew himself sinless? Had she been here all these days, seeking him
perchance, yet not daring to make her presence known?
And now where was she? Hardly found had he lost her? And see her he
must--whatever the hazard, even to death. How much he had to say to
her. How much he had to ask. Her presence had undone everything. Was
the 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 almost
wished that moment to have been his last, ere the untimely arrival of
Theodora saved him from the death stroke of his enraged enemy. For he
had seen the light fade from Hellayne's blue eyes when she faced the
other woman, and Laval's taunts had found receptive ears. Everything
had conspired against him on that night, even to seeming the thing he
was not, and with a heart heavy to breaking Tristan scoured the city of
Rome for three days in quest of the woman, but to no avail.
His duties were not onerous and the city was quiet. No farther attempts
had been made to liberate the Pontiff and the feuds between the rival
factions seemed for the nonce suspended.
Nevertheless Tristan felt instinctively, that all was not well. Night
after night Basil descended into the crypts of the Emperor's Tomb,
sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two companions, men Tristan
had never seen. Ostensibly the Grand Chamberlain visited the cells of
certain prisoners of state, and one night Tristan ventured to follow
him. But he was seized with so great a terror that he resolved to
confide in Odo of Cluny, who possessed the entire confidence of the
Senator of Rome, and be guided by his counsel.
In the meantime, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, the terrible
thing had happened again. From the churches of Santa Maria in
Trastevere and Santa Sabina of the Aventine, the Holy Host had been
taken, notwithstanding the increased number of guards keeping watch in
the sanctuaries.
Rome shivered in the throes of abject terror. People whispered in
groups along the thoroughfares, hardly daring to raise their voices,
and many asserted that the Antichrist had returned once more to earth
and that the End of Time was nigh. Like a dread foreboding of evil it
gripped Tristan's soul.
And day and night interminable processions of hermits and monks
traversed the city with crosses and banners and smouldering incense.
Their chants could be heard from the ancient Flaminian to the Appian
Gate.
Once more the shades of evening laid their cool touch upon the city's
fevered brow, and as the distant hills rose into a black mass against
the sunset two figures emerged on the battlements of the Emperor's Tomb
and gazed down on the dimmed outlines of the Pontifical City.
Before them lay a prospect fit to rouse in the hearts of all who knew
its history an indescribable emotion. There, before them, lay the broad
field of Rome, whereon the first ominous activities of the Old World's
conquerors had been enacted. There in the mellow light of eve, lay the
Latin land, once popular and rich beyond all quarters of the earth
since the plain of Babylon became a desert, and now no less deserted
and forlorn. And from the height from which these two looked down upon
it, its shallow hills and ridges were truly minimized to the aspect of
one mighty plain, increasing the vast sense of desolation. Rome--Rome
alone--denied the melancholy story of disaster, utter and complete, the
work of Goth and Hun and of malarial terror.
But now over all this solemn prospect was the luminous blue light of
evening, fading to violet and palest yellow in the farthest west, where
lay the Tyrrhene Sea.
Presently one of the two laid aside his cloak and, baring his arms
to the kiss of the wind that crept softly about them, said in weary
accents:
"Never in all my life, Father, have I known a day to pass as tardily
as this, for to me the coming hour is fraught with evil that may abide
with me forever, and my soul is eager to know its doom, yet shrinks
from 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 monk
replied, laying a gentle hand on his companion's shoulder. "There are
things abroad in Rome--one dares not even whisper. The Lord Alberic
chose an evil hour for his pilgrimage to Monte Gargano. Have you no
tidings?"
"No tidings," reechoed Tristan gloomily.
Odo of Cluny nodded pensively.
"It seems passing strange. I know not why--" his voice sank to a
whisper. "I mistrust the Grand Chamberlain. Whom can we trust? A poison
wind is blowing over these hills--withering--destroying. The awful
sacrilege at Santa Maria in Trastevere, following so closely upon
the one at the Lateran, is but another proof that dark powers are at
work--powers defying human ken--devils in human shape, doomed to burn
to 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 no
clue."
"Are your men trustworthy?"
"I know not, Father! For a slight service I chanced to do the Lord
Alberic he made me captain of the guard in place of one who had
incurred his displeasure. My men are Swiss and Lombards, a Spaniard or
two--some Calabrians--no Romans."
"Therein lies your salvation," interposed the Benedictine. "How many
guard this tomb?"
"Some four score men--why do you ask?"
"I hardly know--save that there lurks some dark mystery behind the
curtain. Let no man--nor woman--relax your watchfulness. There are
tempests that destroy even the cedars of Lebanon," the monk continued
with 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 the
young captain. "For rumor hath it that another bird has strayed into
the 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 the
ambushed gorge and the black arrow that sings from the hidden depths.
Why seek the dark waters of Satan, when the white walls of Christ rise
luminously 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 vampire
returned to earth, doomed to live on, as long as men are base enough
to barter their soul for her kisses. And yet--how much longer? The
Millennium draws nigh. The End of Time is near."
There was a pause. Tristan tried to speak, but the words would not come
from his lips.