Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome
At last with an effort he stammered:
"At the risk of incurring your censure, Father--even to the palace of
Theodora 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 his
scarf 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 time I mean to break her
spell."
"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 were
wafted over the Roman Campagna. Through the stillness came the muffled
challenges of the guard.
The twain crossed the ramparts of the Mausoleum in silence, holding
to their way which led towards a postern, when suddenly, out of
the battlements' embrazure, peered two gray, ghastly faces, which
disappeared 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. My
bewildered brain refuses me the knowledge I seek, yet I could vouch the
sight of them is somehow familiar to my eyes."
"That may well be," replied the monk. "For all this day long have
I been haunted by the consciousness that our movements are being
watched. Yet, I marvel not, for until Purgatory receive the soul of
this accursed wanton, there is neither peace nor security for us.
Her devilish hand may even now be informing all this dark plot, that
seethes about us," Odo of Cluny concluded in apprehensive tones.
Presently they drew near the great gateway, before which the flicker of
cressets showed a company of the guard, with breast plates and shields,
their faces hidden by the lowered visors of their Norman casks. Among
them they noted a wizened eunuch, who, after peering at them with his
ferret-like eyes, pointed to a door sunk in the wall, the while he
whispered something in Tristan's ear. Thereupon Odo and Tristan entered
the guard chamber.
It was deserted.
Beneath the cressets' uncertain gleam, as they emerged beyond, stood
the eunuch with the same ferret-like glance, pointing across the dim
passage, to, where could be made out the entrance to a gallery. The
group behind them stood immobile in the flickering light and the space
about them was naught but a shadowy void. Yet, as they went, their
ears caught the clink of unseen mail, the murmur of unseen voices, and
Tristan 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 simple
sword would flash, as it leaps from its scabbard, I should be myself
again, ready to face any foe!"
They entered the half gloom of a painted gallery where dog-headed
deities held forth in grotesque representation beside the crucified
Christ. They stole along its whole deserted length until they reached
a door, hardly discernible in the pictured wall. The lamps burned low,
but in the centre of the marble floor a brazier sent up a brighter
flame, 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 the
door closed noiselessly behind them. Tristan produced a candle and
two flints from under his coat of mail. But ere he could light it by
striking the flints, the approach of a dim light from the farther end
of the tortuous gallery caused him to start, and both watched its
approach with dread and misgiving.
Soon a voice fell on their ear, answered by another, and Tristan
swiftly drew his companion into a shadowy recess which concealed them
while it yet enabled them to hear every word spoken by the two.
"Thus we administer justice in Rome," said the one speaker, in whom
Tristan 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 Laval
here 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 this
thing?"--
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 rose
above the silence.
"Well, then, my Lord Basil, if these matters be as you say,--if you
will use your good offices with the Lady Theodora--"
"Can you doubt my sincerity--my desire to promote your interests--even
to the detriment of my own?"
His companion spat viciously.
"He who sups with the devil must needs have a long spoon. What is to be
your share?"
"Your meaning is not quite clear, my lord."
"Naught for naught!" Roger snarled viciously. "Shall we say--the price
of your services?"
"My lord," piped Basil with an injured air, "you wrong me deeply. It
is but my interest in you, my desire to see you reconciled to your
beautiful 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 Seven
Candles," 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 his
clenched teeth. "Instead of giving her her freedom, I shall use her
shrinking body for my plaything--I shall use her so that no other lover
shall desire her. As for that low-born churl--"
With a low cry Tristan, sword in hand, made a forward lunge. The monk's
grip 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 lost
to Tristan's ear, though he strained every nerve, a deadly fear for
Hellayne weighting down his soul.
The two continued their walk, passing so near that Tristan could have
touched the hem of their garbs. Basil was importuning his companion on
some matter which the latter could not hear. Laval's reply seemed not
in accord with the Grand Chamberlain's plans, for his voice became more
insistent.
"But you will come--my lord--and you will bring your beautiful
Countess? Remember, her presence in Rome is no longer a secret.
And--whatever the cause which prompted her--pilgrimage, would you have
the Roman mob point sneering fingers at Roger de Laval?"--
"By God, they shall not!"
"Then the wisdom of my counsel speaks for itself," Basil interposed
soothingly. "It is the one reward I crave."
There was a pause. Whatever of evil brooded in that brief space of time
only these two knew.
"It shall be as you say," Roger replied at last, and from their chain
mail the gleam of the lantern they carried evoked intermittent answer.
When their steps had died to silence Tristan turned to the monk. His
voice 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. I
fear 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 this
love from my heart and soul. Would she had not come! Would I had never
seen her more--for where is it all to lead? For, after all, she is his
wife--and I am the transgressor. But now I fear for her life. You have
heard, Father. I must see her! I must have speech with her. I must warn
her. Father--I promise--that shall be all--if you will but consent and
find 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 care
and I shall try to do your bidding. But see her no more! Your souls are
in grave peril--and Death stands behind you, waiting the last throw."
"Even if our souls should be forever stamped with their dark errors I
must 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, and
I must know, ere the twilight of Eternity engulfs us both."
"We will speak of this anon," the Monk of Cluny interposed, as together
they left the gallery, now sunk in the deepest gloom and, passing
through the vaulted corridors, emerged upon the ramparts. No sign of
life appeared in the twilight, cast by the towering walls, save where
in the shadowy passages the dimmed lights of cressets marked the
passing of armed men.
Below, the city of Rome began to take shape in the dim and ghostly
starlight, thrusting shadowy domes and towers out of her dark slumber.
In the distance the undulating crests of the Alban Hills mingled with
the night mists, and from the nearby Neronian Field came the croaking
of the ravens, intensifying rather than breaking the stillness.
CHAPTER VI
A MEETING OF GHOSTS
A voice whose prompting he could not resist, impelled Tristan, after
his parting from the Monk of Cluny, to follow the Grand Chamberlain,
who had taken the direction of the Pincian Hill. His retreating form
became more phantom-like in the misty moonlight, as viewed from the
ramparts of the Emperor's Tomb. Nevertheless, mindful of the parting
words of the monk, and filled with dire misgivings, Tristan set out
at once. True to his determination, he procured a small lantern and a
piece of coarse thick cloth, which he concealed under his cloak, then,
by a solitary pathway, he followed the direction he had seen Basil
take. The Bridge of San Angelo was deserted and not a human being was
abroad.
After a time he arrived at a small copse, where Basil's form had
disappeared from sight. Clearing away the underbrush, Tristan came to
what seemed a fissure in a wall, which cast a tremendous shadow over
the surrounding trees and bushes. Creeping in as far as he dared, he
paused, then, with mingled emotions of expectancy and apprehension
which affected him so powerfully that for a moment he was hardly master
of his actions, he slowly and carefully uncovered his lantern, struck
two flints and lighted the wick.
His first glance was intuitively directed to the cavity that opened
beneath him.
Of Basil he saw no trace, notwithstanding he had seen him enter
the cavity at the point where he himself had entered. Ere long
however, he heard a thin, long-drawn sound, now louder, now softer;
now approaching, now receding, now verging toward shrillness, now
returning to a faint, gentle swell. This strange, unearthly music was
interrupted by a succession of long, deep rolling sounds, which rose
grandly about the fissures above, like prisoned thunderbolts striving
to escape. Roused by the mystery of the place and the uncertainty of
his own purpose, Tristan was, for a moment, roused to a pitch of such
excitement that almost threatened to unsteady his reason. Conscious of
the danger attending his venture, and the fearful legends of invisible
beings and worlds, he was constrained to believe that demons were
hovering around him in viewless assemblies, calling to him in unearthly
voices, in an unknown tongue, to proceed upon his enterprise and take
the consequences of his daring.
Thus he remained for a time, fearful of advancing or retracing his
steps, looking fixedly into the trackless gloom and listening to the