Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome
the conditions. It is for him to accept or reject them, as he sees fit."
A rasping voice, speaking a villainous jargon, made itself heard at
this juncture.
"What of my Saracens, mighty lord?" Hassan Abdullah, for no lesser than
the great Mahometan chieftain was the speaker, turned to the Grand
Chamberlain. "I, too, am desirous of sparing the blood of my soldiers
and, insofar as lies within my power, that of the Nazarenes also. For
it is written in the book: Slavery for infidels--but death only for
apostates."
"Our compact is sealed beyond recall," Basil made reply.
"Then you will deliver the woman into my hands?"
There was a pause.
"She shall be delivered into the hands of Hassan Abdullah! And he
will sail away with his white-plumed bird--the fairest flower of the
North--and the ransom of a city."
"Yet I do not know the lady's name," said the Saracen. "This I should
know--else how may she heed my call?"
"Those who love her call her Hellayne."
At the name Tristan started so violently that the monk caught his arm
in a grip of steel.
"Silence--if you value your life," Odo enjoined.
"When and where is she to be delivered into my hands?" Hassan Abdullah
continued.
"The place will be made known to you, my lord," Basil replied, "when
the Emperor's Tomb hails its new master."
"Here is an infernal plot," Odo whispered into Tristan's ear, "spawned
up by the very Prince of Darkness."
"What can we do?" came back the almost soundless reply. "Hellayne to be
delivered over to this infidel dog! Nay, do not restrain me, Father--"
"There are six to two of us," Odo interposed. "Silence! Some one
speaks."
It was the voice of the envoy of Ugo of Tuscany.
"Although it seems like a taunt, to fling into the face of my lord the
sister of the woman who was the cause of his defeat--"
"His coward soul was the cause of the Lord Ugo's defeat," Basil
interposed hotly. "In the dark of night, by means of a rope he let
himself down from his lair, to escape the wrath of the fledgling he had
struck for an unintentional affront. Did the Lord Ugo even inquire into
the fate of the woman who perished miserably in the dungeons of the
Emperor's Tomb?"
"Let us not be hasty," interposed another. "The Lord Ugo will listen to
reason."
"The conditions are settled," Basil replied. "On the third night from
to-night!"
The conspirators rose and, emerging from the ruined refectory, made
their way down to their boat.
Soon the sound of oars, becoming fainter and fainter, informed the
listeners that the company had departed.
Tristan's face was very white.
"What is to be done?" he turned pathetically to the monk who stood
brooding by his side. "I almost wish I had let my fate overtake me--"
"Do not blaspheme," Odo interposed. "Sometimes divine aid is nearest
when it seems farthest removed. In three days the blow is to fall! In
three days Rome is to be turned over to the infidels who are ravaging
our southern coasts, and the Tuscan is once more to hold sway in the
Tomb of the former Master of the World. But not he--Basil will rule,
for Ugo has his hands full in Ivrea. With Basil Theodora will lord it
from yonder castello. He will let the Lord Ugo burn his hands and he
will snatch the golden fruit. I will pray that this feeble hand may
undo their dark plotting."
"What is Rome to me? What the universe?" Tristan interposed, "if she
whom I love better than life is lost to me?"
The monk turned to him laying his hand upon his shoulder.
"You have been miraculously delivered from the very jaws of death. You
will save the woman you love from dishonor and shame."
Odo pondered for a pace then he continued:
"There is one in Rome--who is encompassing your destruction. The foul
crime in the Lateran of which you were the victim is but another proof
of the schemes of the Godless, who have desecrated the churches of
Christ for their hellish purposes. We must find their devil's chapel,
hidden somewhere beneath the soil of Rome. None shall escape."
"How will you bring this about, Father?" Tristan queried despairingly.
"The soldiers of the Church have not been bribed," Odo replied.
"Listen, my son, and do you as I direct. On to-morrow's eve Theodora
gives one of her splendid feasts. Go you disguised. Watch--but speak
not. Listen--but answer not. Who knows but that you may receive tidings
of your lost one? As for myself, I shall seek one whose crimes lie
heavily upon him, one who trembles with the fear of death, at whose
door he lies--Il Gobbo--the bravo. His master has dealt him a mortal
wound to remove the last witness of his crimes. Come to me on the
second day at dusk."
Emerging from the shadows of the wall, Tristan hailed the boatman, and
a few moments later they were being rowed towards a solitary spot near
the base of the Aventine, where they paid and dismissed their Charon
and disappeared among the ruins.
CHAPTER X
THE BROKEN SPELL
Again there was feasting and high revels in the palace of Theodora
on Mount Aventine. Colored lanterns were suspended between the
interstices of orange and oleander trees; and incense rose in spiral
coils from bronze and copper vessels, concealed among leafy bowers.
The great banquet hall was thronged with a motley crowd of Romans,
Greeks, men from the coasts of Africa and Iceland, Spaniards, Persians,
Burgundians, Lombards, men from the steppes of Sarmatia, and the amber
coast of the Baltic. Here and there groups were discussing the wines or
the viands or the gossip of the day.
The guests marvelled at the splendor, wealth and the variegated
mosaics, the gilded walls, the profusion of beautiful marble columns
and the wonderfully groined ceiling. It was a veritable banquet of
the senses. The fairylike radiance of the hall with its truly eastern
splendor captivated the eye. From remote grottoes came the sounds of
flutes, citherns and harps, quivering through the dreaming summer night.
On ebony couches upon silver frames, covered with rare tapestries
and soft cushions, the guests reclined. Between two immense,
crescent-shaped tables, made of citron wood and inlaid with ivory, rose
a miniature bronze fountain, representing Neptune. From it spurted
jets of scented water, which cooled and perfumed the air.
Not in centuries had there been such a feast in Rome. Mountain, plain
and the sea had been relentlessly laid under tribute, to surrender
their choicest towards supplying the sumptuous board.
Nubian slaves in spotless white kept at the elbows of the guests and
filled the golden flagons as quickly as they were emptied. A powerful
Cyprian wine, highly spiced, was served. Under its stimulating
influence the revellers soon gave themselves up to the reckless
enjoyment of the hour.
As the feast proceeded the guests cried more loudly for flagons of the
fiery ecobalda. They quaffed large quantities of this wine and their
faces became flushed, their eyes sparkled and their tongues grew more
and more free. The temporary restraint they had imposed upon themselves
gradually vanished. In proportion as they partook of the fiery vintage
their conviviality increased.
The roll-call was complete. None was found missing. Here was the Lord
of Norba and Boso, Lord of Caprara. Here was the Lord Atenulf of
Benevento, the Lord Amgar, from the coasts of the Baltic; here was
Bembo the poet, Eugenius the philosopher and Alboin, Lord of Farfa.
Here was the Prefect of Rome and Roger de Laval. He, too, had joined
the throng of idolators at the shrine of Theodora. The Lord Guaimar of
Salerno was there, and Guido, Duke of Spoleto.
The curtain at the far end of the banquet hall slowly parted.
On the threshold stood Theodora.
Silent, rigid, she gazed into the hall.
Like a sudden snow on a summer meadow, a white silence fell from her
imagination across that glittering, gleaming tinselled atmosphere.
Everywhere the dead seemed to sit around her, watching, as in a trance,
strange antics of the grimacing dead.
A vision of beauty she appeared, radiantly attired, a jewelled diadem
upon her brow. By her side appeared Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.
When her gaze fell upon the motley crowd, a disgust, such as she had
never known, seized her.
She seated herself on the dais, reserved for her, and with queenly
dignity bade her guests welcome.
Basil occupied the seat of honor at her right, Roger de Laval at her
left.
Had any one watched the countenances of Theodora and of Basil he
would have surprised thereon an expression of ravening anxiety. To
themselves they appeared like two players, neither knowing the next
move of his opponent, yet filled with the dire assurance that upon this
move depended the fate of the house of cards each has built upon a
foundation of sand.
At last the Count de Laval arose and whirled his glass about his head.
"Twine a wreath about your cups," he shouted, "and drink to the glory
of the most beautiful woman in the world--the Lady Theodora."
They rose to their feet and shouted their endorsement till the very
arches seemed to ring with the echoes. His initiative was received
with such favor by the others that, fired with the desire to emulate
his example, they fell to singing and shouting the praise of the woman
whose beauty had not its equal in Rome.
Theodora viewed the scene of dissipation with serenity and composure,
and, by her attitude she seemed, in a strange way, even tacitly to
encourage them to drink still deeper. Faster, ever faster, the wine
coursed among the guests. Some of them became more and more boisterous,
others were rendered somnolent and fell forward in a stupor upon the
silken carpets.
Theodora, whose restlessness seemed to increase with every moment, and
who seemed to hold herself in leash by a strenuous effort of the will,
suddenly turned to Basil and whispered a question into his ear.
A silent nod came in response and the next moment a clash of cymbals,
stormily persistent, roused the revellers from their stupor. Then, like
a rainbow garmented Peri, floating easefully out of some far-off sphere
of sky-wonders, an aerial maiden shape glided into the full lustre of
the varying light, a dancer nude, save for the glistening veil that
carelessly enshrouded her limbs, her arms and hands being adorned with
circlets of tiny golden bells which kept up a melodious jingle as she
moved. And now began the strangest music, music that seemed to hover
capriciously between luscious melody and harsh discord, a wild and
curious medley of fantastic minor suggestions in which the imaginative
soul might discover hints of tears and folly, love and madness. To
this uncertain yet voluptuous measure the glittering girl dancer
leaped forward with a startling abruptness and, halting as it were on
the boundary line between the dome and the garden beyond, raised her
rounded arms in a snowy arch above her head.
Her pause was a mere breathing spell in duration. Dropping her arms
with a swift decision, she hurled herself into the giddy mazes of a
dance. Round and round she floated, like an opal-winged butterfly
in a net of sunbeams, now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors,
as aspen leaves are shaken by the faintest wind, now assuming the
most voluptuous eccentricities of posture, sometimes bending down
wistfully as though she were listening to the chanting of demon voices
underground, and again, with her waving white hands, appearing to
summon spirits to earth from their wanderings in the upper air. Her
figure was in perfect harmony with the seductive grace of her gestures;
not only her feet, but her whole body danced, her very features bespoke
abandonment to the frenzy of her rapid movement. Her large black eyes
flashed with something of fierceness as well as languor; and her raven