Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome
"Let that be my affair, my lord, but--that everything may be clear
between us--know this: when I summoned him, after he had spurned me on
the night when I intended to make him the happiest of men, it was to
torture him, to make a mock of him, to arouse his passions till they
overmastered all else, till in very truth he forgot his God, his honor,
and the woman for whose kisses he does such noble penance--but now--"
"But now?" came the echo from Basil's lips.
"Who says I shall not?" Theodora replied with her inscrutable smile.
"Who shall gainsay me? You--my lord?"
There was a strange light in Basil's eyes, kindled by her mockery.
"And when he kneels at your feet, drunk with passion--laying bare
his soul in his mad infatuation--who shall prevent this dagger from
drinking his heart's blood, even as he peers into the portals of bliss?"
Theodora's eyes flashed lightnings.
"I shall kill you with my own hands, if you but dare but touch one hair
of his head," she said with a calm that was more terrible than any
outburst of rage would have been. "He is mine, to do with as I choose,
and look well to it, my lord, that your shadow darken not the path
between us.--Else I shall demand of you such a reckoning as none who
may hear of it in after days shall dare thwart Theodora--either in love
or in hate."
Basil's writhing form swayed to and fro; passion-tossed he tried in
vain to speak when she raised her hand.
With a gesture of baffled wrath and rage Basil bowed low. A sudden
light leaped into his eyes as he raised her hand to his lips. Then he
retreated into the shadow of the kiosk.
A moment later Tristan came within view, walking as one in a trance.
Mechanically he passed towards the banquet hall. Then he paused,
seeming to wait for some signal from within.
A hand stole into his and drew him resistlessly into the shadows.
"Why do you linger here? Behold where the moonlight calls."
"Where is your mistress?" Tristan turned to the Circassian.
A strange smile played on Persephoné's lips.
"She awaits you in yonder kiosk," she replied, edging close to him.
"Take care you do not thwart her though--for to-day she strikes to
kill."
"It is well," Tristan replied. "It must come, and will be no more
torture now than any other time."
Persephoné gave a strange smile, then she led him through a cypress
avenue, at the remote end of which the marble kiosk gleamed white in
the moonlight.
Pointing to it with white outstretched arm she gave him a mock bow and
returned to the palace.
His lips grimly set, Tristan, insensible to the beauty of the summer
night, strode down the flower-bordered path. Woven sheets of silvery
moonlight, insubstantial and unreal, lay upon the greensward. The
sounds of distant lutes and harps sank down through the hot air. The
sky was radiant with the magic lustre of a great white moon, suspended
like an alabaster lamp in the deep azure overhead. Her rays invaded the
sombre bosquets, lighted the trellised rose-walks and cast into bold
relief against the deep shadows of palm and ilex many feathery fountain
sprays, crowning flower-filled basins of alabaster with whispering
coolness.
The path was strewn with powdered sea shells and bordered on either
side with rare plants, filling the air with exquisite perfume. Between
thickets of yellow tufted mimosa and leafy bowers of acacia shimmered
the crystal surface of the marble cinctured lake, tinted with pale gold
and shrouded by pearl-hued vapors.--Pink and white myrtles, golden-hued
jonquils, rainbow tinted chrysanthema, purple rhododendrons, iris,
lilac and magnolia mingled their odors in an almost disconcerting orgy,
and rare orchids raised their glowing petals with tropical gorgeousness
from vases of verdigris bronze in the moonlight.
At the entrance of the marble kiosk, there stood the immobile form of a
woman, half hidden behind a cluster of blooming orchids.
The silver light of the moon fell upon the pale features of Theodora.
Her gaze was fixed upon the dark avenue of cypress trees, through which
Tristan was swiftly approaching.
She stood there waiting for him, clad in misty white, like the
moonbeams, yet the byssus of her garb was no whiter than was the throat
that rose from the faultless trunk of her body, no whiter than her
wonderful hands and arms.
Tristan's lips tightened. He had come to claim the scarf and dagger.
To-night should end it all. There was no place in his life for this
woman whose beauty would be the undoing of him who gave himself up to
its fatal spell.
As he stood before her, a gleam of moonlight on his broad shoulders,
Theodora felt the blood recede to her heart, the while she gazed on his
set, yet watchful face. His silence seemed to numb her faculties and
her voice sounded strange as, extending her hand, she said:
"Welcome, my Lord Tristan."
He bowed low, barely touching the soft white fingers.
"The Lady Theodora has been pleased to summon me and I have obeyed. I
am here to claim the dagger which was taken from me and the scarf of
blue samite."
Theodora glanced at him for a moment, the blood drumming in her ears
and driving a coherent answer from her mind, while Tristan met her gaze
without flinching, with the memory of Hellayne in his heart.
"Presently will I reveal this matter to you, my Lord Tristan," she said
at last. "Meanwhile sit you here beside me--for the night is hot, and I
have waited long for your coming."
For a moment Tristan hesitated, then he took his seat beside her on the
marble bench, his brain afire, as he mused on all the treachery her
soft bosom held.
"You look strangely at me, Tristan," she said in a low tone, dropping
all formality, "almost as if it gave you pain to sit beside me. Yet I
cannot think that a man like you has never rested beside a beautiful
woman in an hour of solitude and passion."
A laugh, soft as the music of the Castalian fountain, fell on Tristan's
ear, but as he sat without answer, she continued, her face very close
to his:
"Strange, indeed, my words may sound in your ears, Tristan--and
yet--can it be that you are blind as well as deaf to the call of the
Goddess of Love, who rules us all?"
She paused, her lips ajar, her eyes alight with a strange fire, such
as he had seen therein on the night in the sunken gardens, beyond the
glimmering lake.
"And what have I to give to you, Lady Theodora," he said at length.
"What can you expect from me, the giving of which would not turn my
honor to disgrace and my strength to water?"
At his words she rose up and, towering her glorious womanhood above
him, glided behind the marble bench and, leaning hot hands upon his
shoulders, bent low her head, till strands of perfumed hair rested on
his tense features.
"Do you love power, Tristan?" she said with low, yet vibrant voice.
"I tell you that, if you give yourself to me, there are no heights to
which the lover of Theodora may not climb. The way lies open from camp
to palace, from sword to sceptre, and, though the aim be high, at
least it is worth the risk. Steep is the path, but, though attainment
seems impossible, I tell you it is the wings of love that shall raise
you and bid you soar to flights of glory and rapture. I offer you
a kingdom, if you will but lay your sword at my feet and yet more
besides, for, Tristan, I offer you myself."
The perfumed head bent lower and the scented cloud fell more thickly
upon him as he sat there, dazed and enchanted out of all powers of
resistance by the misty sapphire eyes that gleamed amid it, and seemed
to drag his soul from out of him. Now his head was pillowed on her soft
bosom and her white arms were about him, while lingering kisses burnt
on his unresponsive lips, when suddenly she faced round with a cry,
for there, directly before them in the clearing, stood a woman, whose
gleaming white robe, untouched by any color, save that of the violet
band that bound it round her shoulders, seemed one with the sun-kissed
hair, tied into a simple knot.
Hellayne stood there as if deprived of motion, her blue eyes wide with
horror and pain, her curved lips parted, as if to speak, though no
sound came from them, until Tristan turned and, as their glances met,
he gave a strangled groan and buried his face in his hands.
Theodora stood immobile, with blazing eyes and terrible face, then
she clapped her hands twice and at the sound two eunuchs appeared and
stood motionless awaiting their mistress' behest. For apace there was
silence, while Theodora glanced from the one to the other, quivering
from head to foot with the violence of the passion that possessed her,
casting anon a glance at Tristan who stood silent, with bowed head.
At length she glided up to him and, as she laid her two white hands on
his broad shoulders, Tristan shuddered and felt a longing to make an
end of all her evil beauty and devilish cunning. Then, deliberately,
she took the scarf of blue samite, which lay beside her and put her
foot upon it.
"This is very precious to you, Tristan, is it not?" she said in her
sweet voice, while her witching eyes sank into his. "I was about to
tell you how you might serve me, and deserve all the happiness that
is in store for you when I was interrupted by the appearance of this
woman. Can you tell me, who she is, and why she is regarding you so
strangely?"
As she spoke she turned slowly towards Hellayne whose face was pale as
death.
A spasm of rage shook Tristan, at the sight of the woman who regarded
him out of wide, pitiful eyes, but even as he longed to pierce the
heart of her who was striving to wreck all he held dear, Odo of Cluny's
warning seemed to clear his brain of the rage and hate that was
clouding it, and in that instant he knew, if he played his part, he
held in his hand the last throw in the dread game, of which Rome was
the pawn.
"In all things will I do your bidding, Lady Theodora,--for who can
withstand your beauty and your enchantment?" said a voice that seemed
not part of himself.
Theodora turned to Hellayne.
"You have heard the words the Lord Tristan has spoken," she said in
veiled tone of mockery. "Tell me now, did you not know that I was
engaged upon matters of state when you intruded yourself into our
presence?"
For a moment the blue eyes of Hellayne flashed swords with the dark
orbs of Theodora. There was a silence and the two women read each
other's inmost thoughts, Hellayne meeting Theodora's contemptuous scorn
with the keen look of one who has seen her peril and has nerved herself
to meet it.
To Tristan she did not even vouchsafe a glance.
"I followed one, perjured and forsworn," she said in tones that cut
Tristan's very soul, while a look of immeasurable contempt flashed from
her blue eyes. "You are welcome to him, Lady Theodora. I do not even
envy you his memory."
Ere Theodora could reply, Hellayne, with a choking sob, turned and fled
down the moonlit path like some hunted thing, and ere either realized
what had happened she had vanished in the night.
Tristan, dreading the worst, his soul bruised in its innermost
depths, cursing himself for having permitted any consideration except
Hellayne's life to interfere with his preconceived plans, started to
follow, when Theodora, guessing his purpose, suddenly barred his way.
Ere he could prevent, she had thrown her arms about him and her
face upturned to his stormy brow she whispered deliriously, utterly
oblivious of two eyes that burnt from their sockets like live coals:
"I love you! I love you!" and her whole being seemed ablaze with the
fire of an all-devouring passion. "Tristan, I love you with a love
so idolatrous, that I could slay you with these hands rather than be
spurned, be denied by you. Love me Tristan--love me! And I shall give