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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44827 ***</div>

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<h1>Under the Witches' Moon</h1>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class='center p2'>THE ROMANCES<br />
OF<br />
NATHAN GALLIZIER</div>

<div class='center p2'><i>Each, one volume, 12mo, cloth, illustrated.<br />
Net $1.35; carriage paid, $1.50</i><br />
<br />
Castel del Monte<br />
The Sorceress of Rome<br />
The Court of Lucifer<br />
The Hill of Venus<br />
The Crimson Gondola<br />
<br />
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<br />
Under the Witches' Moon<br />
<br />
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<p class="caption">"It was that of a man coming towards her" <i>(See page 143)</i></p>
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<p class="ph1">Under the<br />
Witches' Moon</p>

<p class="ph2">A Romantic Tale<br />
<i>of</i> Mediaeval Rome<br />
<i><small>BY</small><br />
<big>Nathan Gallizier</big></i></p>

<p class="center">Author of "The Crimson Gondola," "The Hill of Venus,"<br />
"The Court of Lucifer," "The Sorceress of Rome,"<br />
"Castel del Monte," Etc.</p>
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<span class="smcap">By The Page Company</span><br />
<br />
<em>All rights reserved</em><br />
<br />
First Impression, October, 1917<br />
<br />
THE COLONIAL PRESS<br />
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.<br />
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza"><i>
"To some Love comes so splendid and so soon,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With such wide wings and steps so royally,</span><br />
That they, like sleepers wakened suddenly,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expecting dawn, are blinded by his noon.</span><br />
</i></div>
<div class="stanza"><i>
"To some Love comes so silently and late,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That all unheard he is, and passes by,</span><br />
Leaving no gift but a remembered sigh,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While they stand watching at another gate.</span><br />
</i></div>
<div class="stanza"><i>
"But some know Love at the enchanted hour,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hear him singing like a bird afar,</span><br />
They see him coming like a falling star,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They meet his eyes&mdash;and all their world's in flower."</span><br />
</i></div>
<i><span style="margin-left: 12em;">ETHEL CLIFFORD</span></i>
</div>
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<h1>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h1>



<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Page</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILLUSTRATION_01">"It was that of a man coming towards her." </a>(<cite>See page 143</cite>)</td><td align="left"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILLUSTRATION_02">"A strange look passed into Theodora's eyes"</a></td><td align="left">83</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILLUSTRATION_03">"Pelting the dancing girls for idle diversion"</a></td><td align="left">192</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILLUSTRATION_04">"Thrown her saffron scarf over the prostrate youth"</a></td><td align="left">236</td></tr>
</table></div>


<h1>CONTENTS</h1>

<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align="right">BOOK THE FIRST</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter</td><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right">Page</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.</td>     <td align='left'>The Fires of St. John</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Ia">3</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td>     <td align='left'>The Weaving of the Spell</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIa">13</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td>     <td align='left'>The Dream Lady of Avalon</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIa">20</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td>    <td align='left'> The Way of the Cross</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IVa">30</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td>    <td align='left'> On the Aventine</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Va">38</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td>     <td align='left'>The Coup</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIa">46</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td>    <td align='left'> Masks and Mummers</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIa">60</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td>    <td align='left'> The Shrine of Hekaté</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIa">67</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td>    <td align='left'> The Game of Love</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IXa">79</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td>    <td align='left'> A Spirit Pageant</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Xa">90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI.</td>    <td align='left'>The Denunciation</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIa">97</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII.</td>   <td align='left'> The Confession</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIa">102</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">BOOK THE SECOND</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.</td>     <td align='left'>The Grand Chamberlain&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Ib">115</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td>     <td align='left'>The Call of Eblis&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIb">128</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td>     <td align='left'>The Crystal Sphere&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIb">134</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.    </td> <td align='left'>Persephoné&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IVb">146</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.     </td><td align='left'>Magic Glooms&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Vb">152</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.     </td><td align='left'>The Lure of the Abyss&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIb">160</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.  </td>   <td align='left'>The Face in the Panel&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIb">167</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td>   <td align='left'> The Shadow of Asrael</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIb">173</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.  </td>   <td align='left'>The Feast of Theodora&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IXb">187</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.   </td>  <td align='left'>The Chalice of Oblivion&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Xb">204</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">BOOK THE THIRD</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.   </td> <td align='left'> Wolfsbane&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Ic">221</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II. </td>   <td align='left'> Under the Saffron Scarf&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIc">230</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III. </td>   <td align='left'> Dark Plottings&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIc">240</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV. </td>   <td align='left'> Face to Face&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IVc">250</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.  </td>  <td align='left'> The Cressets of Doom&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Vc">259</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.  </td>  <td align='left'> A Meeting of Ghosts&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIc">269</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.   </td> <td align='left'> A Bower of Eden&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIc">279</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.  </td>  <td align='left'> An Italian Night</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIc">289</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.   </td> <td align='left'> The Net of the Fowler&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IXc">299</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td>   <td align='left'>  Devil Worship&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Xc">307</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI. </td>  <td align='left'>  By Lethe's Shores&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIc">314</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII. </td>   <td align='left'> The Death Watch&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIc">323</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII.  </td>  <td align='left'> The Convent in Trastevere</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIIc">335</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV.   </td> <td align='left'> The Phantom of the Lateran&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIVc">341</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">BOOK THE FOURTH</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.  </td>  <td align='left'> The Return of the Moor&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Id">351</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.  </td>  <td align='left'> The Escape from San Angelo&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IId">356</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III. </td>  <td align='left'>  The Lure&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIId">367</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV. </td>   <td align='left'> A Lying Oracle&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IVd">377</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.  </td>  <td align='left'> Bitter Waters&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Vd">384</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI. </td>  <td align='left'>  From Dream to Dream&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VId">389</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII. </td>  <td align='left'>  A Roman Medea&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIId">402</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td>  <td align='left'>  In Tenebris</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIId">413</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.  </td>  <td align='left'> The Conspiracy&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IXd">419</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.    </td> <td align='left'>The Broken Spell&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_Xd">427</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI.    </td> <td align='left'>The Black Mass&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XId">440</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII.  </td>   <td align='left'>Sunrise&nbsp; </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIId">453</a></td></tr>
</table></div>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2>BOOK THE FIRST</h2>

<p class="ph2">UNDER THE WITCHES'
MOON</p>

<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Ia" id="CHAPTER_Ia">CHAPTER I</a><br />

THE FIRES OF ST. JOHN</h3>

<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was the eve of St. John in
the year of our Lord Nine Hundred
Thirty-Five.</p>

<p>High on the cypress-clad hills
of the Eternal City the evening
sun had flamed valediction, and
the last lights of the dying day
were fading away on the waves
of the Tiber whose changeless
tide has rolled down through
centuries of victory and defeat, of pride and shame, of glory
and disgrace.</p>

<p>The purple dusk began to weave its phantom veil over the
ancient capital of the Cæsars and a round blood-red moon
was climbing slowly above the misty crests of the Alban Hills,
draining the sky of its crimson sunset hues.</p>

<p>The silvery chimes of the Angelus, pealing from churches
and convents, from Santa Maria in Trastevere to Santa Maria
of the Aventine, began to sing their message of peace into the
heart of nature and of man.</p>

<p>As the hours of the night advanced and the moon rose
higher in the star-embroidered canopy of the heavens, a vast
concourse of people began to pour from shadowy lanes and
thoroughfares, from sanctuaries and hostelries, into the
Piazza Navona. Romans and peasants from the Campagna,
folk from Tivoli, Velletri, Corneto and Terracina, pilgrims
from every land of the then known world, Africans and
Greeks, Lombards and Franks, Sicilians, Neapolitans, Syrians
and Kopts, Spaniards and Saxons, men from the frozen coast
of Thulé and the burning sands of Arabia, traders from the
Levant, sorcerers from the banks of the Nile, conjurers from
the mythical shores of the Ganges, adventurers from the
Barbary coast, gypsies from the plains of Sarmatia, monks
from the Thebaide, Normans, Gascons and folk from Aquitaine.</p>

<p>In the Piazza Navona booths and stalls had been erected
for the sale of figs and honey, and the fragrant products of the
Roman osterié.</p>

<p>Strings of colored lanterns danced and quivered in the air.
The fitful light from the torches, sending spiral columns of
resinous smoke into the night-blue ether, shed a lurid glow
over the motley, fantastic crowd that increased with every
moment, recruited from fishermen, flower girls, water-carriers
and herdsmen from the Roman Campagna.</p>

<p>Ensconced in the shadow of a roofless portico, a relic of
the ancient Circus Agonalis, which at one time occupied the
site of the Piazza Navona, and regarding the bewildering
spectacle which presented itself to his gaze, with the air of
one unaccustomed to such scenes, stood a stranger whose
countenance revealed little of the joy of life that should be
the heritage of early manhood.</p>

<p>His sombre and austere bearing, the abstracted mood and
far-away look of the eyes would have marked him a dreamer
in a society of men who had long been strangers to dreams.
For stern reality ruled the world and the lives of a race
untouched alike by the glories of the past and the dawn of
the Pre-Renaissance.</p>

<p>He wore the customary pilgrim's habit, almost colorless
from the effects of wind and weather. Now and then a
chance passer-by would cast shy glances at the lone stranger,
endeavoring to reconcile his age and his garb, and wondering
at the nature of the transgression that weighed so heavily
upon one apparently so young in years.</p>

<p>And well might his countenance give rise to speculation,
were it but for the determined and stolid air of aloofness
which seemed to render futile every endeavor to entice him
into the seething maelstrom of humanity on the part of those
who took note of his dark and austere form as they crossed
the Piazza.</p>

<p>Tristan of Avalon was in his thirtieth year, though the
hardships of a long and tedious journey, consummated
entirely afoot, made him appear of maturer age. The face,
long exposed to the relentless rays of the sun, had taken on
the darker tints of the Southland. The nose was straight,
the grey eyes tinged with melancholy, the hair was of chestnut
brown, the forehead high and lofty. The ensemble was
that of one who, unaccustomed to the pilgrim's garb, moves
uneasily among his kind. Yet the atmosphere of frivolity,
while irritating and jarring upon his senses, did not permit
him to avert his gaze from the orgy of color, the pandemonium
of jollity, that whirled and piped and roared about him as the
flow of mighty waters.</p>

<p>One of many strange wayfarers bound upon business of
one sort or another to the ancient seat of empire, whose
worldly sceptre had long passed from her palsied grip to
the distant shores of the Bosporus, Tristan had arrived during
the early hours of the day in the feudal and turbulent witches'
cauldron of the Rome of the Millennium.</p>

<p>And with him constituents of many peoples, from far and
near, had reached the Leonine quarter from the Tiburtine
road, after months of tedious travel, to worship at the holy
shrines, to do penance and to obtain absolution for real or
imaginary transgressions.</p>

<p>From Bosnia, from Servia and Hungary, from Negropont
and the islands of the Greek Archipelago, from Trebizond and
the Crimea it came endlessly floating to the former capital of
the Cæsars, a waste drift of palaces and temples and antique
civilizations, for the End of Time was said to be nigh, and the
dread of impending judgment lay heavily upon the tottering
world of the Millennium.</p>

<p>A grotesque and motley crowd it was, that sought and
found a temporary haven in the lowly taverns, erected for the
accommodation of perennial pilgrims, chiefly mean ill-favored
dwellings of clay and timber, divided into racial colonies, so
that pilgrims of the same land and creed might dwell together.</p>

<p>A very Babel of voices assailed Tristan's ear, for the
ancient sonorous tongue had long degenerated into the
lingua Franca of bad Latin, though there were some who
could still, though in a broken and barbarous fashion, make
themselves understood, when all other modes of expression
failed them.</p>

<p>All about him throbbed the strange, weird music of zitherns
and lutes and the thrumming of the Egyptian Sistrum.
The air of the summer night was heavy with the odor of
incense, garlic and roses. The higher risen moon gleamed
pale as an alabaster lamp in the dark azure of the heavens,
trembling luminously on the waters of a fountain which occupied
the centre of the Piazza Navona.</p>

<p>Here lolled some scattered groups of the populace, discussing
the events of the day, jesting, gesticulating, drinking
or love-making. Others roamed about, engaged in conversation
or enjoying the antics of two Smyrniote tumblers,
whose contortions elicited storms of applause from an appreciative
audience.</p>

<p>A crowd of maskers had invaded the Piazza Navona, and
the uncommon spectacle at last drew Tristan from his point
of vantage and caused him to mingle with the crowds, which
increased with every moment, their shouts and gibes and
the clatter of their tongues becoming quite deafening to his
ears. Richly decorated chariots, drawn by spirited steeds,
rolled past in a continuous procession. The cries of the
wine-venders and fruit-sellers mingled with the acclaim of
the multitudes. Now and then was heard the fanfare of a
company of horsemen who clattered past, bound upon some
feudal adventure.</p>

<p>Weary of walking, distracted by the ever increasing clamor,
oppressed with a sense of loneliness amidst the surging
crowds, whose festal spirit he did not share, Tristan made
his way towards the fountain and, seating himself on the
margin, regardless of the chattering groups, which intermittently
clustered about it, he felt his mood gradually calm
in the monotony of the gurgling flow of the water, which
spurted from the grotesque mouths of lions and dolphins.</p>

<p>The stars sparkled in subdued lustre above the dark,
towering cypresses which crowned the adjacent eminence
of Monte Testaccio, and the distant palaces and ruins stood
forth in distinctness of splendor and desolation beneath the
luminous brightness of the moonlit heavens. White shreds
of mist, like sorrowing spirits, floated above the winding
course of the Tiber, and enveloped in a diaphanous haze the
cloisters upon St. Bartholomew's Island at the base of Mount
Aventine.</p>

<p>For a time Tristan's eyes roamed over the kaleidoscopic
confusion which met his gaze on every turn. His ear was
assailed by the droning sound of many voices that filled the
air about him, when he was startled by the approach of two
men, who, but for their halting gait, might have passed
unheeded in the rolling sea of humanity that ebbed and
flowed over the Piazza.</p>

<p>Basil, the Grand Chamberlain, was endowed with the elegance
of the effeminate Roman noble of his time. Supple
as an eel, he nevertheless suggested great physical strength.
The skin was of a deep olive tinge. The black, beady eyes
were a marked feature of the countenance. Inscrutable
and steadfast in regard, with a hint of mockery and cynicism,
coupled with an abiding alertness, they seemed to penetrate
the very core of matter.</p>

<p>He wore a black mantle reaching almost to his feet. Of
his features, shaded by a hood, little was to be seen, save
his glittering minx-eyes. These he kept alternately fixed
upon the crowds that surged around him and on his companion,
a hunchback garbed entirely in black, from the Spanish
hat, which he wore slouched over his face, to the black
hose and sandals that encased his feet. A large red scar
across the low forehead heightened the repulsiveness of his
countenance. There was something strangely sinister in
his sunken, cadaverous cheeks, the low brow, the inflamed
eyelids, and his limping gait.</p>

<p>Without perceiving or heeding the presence of Tristan
they paused as by some preconcerted signal.</p>

<p>As the taller of the two pushed back the hood of his pilgrim
garb, as if to cool his brow in the night breeze, Tristan peered
into a face not lacking in sensuous refinement. Dark supercilious
eyes roved from one object to another, without dwelling
long on any particular one. There was somewhat of a
cynical look in the downward curve of the eyebrows, the
thin straight lips and the slightly aquiline nose, which seemed
to imbue him with an air of recklessness and daring, that
ill consorted with his monkish garb.</p>

<p>Their discourse was at first almost unintelligible to Tristan.
The language of the common people had, at this period of
the history of Rome, not only lost its form, but almost the
very echo of the Latin tongue.</p>

<p>After a time, however, Tristan distinguished a name, and,
upon listening more attentively, the burden of the message
began to unfold itself.</p>

<p>"Why then have you ventured out of your hell-hole of
iniquity, when discovery means death or worse?" said Basil,
the Grand Chamberlain. "Do the keeps and dungeons of
the Emperor's Tomb so allure you? Or do you trust in
some miraculous delivery from its vermin-haunted vaults?"</p>

<p>At these words Rome's most dreaded bravo, Il Gobbo of
the Catacombs, snarled contemptuously.</p>

<p>"You are needlessly alarmed, my lord. They will not
look for Il Gobbo in this company, though even a mole may
walk in the shadow of a saint."</p>

<p>Basil regarded the speaker with mingled pity and contempt.</p>

<p>"There is room for all the world in Rome and the devil
to boot."</p>

<p>Il Gobbo chuckled unpleasantly.</p>

<p>"Besides&mdash;folk about here show a great reverence for
a holy garb&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Always with fitting reservations," interposed the Grand
Chamberlain sardonically. "I have had it in mind at some
time or other to relieve the Grand Penitentiary. The good
man's lungs must be well nigh bursting with the foul air
down there by the Tomb of the Apostle. He will welcome a
rest!"</p>

<p>"Requiescat," chanted the bravo, imitating the nasal
tone of the clergy.</p>

<p>Basil nodded approval.</p>

<p>"He at one time did me the honor of showing some concern
in my spiritual welfare. Know you what I replied?"&mdash;</p>

<p>The bravo gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"'Father,' I said, when he urged me to confess, 'pray
shrive some one worthier than myself. But&mdash;if you must
needs have a confession&mdash;I shall whisper into your holy
ear so many interesting little episodes, so many spicy peccadillos,
and&mdash;to enhance their interest&mdash;mention some names
so high in the grace of God&mdash;'"</p>

<p>"And the reverend father?"</p>

<p>"Looked anathema and vanished"&mdash;</p>

<p>Basil paused for a moment, after which he continued with
a sigh:</p>

<p>"It is too late! The Church is to be purified. Not even
the pale shade of Marozia will henceforth be permitted to
haunt the crypts of Castel San Angelo&mdash;merely for the sake
of decorum. There is nothing less well bred than memory!"</p>

<p>For a moment they relapsed into silence, watching the
shifting crowds, then Basil continued:</p>

<p>"Compared with this virtuous boredom the last days of
Ugo of Tuscany were a carnival. One could at least speed
the travails of some one who required swift absolution."</p>

<p>"Can you contrive to bring about this happy state?" queried
Il Gobbo.</p>

<p>"It is always the unexpurgated that happens," Basil replied
sardonically.</p>

<p>"I hope to advance in your school," Il Gobbo interposed
with a smile.</p>

<p>"I have long had you in mind. If you are in favor with
yourself you will become an apt pupil. Remember! He
who is dead is dead and long live the survivor."</p>

<p>"In very truth, my lord, breath is the first and last thing
we draw&mdash;" rejoined the bravo, evidently not relishing the
thought that death might be standing unseen at his elbow.</p>

<p>"Who would end one's days in odious immaculacy," Basil
interposed grandiloquently, "even though you will not incur
that reproach from those who know you from report, or who
have visited your haunts? But to the point. There are
certain forces at work in Rome which make breathing in
this fetid air a rather cumbersome process."</p>

<p>"I doubt me if they could teach your lordship any new
tricks," Il Gobbo replied, somewhat dubiously.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain smiled darkly.</p>

<p>"Good Il Gobbo, the darkest of my tricks you have not
yet fathomed."</p>

<p>"Perchance then the gust of rumor blows true about my
lord's palace on the Pincian Hill?"</p>

<p>"What say they about my palatial abode?" Basil turned
suavely to the speaker.</p>

<p>There was something in the gleam of his interrogator's
eyes that caused Il Gobbo to hesitate. But his native insolence
came to the rescue of his failing courage.</p>

<p>"Ask rather, what do they not say of it, my lord! It
would require less time to recite&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, I am just now in a frame of mind to shudder
soundly. These Roman nights, with their garlic and incense,
are apt to befuddle the brain,&mdash;rob it of its power to plot.
Perchance the recital of these mysteries would bring to
mind something I have omitted."</p>

<p>The bravo regarded the speaker with a look of awe.</p>

<p>"They whisper of torture chambers, where knife and
screw and pulley never rest&mdash;of horrors that make the
blood freeze in the veins&mdash;of phantoms of fair women that
haunt the silent galleries&mdash;strange wails of anguish that
sound nightly from the subterranean vaults&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A goodly account that ought vastly to interest the Grand
Penitentiary&mdash;were it&mdash;with proper decorum&mdash;whispered
in his ear. It would make him forget&mdash;for the time at
least&mdash;the dirty Roman gossip. Deem you not, good Il
Gobbo?"</p>

<p>"I am not versed in such matters, my lord," replied the
bravo, ill at ease. "Perhaps your lordship will now tell me
why this fondness for my society?"</p>

<p>"To confess truth, good Il Gobbo, I did not join you merely
to meditate upon the pleasant things of life. Rather to be
inspired to some extraordinary adventure such as my hungry
soul yearns for. As for the nature thereof, I shall leave
that to the notoriously wicked fertility of your imagination."</p>

<p>The lurid tone of the speaker startled the bravo.</p>

<p>"My lord, you would not lay hands on the Lord's anointed?"</p>

<p>Il Gobbo met a glance that made the blood freeze in his
veins.</p>

<p>"Is it the thing you call your conscience that ails you, or
some sudden indigestion? Or is the bribe not large enough?"</p>

<p>The bravo doggedly shook his head.</p>

<p>"Courage lieth not always in bulk," he growled. "May
my soul burn to a crisp in the everlasting flames if I draw
steel against the Lord's anointed."</p>

<p>"<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Silence,fool'">Silence, fool</ins>! What you do in my service shall not burden
your soul! Have you forgotten our compact?"</p>

<p>"That I have not, my lord! But since the Senator of
Rome has favored me with his especial attention, I too have
something to lose, which some folk hereabout call their
honor."</p>

<p>"Your honor!" sneered the Grand Chamberlain. "It is
like the skin of an onion. Peel off one, there's another
beneath."</p>

<p>"My skin then&mdash;" the bravo growled doggedly. "However&mdash;if
the lord Basil will confide in me&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Pray lustily to your patron saint and frequent the chapel
of the Grand Penitentiary," replied Basil suavely, beckoning
to Il Gobbo to follow him. "But beware, lest in your zeal
to confess you mistake my peccadillos for your own."</p>

<p>With these words the two worthies slowly retraced their
steps in the direction of Mount Aventine and were soon lost
to sight.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIa" id="CHAPTER_IIa">CHAPTER II</a><br />
THE WEAVING OF THE SPELL</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">
After they had disappeared
Tristan stood at gaze, puzzled
where to turn, for the spectacle
had suddenly changed.</p>

<p>New bands of revellers had
invaded the Piazza Navona, and
it seemed indeed as if the Eve
of St. John were assuming the
character of the ancient Lupercalia,
for the endless variety of
costumes displayed by a multitude assembled from every
corner of Italy, Spain, Greece, Africa, and the countries of
the North, was now exaggerated by a wild fancifulness and
grotesque variety of design.</p>

<p>Tristan himself did not escape the merry intruders. He
was immediately beset by importunate revellers, and not
being able to make himself understood, they questioned
and lured him on, imploring his good offices with the Enemy
of Mankind.</p>

<p>Satyrs, fauns and other sylvan creatures accosted him,
diverting their antics, when they found themselves but ill
repaid for their efforts, and leaving the solitary stranger
pondering the expediency of remaining, or wending his steps
toward the Inn of the Golden Shield, where he had taken
lodging upon his arrival.</p>

<p>These doubts were to be speedily dispelled by a spectacle
which attracted the crowds that thronged the Piazza, causing
them to give way before a splendid procession that had
entered the Navona from the region of Mount Aventine.</p>

<p>Down the Navona came a train of chariots, preceded by
a throng of persons, clad in rich and fantastic Oriental costumes,
leaping, dancing and making the air resound with
tambourines, bells, cymbals and gongs. They kept up an
incessant jingle, which sounded weirdly above the droning
chant of distant processions of pilgrims, hermits and monks,
traversing the city from sanctuary to sanctuary.</p>

<p>The occupants of these chariots consisted of a number
of young women in the flower of youth and beauty, whose
scant apparel left little to the imagination either as regarded
their person or the trade they plied. The charioteers were
youths, scarcely arrived at the age of puberty, but skilled
in their profession in the highest degree.</p>

<p>The first chariot, drawn by two milk-white steeds of the
Berber breed, was inlaid with mother-of-pearl, with gilded
spokes and trappings that glistened in the light of a thousand
colored lanterns and torches, like a vehicle from fairyland.
The reins were in the hands of a youth hardly over sixteen
years of age, garbed in a snow white tunic, but the skill with
which he drove the shell-shaped car through the surging
crowds argued for uncommon dexterity.</p>

<p>Tristan, from his station by the fountain, was enabled to
take in every detail of the strange pageant which moved
swiftly towards him, a glittering, fantastic procession, as if
drawn out of dreamland; and so enthralled were his senses
that he did not note the terrible silence which had suddenly
fallen upon the multitude.</p>

<p>As a half-slumbering man may note a sudden brilliant
gleam of sunshine flashing on the walls of his chamber,
Tristan gazed in confused bewilderment, when suddenly his
stupefied senses were aroused to hot life and pulsation, as
he fixed his straining gaze on the supreme fair form of the
woman in the first car, standing erect like a queen, surveying
her subjects.</p>

<p>In the silence of a great multitude there is always something
ominous. But Tristan noted it not. Indeed he was
deaf and blind to everything, save the apparition in the shell-shaped
car, as it bounded lightly over the unevenly laid tufa
of the Navona.</p>

<p>Was it a woman, or a goddess? A rainbow flame in
mortal shape, a spirit of earth, air, water or fire?</p>

<p>He saw before him a woman combining the charm of the
girl with the maturity of the thirties, dark-haired, exquisitely
proportioned, with clear-cut features and dark slumbrous
eyes.</p>

<p>She wore a diaphanous robe of pale silk gauze. Her
wonderful arms, white as the fallen snow, were encircled
by triple serpentine coils of gold. Else, she was unadorned,
save for a circlet of rubies which crowned the dusky head.</p>

<p>Her sombre eyes rested drowsily on the swarming crowds,
while a smile of disdain curved the small red mouth, as her
chariot proceeded through the frozen silence.</p>

<p>Suddenly her eye caught the admiring gaze of Tristan,
who had indeed forgotten heaven and earth in the contemplation
of this supremest handiwork of the Creator. A word
to the charioteer and the chariot came to a stop.</p>

<p>Tristan and the woman faced each other in silence, the
man with an ill-concealed air of uneasiness, such as one
may experience who finds himself face to face with some
unknown danger.</p>

<p>With utter disregard for the gaping crowds which had
gathered around the fountain she bent her gaze upon him,
surveying him from head to foot.</p>

<p>"Who are you?" she spoke at last, and he, confused,
bewildered, trembling, gazed into the woman's supremely
fair face and stammered:</p>

<p>"A pilgrim!"</p>

<p>Her lips parted in a smile that revealed two rows of small
white, even teeth. There was something unutterable in
that smile which brought the color to Tristan's brow.</p>

<p>"A Roman?"</p>

<p>"From the North!"</p>

<p>"Why are you here?"</p>

<p>"For the salvation of my soul!"</p>

<p>He blushed as he spoke.</p>

<p>Again the strange smile curved the woman's lips, again
the inscrutable look shone in her eyes.</p>

<p>"For the salvation of your soul!" she repeated slowly
after him. "And you so young and fair. Ah! You have
done some little wickedness, no doubt?"</p>

<p>He started to reply, but she checked him with a wave of
her hand.</p>

<p>"I do not wish to be told. Do you repent?"</p>

<p>Tristan's throat was dry. His lips refused utterance. He
nodded awkwardly.</p>

<p>"So much the worse! These little peccadillos are the
spice of life! What is your name?"</p>

<p>She repeated it lingeringly after him.</p>

<p>"From the North&mdash;you say&mdash;to do penance in Rome!"</p>

<p>She watched him with an expression of amusement. When
he started back from her, a strange fear in his heart, a wave
of her hand checked him.</p>

<p>"Let me whisper a secret to you!" she said with a smile.</p>

<p>He felt her perfumed breath upon his cheek.</p>

<p>Inclining his ear he staggered away from her dizzy, bewildered.</p>

<p>Presently, with a dazzling smile, she extended one white
hand and Tristan, trembling as one under a spell, bent over
and kissed it. He felt the soft pressure of her fingers and
his pulse throbbed with a strange, insidious fire, as reluctantly
he released it at last.</p>

<p>Raising his eyes, he now met her gaze, absorbing into
his innermost soul the mesmeric spell of her beauty, drinking
in the warmth of those dark, sleepy orbs that flashed
on him half resentfully, half mockingly. Then the charioteer
jerked up the reins, the chariot began to move. Like a
dream the pageant vanished&mdash;and slowly, like far-away
thunder, the voice of the multitudes began to return, as they
regarded the lone pilgrim with mingled doubt, fear and
disdain.</p>

<p>With a start Tristan looked about. He was as one bewitched.
He felt he must follow her at all risks, ascertain
her name, her abode.</p>

<p>Dashing through the crowds that gave way before him,
wondering and commenting upon the unseemly haste of one
wearing so austere a garb, Tristan caught a last glimpse of
the procession as it entered the narrow gorge that lies between
Mount Testaccio and Mount Aventine.</p>

<p>With a sense of great disappointment he slowly retraced
his steps, walking as in the thrall of a strange dream, and,
after inquiring the direction of his inn of some wayfarers
he chanced to meet, he at last reached the Inn of the
Golden Shield, situated near the Flaminian Gate, and entered
the great guest-chamber.</p>

<p>The troubled light of a melancholy dusk was enhanced
by the glimmer of stone lamps suspended from the low and
dirty ceiling.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the late hour, the smoky precincts were
crowded with guests from many lands, who were discussing
the events of the day. If Tristan's wakeful ear had been
alive to the gossip of the tavern he might have heard the
incident in the Navona, in which he played so prominent a
part, discussed in varied terms of wonder and condemnation.</p>

<p>Tristan took his seat near an alcove usually reserved for
guests of state. The unaccustomed scene began to exercise
a singular fascination upon him, stranger as he was among
strangers from all the earth, their faces dark against the
darker background of the room. Brooding over a tankard
of Falernian of the hue of bronze, which his oily host had
placed before him, he continued to absorb every detail of
the animated picture, while the memory of his strange adventure
dominated his mind.</p>

<p>Tristan's meagre fund of information was to be enriched
by tidings of an ominous nature. He learned that the Pontiff,
John XI, was imprisoned in the Lateran Palace, by his step-brother
Alberic, the Senator of Rome.</p>

<p>While this information came to him, a loyal son of the
Church, as a distinct shock, Tristan felt, nevertheless,
strangely impressed with the atmosphere of the place. Even
in the period of her greatest decay, Rome seemed still the
centre of the universe.</p>

<p>Thus he sat brooding for hours.</p>

<p>When, with a start, he roused himself at last, he found
the vast guest-chamber well-nigh deserted. The pilgrims
had retired to their respective quarters, small, dingy cells,
teeming with evil odors, heat and mosquitoes, and the oily
Calabrian host was making ready for the morrow.</p>

<p>The warmth of the Roman night and the fatigue engendered
after many leagues of tedious travel on a dusty road, under
the scorching rays of an Italian sky, at last asserted itself
and, wishing a fair rest to his host, who was far from displeased
to see his guest-chamber cleared for the night,
Tristan climbed the crooked and creaking stairs leading to
the chamber assigned to him, which looked out upon the
gate of Castello and the Tiber, where it is spanned by the
Bridge of San Angelo.</p>

<p>The window stood open to the night air, on which floated
the perfumes from oleander and almond groves. The roofs
of the Eternal City formed a dark, shadowy mass in the
deep blue dusk, and the cylindrical masonry of the Flavian
Emperor's Tomb rose ominously against the deep turquoise
of the night sky.</p>

<p>Soon the events of the day and the scenes of the evening
began to melt into faint and indistinct memories.</p>

<p>Sleep, deep and tranquil, encompassed Tristan's weary
limbs, but in his dreams the events of the evening were
obliterated before scenes of the past.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIIa" id="CHAPTER_IIIa">CHAPTER III</a><br />

THE DREAM LADY OF AVALON</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_l.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Like a disk of glowing gold the
sun had set upon hill and dale.
The gardens of Avalon lay wrapt
in the mists of evening. Like
flowers seemed the fair women
who thronged the winding paths.
From fragrant bosquets, borne
on the wings of the night wind
came the faint sounds of zitherns
and lutes.</p>

<p>He, too, was there, mingling joyous, carefree, with the rest,
gathering the white roses for the one he loved. Dimly he
recalled his delight, as he saw her approach in the waning
light through the dim ilex avenue, an apparition wondrous
fair in the crimson haze of slowly departing day, entering his
garden of dreams. With strangely aching heart he saw them
throng about her in homage and admiration.</p>

<p>At last he knelt before her, kissing the white hand that
lay passive within his own.</p>

<p>How wonderful she was! Never had he seen anything
like her, not even in this land of flowers and of beautiful
women. Her hair was warm as if the sun had entered into
it. Her skin had the tints of ivory. The violet eyes with
the long drooping lashes seemed to hold the memories of a
thousand love thoughts. And the small, crimson mouth, so
witch-like, so alluring, seemed to hold out promise of fulfilment
of dizzy hopes and desires.</p>

<p>"It is our golden hour," she smiled down at him, and the
white fingers twined the rose in her hair, wove a girdle of
blossoms round her exquisite, girlish form.</p>

<p>To Tristan she seemed an enchantment, an embodied rose.
Never had he seen her so fair, so beautiful. On her lips
quivered a smile, yet there was a strange light in her eyes,
that gave him pause, a light he had never seen therein before.</p>

<p>She beckoned him away from the throng. "Come where
the moonlight dreams."</p>

<p>Her smile and her wonderful eyes were his beacon light.
He rose to his feet and took her hand. And away they
strayed from the rest of the crowd, far away over green
lawns, emerald in the moonlight, with, here and there, the
dark shadow of a cypress falling across the silvery brightness
of their path. Little by little the gardens were deserted.
Fainter and fainter came the sounds of lutes and harps.
The shadows of the grove now encompassed them, as silently
they strode side by side.</p>

<p>"This is my Buen Retiro," she spoke at last. "Here we
may rest&mdash;for awhile&mdash;far from the world."</p>

<p>They entered the rose-bower, a wilderness, blossoming
with roses and hyacinths and fragrant shrubs&mdash;a very
paradise for lovers.&mdash;</p>

<p>The bells of a remote convent began to chime. They
smote the silence with their silvery peals. The castle of
Avalon lay dark in the distance, shadowy against the deep
azure of the night sky.</p>

<p>When the chimes of the Angelus had died away, she spoke.</p>

<p>"How wonderful is this peace!"</p>

<p>Her tone brought a sudden chill to his heart.</p>

<p>As she moved forward, he dropped his wealth of flowers
and held out his hands entreatingly.</p>

<p>"Dearest Hellayne," he said, "tarry but a little longer&mdash;"</p>

<p>She seemed to start at his words, and leaned over the
back of the stone bench, which was covered with climbing
roses. And suddenly under this new light, sad and silent,
she seemed no longer his fair companion of the afternoon,
all youth, all beauty, all light. Motionless, as if shadowed
by some dire foreboding, she stood there and he dared not
approach. Once he raised his hand to take her own. But
something in her eyes caused the hand to fall as with its
own weight.</p>

<p>He could not understand what stayed him, what stayed
the one supreme impulse of his heart. He did not understand
what checked the words that hovered on his lips.
Was it the clear pure light of the eyes he loved so well? Was
it some dark power he wot not of?</p>

<p>At last he broke through his restraint.</p>

<p>"Hellayne&mdash;" he whispered low. "Hellayne&mdash;I love
you!"</p>

<p>She did not move.</p>

<p>There was a deep silence.</p>

<p>Then she answered.</p>

<p>"Oh, why have you said the word!"</p>

<p>What did she mean? He cried, trembling, within himself.
And now he was no longer in the moonlit rose-bower in the
gardens of Avalon, but in a dense forest. The trees meeting
overhead made a night so black, that he saw nothing,
not even their gnarled trunks.</p>

<p>Hellayne was standing beside him. A pale moonbeam
flickered through the interwoven branches.</p>

<p>She pointed to the castle of Avalon, dim in the distance.
He made a quick forward step to see her face. Her eyes
were very calm.</p>

<p>"Let us go, Tristan!" she said.</p>

<p>"My answer first," he insisted, gazing longingly, wistfully
into the eyes that held a night of mystery.</p>

<p>"You have it," she said calmly.</p>

<p>"It was no answer," he pleaded, "from lover to lover&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah!" she replied, in her voice a great weariness which
he had never noted before. "But here are neither loves
nor lovers.&mdash;Look!"</p>

<p>And he looked.</p>

<p>Before them lay a colorless and lifeless sea, under the
arch of a threatening sky. Across that sky dark clouds,
with ever-changing shapes, rolled slowly, and presently
condensed into a vague shadowy form, while the torpid
waves droned a muffled and unearthly dirge.</p>

<p>He covered his eyes, overcome by a mastering fear of
that dread shape which he knew, yet knew not.</p>

<p>He knelt before her, took the hands he loved so well into
his own and pressed upon them his fevered lips.</p>

<p>"I do not understand&mdash;" he moaned.</p>

<p>She regarded him fixedly.</p>

<p>"I am another's wife&mdash;"</p>

<p>His head drooped.</p>

<p>"When my eyes first met yours they begged that my love
for you might find response in your heart," he said, still
holding on to those marvellous white hands. "Did you not
accept my worship?"</p>

<p>She neither encouraged nor repulsed him by word or
gesture. And he covered her hands with burning kisses.
After his passionate outburst had died to silence she spoke
quietly, tremulously.</p>

<p>"Tristan," she began, and paused as if she were summoning
courage to do that which she must. "Tristan, this
may not be."</p>

<p>"I love you," he sobbed. "I love you! This is all I
know! All I shall ever know. How can I support life without
you? heart of my heart&mdash;soul of my soul?&mdash;What must
I do, to win you for my own&mdash;to give you happiness?"</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response.</p>

<p>"Is sin ever happiness?"</p>

<p>"The priests say not! And yet&mdash;our love is not sinful&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The priests say truth." Hellayne interposed calmly.</p>

<p>He felt as if an immense darkness, the chaos of a thousand
spheres, suddenly encompassed him, threatening to
plunge him into a bottomless abyss of despair.</p>

<p>Then he made a quick forward step. Her face was close
to his. Wide eyes fastened upon him in a compelling gaze.</p>

<p>"Tell me!" he urged, his own eyes lost in those unfathomable
wells of dreams. "When love is with you&mdash;does
aught matter? Does sin&mdash;discovery&mdash;God himself&mdash;matter?"</p>

<p>With a frightened cry she drew back.</p>

<p>But those steady, questioning eyes, sombre, yet aflame,
compelled the shifting violet orbs.</p>

<p>"Tell me!" he urged again, his face very close to her face.</p>

<p>"Naught matters," she whispered faintly, as if under a
spell.</p>

<p>Then her gaze relinquished his, as she looked dreamily
out upon the woods. There was absolute silence, lasting
apace. It was the stillness of a forest where no birds sing,
no breezes stir. Then a twig snapped beneath Hellayne's
foot. He had taken her to his heart and, his strong arms
about her, kissed her eyes, her mouth, her hair. She suffered
his caresses dreamily, passively, her white arms encircling
his neck.</p>

<p>Suddenly he stiffened. His form was as that of one turned
to stone.</p>

<p>In the shadow of the forest beneath a great oak, hooded,
motionless, stood a man. His eyes seemed like glowing
coals, as they stared at them. Hellayne did not see them,
but she felt the tremor that passed through Tristan's frame.
The mantle's hood was pulled far down over the man's face.
No features were visible.</p>

<p>And yet Tristan knew that cowled and muffled form. He
knew the eyes that had surprised their tryst.</p>

<p>It was Count Roger de Laval.</p>

<p>The muffled shadow was gone as quickly as it had come.</p>

<p>It was growing ever darker in the forest, and when he
looked up again he saw that Hellayne's white roses were
scattered on the ground. Her scarf of blue samite had
fallen heedlessly beside them. He lifted it and pressed it
to his lips.</p>

<p>"Will you give it to me?" he said tremulously. "That
it may be with me always&mdash;"</p>

<p>There was no immediate response.</p>

<p>At last she said slowly:</p>

<p>"You shall have it&mdash;a parting gift&mdash;"</p>

<p>He seized her hands. They lay passively within his own.</p>

<p>There was a great fear in his eyes.</p>

<p>"I do not understand&mdash;"</p>

<p>She loosened the roses from her hair and garb before she
made reply. Silently, like dead leaves in autumn, the
fragrant petals dropped one by one to earth. Hellayne
watched them with weary eyes as they drifted to their sleep,
then, as she held the last spray in her hand, gazing upon it
she said:</p>

<p>"When you gave them to me, Tristan, they were sweet
and fresh, the fairest you could find. Now they have faded,
perished, died&mdash;"</p>

<p>He started to plead, to protest, to silence her, but she continued:</p>

<p>"Ah! Can you not see? Can you not understand?
Perchance," she added bitterly, "I was created to adorn
the fleeting June afternoon of your life, and when this scarf
is torn and faded as these flowers, let the wind carry it away,&mdash;like
these dead petals at our feet&mdash;"</p>

<p>She let fall the withered spray, but he snatched it ere it
touched the ground.</p>

<p>"I love you," he stammered passionately. "I love you!
Love you as no woman was ever loved. You are my world&mdash;my
fate&mdash; Hellayne! Hellayne! Know you what you
say?"&mdash;</p>

<p>She gazed at him, with eyes from which all life had fled.</p>

<p>"I am another's," she said slowly. "I have sinned in
loving you, in giving to you my soul. And even as you stood
there and held me in your arms, it flashed upon me, like lightning
in a dark stormy night&mdash;I saw the abyss, at the brink
of which we stand, both, you and I."&mdash;</p>

<p>"But we have done no wrong&mdash;we have not sinned," he
protested wildly.</p>

<p>She silenced him with a gesture of her beautiful hands.</p>

<p>"Who may command the waters of the cataract, go here,&mdash;or
go there? Who may tell them to return to their lawful
bed? I have neither power nor strength, to resist your
pleading. You have been life and love to me, all,&mdash;all,&mdash;and
all this you are to-day. And therefore must we part,&mdash;part,
ere it be too late&mdash;" she concluded with a wild cry
of anguish, "ere we are both engulfed in the darkness."&mdash;</p>

<p>And he fell at her feet as if stunned by a thunderbolt.</p>

<p>"Do not send me away&mdash;" he pleaded, his voice choked
with anguish. "Do not send me from you."</p>

<p>"You will go," she said softly, deaf to his prayers. "It
is the supreme test of your love, great as I know it is."</p>

<p>"But I cannot leave you, I cannot go, never to see you
more&mdash;" and he grasped the cool white hands of the woman
as a drowning man will grasp a straw.</p>

<p>She did not attempt, for the time, to take them from him.
She looked down upon him wistfully.</p>

<p>"Would you make me the mock of Avalon?" she said.
"Once my lord suspects we are lost. And, I fear, he does
even now. For his gaze has been dark and troubled. And
I cannot, will not, expose you to his cruelty. You know him
not as I do&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Even therefore will I not leave you," he interposed,
looking into the sweet face. "He has not been kind to
you. His pride was flattered by your ready surrender, and
your great beauty is but one of the many dishes that go to
satiate his varied appetites. Of the others you know
naught&mdash;"</p>

<p>She gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"If it be so," she said wearily, "so let it be. Nevertheless,
I know whereof I speak. This thing has stolen over us
like a madness. And, like a madness, it will hurl us to our
doom."</p>

<p>Though he had seen the dark, glowering face among the
branches, he said nothing, not to alarm her, not to cause her
fear and misgiving. He loved her spotless purity as dearly
as herself. To him they were inseparable.</p>

<p>His head fell forward on her hands. Her fingers played
in his soft brown hair.</p>

<p>"What would you have me do?" he said, his voice choked
by his anguish.</p>

<p>"Go on a pilgrimage to Rome, to obtain forgiveness, as I
shall visit the holy shrines of Mont Beliard and do likewise,"
she said, steadying her voice with an effort. "Let us forget
that we have ever met&mdash;that we have ever loved,&mdash;or
remember that we loved&mdash;a dream."&mdash;</p>

<p>"Can love forget so readily?" he said, bitter anguish and
reproach in his tones.</p>

<p>She shook her head.</p>

<p>"It is my fate,&mdash;for better&mdash;or worse&mdash;no matter what
befall. As for you&mdash;life lies before you. Love another,
happier woman, one that is free to give&mdash;and to receive.
As for me&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused and covered her face with her hands.</p>

<p>"What will you do?" he cried in his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'over-mastering'">overmastering</ins>
anguish.</p>

<p>A faint, far-off voice made reply.</p>

<p>"I shall do that which I must!"</p>

<p>He staggered away from her. She should not see the
scalding tears that coursed down his cheeks. But, as he
turned, he again saw the dark and glowering face, the brow
gloomy as a thunder-cloud, of the Count de Laval. But
again it was not he. It was the black-garbed, lithe stranger,
the companion of the hunchback, who was regarding Hellayne
with evil, leering eyes.</p>

<p>He wanted to cry out, warn her, entreat her to fly.&mdash;</p>

<p>But it was too late.</p>

<p>Like a bird that watches spellbound the approach of the
snake, Hellayne stood pale and trembling&mdash;her cheeks
white as death&mdash;her eyes riveted on the evil shape that
seemed the fiend. But he, Tristan, also was encompassed by
the same spell. He could not move&mdash;he could not cry out.
With a bound, swift and noiseless as the panther's, he saw
the sinewy stranger hurl himself upon Hellayne, picking her
up like a feather and disappear in the gloom of the forest.</p>

<p>With a cry of horror, bathed from head to foot in perspiration,
Tristan started from his slumber.</p>

<p>The moonbeams flooded the chamber. The soft breeze
of the summer night stole through the open casement.</p>

<p>With a moan as of mortal pain he sat up and looked
about.</p>

<p>Was he indeed in Rome?</p>

<p>Had it been but a dream, this echo of the past, this visualized
parting from the woman he had loved better than
life?</p>

<p>Was he indeed in Rome, to do as she had bid him do,
not in the misty, flower-scented rose-gardens of Avalon in
far Provence?&mdash;</p>

<p>And she&mdash;Hellayne&mdash;where was she at this hour?</p>

<p>Tristan stroked his clammy brow with a hot, dry hand.
For a moment the memories evoked by the magic wand
of the God of Sleep seemed to banish all consciousness
of the present. He cast a fleeting, bewildered glance at
the dim, distant housetops, then fell back among his cushions,
his lips muttering the name of her who had filled his
dream with her never-to-be-forgotten presence, wondering
and questioning if they would ever meet again. Thus he
tossed and tossed.</p>

<p>After a time he became still.</p>

<p>Once again consciousness was blotted out and the dream
realm reigned supreme.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IVa" id="CHAPTER_IVa">CHAPTER IV</a><br />

THE WAY OF THE CROSS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was late on the following
morning when Tristan waked.
The sun was high in the heavens
and the perfumes from a thousand
gardens were wafted to his
nostrils. He looked about
bewildered. The dream phantoms
of the night still held his senses
captive, and it was some time
ere he came to a realization of
the present. In the dream of the night he had lived over a
scene in the past, conjuring back the memory of one who
had sent him on the Way of the Cross. The pitiless rays
of the Roman sun, which began to envelop the white houses
and walls, brought with them the realization of the present
hour. He had come to Rome to do penance, to start life
anew and to forget. So she had bade him do on that never-to-be
forgotten eve of their parting. So she had willed it,
and he had obeyed.</p>

<p>How it all flooded back to him again in waves of anguish,
the memory of those days when the turrets of Avalon had
faded from his aching sight, when, together with a motley
pilgrims' throng, he had tramped the dusty sun-baked road,
dead to all about him save the love that was cushioned in
his heart. How that parting from Hellayne still dominated
all other events, even though life and the world had fallen
away from him and he had only prayer for oblivion, for
obliteration.</p>

<p>Yet even Hellayne's inexorable decree would not have
availed to speed him on a pilgrimage so fraught with hopelessness,
that during all that long journey Tristan hardly
exchanged word or greeting with his fellow pilgrims. It
was her resolve, unfalteringly avowed, to leave the world
and enter a convent, if he refused to obey, which had eventually
compelled. Her own self-imposed penance should
henceforth be to live, lonely and heartbroken, by the side
of an unbeloved consort, while Tristan atoned far away, in
the city of the popes, at the shrines of the saints.</p>

<p>At night, when Tristan retired, at dawn, when he arose,
Hellayne's memory was with him, and every league that
increased the distance between them seemed to heighten
his love and his anguish. But human endurance has its
limits, and at last he was seized by a great torpor, a chill
indifference that swept away and deadened every other
feeling. There was no longer a To-day, no longer a Yesterday,
no longer a To-morrow.</p>

<p>Such was Tristan's state of mind, when from the Tiburtine
road he first sighted the walls and towers of Rome, without
definite purpose or aim, drawn along, as it were, towards
an uncertain goal by Fate's invisible hand. Utterly indifferent
as to what might befall among the Seven Hills, he
was at times dimly conscious of a presentiment that ultimately
he would end up his own days in one of those silent
places where all earthly hopes and desires are forever stilled.
So much was clear to him. Like the rest of the pilgrims
who had wended their way to St. Peter's seat, he would
complete the circuit of the holy shrines, kiss the feet of the
Father of Christendom, do such penance as the Pontiff
should impose, and then attach himself to one party or another
in the pontifical city which held out hope for action,
since the return to his own native land was barred to him
for evermore.</p>

<p>How he would bear up under the ordeal he did not know.
How he would support life away from Hellayne, without a
word, a message, without the assurance that all was well
with her, whether now, his own fate accomplished, others
thronged about her in love and adulation,&mdash;he knew not.</p>

<p>For the nonce he was resolved to let new scenes, new
impressions sweep away the great void of an aching heart,
lighten the despair that filled his soul.</p>

<p>In approaching the Eternal City he had felt scarcely any
of the elevation of spirit which has affected so many devout
pilgrims. He knew it was the seat of God's earthly Vice-regent,
the capital of the universal kingdom of the Church.
He reminded himself of this and of the priceless relics it
contained, the tombs of the Apostles St. Peter and St. Paul,
the tombs of so many other martyrs, pontiffs and saints.</p>

<p>But in spite of all these memories he drew near the place
with a sinking dread, as if, by some instinct of premonition,
he felt himself dragged to the Cross on which at last he was
to be crucified.</p>

<p>Many a pilgrim may have seen Rome for the first time
with an involuntary recollection of her past, with the hope
that for him, too, the future might hold the highest greatness.</p>

<p>Certainly no ambitious fancy cast a halo of romantic hope
over the great city as Tristan first saw her ancient walls.
He felt safe enough from any danger of greatness. He
had nothing to recommend him. On the contrary, something
in his character would only serve to isolate him, creating
neither admiration nor sympathy.</p>

<p>All the weary road to Rome, the Rome he dreaded, had
he prayed for courage to cast himself at the feet of the Vicar
of Christ. He did not think then of the Pope, as of one of
the great of the earth, but simply as of one who stood in
the world in God's place. So he would have courage to
seek him, confess to him and ask him what it was it behooved
him to do.</p>

<p>Thus he had walked on&mdash;with stammering steps, bruising
his feet against stones, tearing himself through briars&mdash;heeding
nothing by the way.</p>

<p>And now, the journey accomplished, he was here in supreme
loneliness, without guidance, human or divine, thrown upon
himself, not knowing how to still the pain, how to fill the
void of an aching heart.</p>

<p>Would the light of Truth come to him out of the encompassing
realms of Doubt?</p>

<p>When Tristan descended into the great guest-chamber
he found it almost deserted. The pilgrims had set out
early in the day to begin their devotions before the shrines.
The host of the Golden Shield placed before his sombre
and silent guest such viands as the latter found most palatable,
consisting of goat's milk, stewed lamb, barley bread
and figs, and Tristan did ample justice to the savory repast.</p>

<p>The heat of the day being intense, he resolved to wait
until the sun should be fairly on his downward course before
he started out upon his own business, a resolution which
was strengthened by a suggestion from the host, that few
ventured abroad in Rome during the Siesta hours, the Roman
fever respecting neither rank nor garb.</p>

<p>Thus Tristan composed himself to patience, watching
the host upon his duties, and permitting his gaze to roam
now and then through the narrow windows upon the object
he had first encountered upon his arrival: the brown citadel,
drowsing unresponsive in the noon-tide glow, a monument
of mystery and dark deeds, the Mausoleum of the Flavian
Emperor&mdash;or, as it was styled at the period of our story,
the Castle of the Archangel.</p>

<p>From this stronghold, less than a decade ago, a woman
had lorded it over the city of Rome, as renowned for her
evil beauty as for the profligacy and licentiousness of her
court. In time her regime had been swept away, yet there
were rumors, dark and sinister, of one who had succeeded
to her evil estate. None dared openly avow it, but Tristan
had surprised guarded whispers during his long journey.
Some accounted her a sorceress, some a thing wholly evil,
some the precursor of the Anti-Christ. And he had never
ceased to wonder at the tales which enlivened the camp-fires,
the reports of her beauty, her daring, her unscrupulous
ambition.</p>

<p>On the whole, Tristan's prospects in Rome seemed barren
enough. Service might perchance be obtained with the
Senator, who would doubtlessly welcome a stout arm and a
true heart. This alternative failing, Tristan was utterly at
sea as to what he would do, the prescribed rounds of obediences
before the shrines and the penances accomplished.
He felt as one who has lost his purpose in life, even before
he had been conscious of his goal.</p>

<p>The strange incidents of his first night in Rome had gradually
faded from Tristan's mind with the re-awakening
memory of Hellayne, never once forgotten, but for the moment
drowned in the deluge of strange events that had almost
swept him off his feet.</p>

<p>As the sun was veering towards the west and the lengthening
shadows, presaging dusk, began to roll down from the
hills it suffered Tristan no longer in the Inn of the Golden
Shield. He strode out and made for the heart of Rome.</p>

<p>The desolate aspect of high-noon had changed materially.
Tristan began to note the evidences of life in the Pontifical
City. Merchants, beggars, monks, men-at-arms, condottieri,
sbirri,&mdash;the followers of the great feudal houses, hurried to
and fro, bent upon their respective pursuits, and above them,
silent and fateful in the evening glow, towered the Archangel's
Castle, the tomb of a former Master of the World.
It reared its massive honey-colored bulk on the edge of the
yellow Tiber and beyond rose the dark green cypresses of
the Pincian Hill. Innumerable spires, domes, pinnacles
and towers rose, red-litten by the sunset, into the stilly
evening air. Bells were softly tolling and a distant hum like
the bourdon note of a great organ, rose up from the other side
of the Tiber, where the multitudes of the Eternal City trod
the dust of the Cæsars into the churches of the Cross.</p>

<p>Interminable processions traversed the city amidst anthems
and chants, for, on this day, masses were being sung and
services offered up in the Lateran Basilica, the Mother Church
of Rome, in honor of Him who cried in the wilderness.</p>

<p>In silent awe and wonder Tristan pursued his way towards
the heart of the city. And, as he did so, the spectacle which
had unfolded itself to his gaze became more varied and manifold
on every turn.</p>

<p>The lone pilgrim could not but admit that the shadows of
worldly empire, which had deserted her, still clung to Rome
in her ruins, even though to him the desolation which dominated
all sides had but a vague and dreamlike meaning.</p>

<p>Even at this period of deepest darkness and humiliation
the world still converged upon Rome, and in the very centre
of the web sat the successor of St. Peter, the appointed guardian
of Heaven and Earth.</p>

<p>The chief pagan monuments still existed: the Pantheon
of Agrippa and the Septizonium of Alexander Severus; the
mighty remains of the ancient fanes about the Forum and the
stupendous ruins of the Colosseum. But among them rose
the fortress towers of the Roman nobles. Right there, before
him, dominating the narrow thoroughfare, rose the great
fortress pile of the Frangipani, behind the Arch of the Seven
Candles. Farther on the Tomb of Cæcilia Metella presented
an aspect at once sinister and menacing, transformed as it
now was into the stronghold of the Cenci, while the Cætani
castle on the opposite side attracted a sort of wondering
attention from him.</p>

<p>This then was the Rome of which he had heard such marvelous
tales! The city of palaces, basilicas and shrines had
sunk to this! Her magnificent thoroughfares had become
squalid streets, her monuments were crumbled and forgotten,
or worse, they were abused by every lawless wretch who
cared to seize upon them and build thereon his fortress or
palace. A dismal fate indeed to have fallen to the former
mistress of the world! Far better, he thought, to be deserted
and forgotten utterly, like many a former seat of empire, far
better to be overgrown with grass and dock and nettle, to be
left to dream and oblivion than to survive in low estate as had
this city on the banks of the Tiber.</p>

<p>With these reflections, engendered no less by the air of
desolation than by the occasional appearance of armed
bands of feudal soldiery who hurled defiance at each other,
Tristan found himself drawn deeper and deeper into the
heart of Rome, a hotbed of open and silent rebellion against
the rule of any one who dared to lord it over the degenerate
descendants of the former masters of the world. Here representatives
of the nations of all the earth jostled one another
and the poor dregs of Romulus; or peoples of wilder aspect
from Persia or Egypt, within whose mind floated mysterious
Oriental wisdom, bequeathed from the dawn of Time. And
as the scope of Tristan's observation widened, the demon of
disillusion unfolded gloomy wings over the far horizon of his
soul. And the Tiber rolled calmly on below, catching in its
turbid waves the golden sunset glow.</p>

<p>Now and then he encountered the armed retinue of some
feudal baron clattering along the narrow ill-paved streets,
chasing pedestrians into adjacent doorways and porticoes and
pursuing their precipitate retreat with outbursts of banter
and mirth.</p>

<p>Unfamiliar as Tristan was with the factions that usurped
the dominion of the Seven Hills, the escutcheons and coats-of-arms
of these marauding parties meant little to him. Now
and then however it would chance that two rival factions
clashed, each disputing the other's passage. Then, only, did
he become alive to the dangers that beset the unwary in the
city of the Pontiff, and a sudden spirit of recklessness and
daring, born of the moment, prompted the desire to plunge
into this seething vortex, if but to purchase temporary oblivion
and relief.</p>

<p>He faced the many dangers of the streets, loitering here
and there and curiously eyeing all things, and would eventually
have lost himself, when the mantle of night began to
fall on the Seven Hills, had he not instinctively remarked
that the ascending road removed him from the river.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Va" id="CHAPTER_Va">CHAPTER V</a><br />

ON THE AVENTINE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_w.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">When Tristan at last regained
his bearings, he found himself
among the convents and cloisters
on Mount Aventine. His
eyes rested wearily on the eddying
gleam of the Tiber as it
wound its coils round the base
of the Mount of Cloisters, thence
they roamed among the grass
and weed-grown ruins of ancient
temples and crumbling porticoes, which rose on all sides in
the silent desolation.</p>

<p>Just then a last gleam of the disappearing sun touched the
bronze figure of the Archangel on the summit of Castel San
Angelo, imbuing it for an instant with a weird effect, as though
the ghost of some departed watchman were waving a lighted
torch aloft in the heavens. Then the glow faded before a
dead grey twilight, which settled solemnly over the melancholy
landscape.</p>

<p>The full moon was rising slowly. Round and large she
hung, like a yellow shield, on the dark, dense wall of the
heavens. In the distance the faint outlines of the Alban
Hills and the snow-capped summit of Monte Soracté were
faintly discernible in the night mists. In the background
the ill-famed ruins of the ancient temple of Isis rose into
the purple dusk. The Tiber, in the light of the higher rising
moon, gleamed like a golden ribbon. The gaunt masonry
of the Septizonium of Alexander Severus was dimly rimmed
with light, and streaks of amber radiance were wandering
up and down the shadowy slopes of the Mount of Cloisters,
like sorrowing ghosts bound upon some sorrowful errand.</p>

<p>All sense of weariness had suddenly left Tristan. A
compelling influence, stronger than himself, seemed to urge
him on as to the fulfillment of some hidden purpose.</p>

<p>Once or twice he paused. As he did so, he became aware
of the extraordinary, almost terrible stillness, that encompassed
him. He felt it enclosing him like a thick wall on
all sides. Earth and the air seemed breathless, as if in
the throes of some mysterious excitement. The stars,
flashing out with the brilliant lustre of the south, were as
so many living eyes eagerly gazing down on the solitary
human being whose steps led him into these deserted places.
The moon herself seemed to stare at him in open wonderment.</p>

<p>At last he found himself before the open portals of the
great Church of Santa Maria of the Aventine. From the
gloom within floated the scent of incense and the sound
of chanting. He could see tapers gleaming on the high altar
in the choir. Women were passing in and out, and a blind
beggar sat at the gate.</p>

<p>Moved more by curiosity than the desire for worship,
Tristan entered and uncovered his head. The Byzantine
cupola was painted in vermilion and gold. The slender
pillars of white marble were banded with silver and inlaid
with many colored stones. The basins for holy water were
of black marble, their dark pools gleaming with the colors
of the vault. Side chapels opened on either hand, dim
sanctuaries steeped in mystery of incense-saturated dusk.</p>

<p>The saints and martyrs in their stiff, golden Byzantine
dalmaticas seemed to endow each relic with an air of mystery.
The beauty and the mystery of the place touched
Tristan's soul. As in a haze he seemed again to see the
pomp and splendor of the sanctuaries of far-away, dream-lost
Avalon.</p>

<p>Tristan took his stand by one of the great pillars, and,
setting his back to it, looked round the place. There were
some women in the sanctuary, engaged in prayer. Tristan
watched them with vacant eyes.</p>

<p>Suddenly he became conscious that one of these worshippers
was not wholly absorbed in prayer under her
hood. Two watchful eyes seemed to consider him with
a suggestiveness that no man could mistake, and her thoughts
seemed to be very far from heaven.</p>

<p>Once or twice Tristan started to leave the sanctuary, but
some invisible hand seemed to detain him as with a magic
hold.</p>

<p>In due season the woman finished her devotions and
stood with her hood turned back, looking at Tristan across
the church. Her women had gathered about her and outside
the gates Tristan saw the spear points of her guard.
Turning, with a glance cast at him over her shoulder, she
swept in state out of the church, her women following her,
all save one tall girl, who loitered at the door.</p>

<p>Suddenly it flashed upon Tristan, as he stood there with
his back leaning against the pillar. Was not this the woman
he had met by the fountain, the woman who had spoken
strange words to him in the Navona?</p>

<p>Had she recognized him? Her eyes had challenged him
unmistakably when first they had met his own, and now
again, as she left the church. They puzzled Tristan, these
same eyes. Far in their depths lurked secrets he dreaded
to fathom. Her scented garments perfumed the very aisles.</p>

<p>Tristan was roused from his reverie by a woman's hand
plucking at his sleeve. By his side stood a tall girl. She
was very beautiful, but her eyes were evil. She looked boldly
at Tristan and gave her message.</p>

<p>"Follow my mistress," were her words.</p>

<p>Tristan looked at her, his face almost invisible in the gloom.
Only the moonlight touched his hair.</p>

<p>"Whom do you serve?" he replied.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora!" came the answer.</p>

<p>Tristan's heart froze within him. Theodora&mdash;the woman
who had succeeded to Marozia's dread estate!</p>

<p>In order to conceal his emotions he brought his face closer
to the fair messenger, forcing his voice to appear calm as he
spoke.</p>

<p>"What would your mistress with me?"</p>

<p>The girl glanced up at him, as if she regarded the question
strangely superfluous.</p>

<p>"You are to come with me!" she persisted, touching his
arm.</p>

<p>Tristan's mouth hardened as he considered the message,
without relinquishing his station by the pillar.</p>

<p>What was he to Theodora&mdash;Theodora to him? She was
a woman, evil, despite her ravishing beauty, so he had gathered
during the days of his journey. The spell she had cast
over him on the previous evening had vanished before the
memory of Hellayne. Her sudden appearance, her witch-like
beauty had, for the time, unmanned him. The hardships
and privations of a long journey had, for the moment, caused
his senses to run rampant, and almost hurled him into the
arms of perdition. Yet he had not then known. And now
he remembered how they all had fallen away from him, as
from one bearing on his person the germs of some dread
disease. The terrible silence in the Navona seemed visualized
once again in the silence which encompassed him here.
Yet she was all powerful, so he had heard. She ruled the
men and the factions. In some vague way, he thought, she
might be of service to him.</p>

<p>Tossed between two conflicting impulses, Tristan slowly
followed the girl from the church and, crossing the great,
moonlit court that lay without, entered the gardens which
seemed to divide the sanctuary from some hidden palace.
Mulberry trees towered above the lawns, studded with thick,
ripening fruit. Weeping ashes glittered in the moonlight.
Cedars and oaks cast their shade over broad beds of mint
and thyme.</p>

<p>The girl watched Tristan closely, as she walked beside him,
making no effort to conceal her own charms before eyes which
she deemed endowed with the power of judgment in matters
of this kind. Her mistress had not put her trust in her in
vain. She studied Tristan's race in order to determine,
whether or not he would waver in his resolve and&mdash;she began
to speak to him as they crossed the gardens with a simplicity,
an interest that was well assumed.</p>

<p>"A good beginning indeed!" she said. "You are in favor,
my lord! To have seen her fair face is no small boast, but
to be summoned to her presence&mdash;I cannot remember her
so gracious to any one, since&mdash;" she paused suddenly,
deliberately.</p>

<p>Tristan regarded her slantwise over his shoulder, without
making response. At last, irritated, he knew not why, he
asked curtly: "What is your mistress?"</p>

<p>The girl's glance wandered over the great trees and flowers
that overshadowed the plaisaunce.</p>

<p>"She bears her mother's name," she replied with a shrug,
"and, like her mother, the blood that flows in her veins is
mingled with the fire that glitters in the stars in heaven, a
fire affording neither light nor heat, but serving to dazzle, to
bewilder.&mdash;I am but a woman, but&mdash;had I your chance of
fortune, my lord, I should think twice, ere I bartered it for a
vow, an empty dream."</p>

<p>He gave her a swift glance, wondering at her woman's wit,
yet resenting her speech.</p>

<p>"You would prosper?" she queried tentatively at last,
casting about in her mind, how she might win his confidence.</p>

<p>"I have business of my own," he replied, evading her
question.</p>

<p>She looked up at him, her eyes trembling into his.</p>

<p>"How tall and strong you are! I could almost find it in
my heart to love you myself!"</p>

<p>The flattery seemed so spontaneous that it would have
puzzled one possessed of greater guile than Tristan to have
uncovered her cunning. Nor was Tristan unwilling to seem
strong to her; for the moment he was almost tempted to
continue questioning her regarding her mistress.</p>

<p>"You may make your fortune in Rome," the girl said with
a meaning smile.</p>

<p>"How so?"</p>

<p>"Are you blind? Do you not know a woman's ways?
My mistress loves a strong arm. You may serve her."</p>

<p>"That is not possible!"</p>

<p>The girl stared at him and for the moment dropped the
mask of innocence.</p>

<p>"What was possible once, is possible again," she said.</p>

<p>Then she added:</p>

<p>"Are you not ambitious?"</p>

<p>"I have a task to perform that may not permit of two
masters! Why are you so concerned?"</p>

<p>The question came almost abruptly.</p>

<p>"I serve my lady!" she said, edging towards him. "Is it
so strange a thing to serve a woman?"</p>

<p>They had left the garden and had arrived before a high
stone wall that skirted the precincts of Theodora's palace.
Cypresses and bays raised their tops above the stones. Great
cedars cast deep shadows. In the wall there was a door
studded with heavy iron nails. The girl took a key that
dangled from her girdle, unlocked the door and beckoned to
Tristan to enter.</p>

<p>Tristan stood and gazed. In the light of the moon which
drenched all things he saw a garden in which emerald grass
plots alternated with beds of strange-tinted orchids, flowers
purple and red. At the end of the plaisaunce there opened
an orange thicket and under the trees stood a woman clad in
crimson, her white arms bare. She wore sandals of silver,
and her dusky hair was confined in a net of gold.</p>

<p>As Tristan was about to yield to the overmastering temptation
the memory of Hellayne conquered all other emotions.
He turned back from the door and looked full into the girl's
dark eyes.</p>

<p>"You will speak to your mistress for me," he said to her,
casting a swift glance into the moonlit garden.</p>

<p>The girl looked at him with a puzzled air, but did not stir.</p>

<p>"What am I to say to her?" she said.</p>

<p>"That I will not enter these gates!"</p>

<p>"You will not?"</p>

<p>"No!" He snapped curtly.</p>

<p>"Fool! How you will regret your speech!"</p>

<p>Her face changed suddenly like a fickle sky, and there was
something in her eyes too wicked for words.</p>

<p>Without vouchsafing a reply, Tristan turned and lost himself
in the desolation of Mount Aventine.</p>

<p>The night marched on majestically.</p>

<p>The moon and her sister planets passed through their
appointed spheres of harmonious light and law, and from all
cloisters and convents prayers went up to heaven for pity,
pardon and blessing on sinful humanity that had neither pity,
pardon nor blessing for itself, till, with magic suddenness,
the dense purple skies changed to a pearly grey, the moon
sank pallidly beneath the earth's dark rim and the stars were
extinguished one by one.</p>

<p>Morning began to herald its approach in the freshening
air.</p>

<p>Tristan still slept on his improvised couch, a marble slab
he had chosen when he discovered that he had lost his way
in the wilderness of the Aventine. His head on his arm he
lay quite still among the flowers, wrapt in a sort of dizzy
delirium in which the forms of Theodora and Hellayne
strangely intermingled, until the riddles of life were blotted
out together with the riddles of Fate.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIa" id="CHAPTER_VIa">CHAPTER VI</a><br />

THE COUP</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Tristan spent the greater part
of the day visiting the churches
and sanctuaries, offering up
prayers for oblivion and peace.
His heart was heavy within him.
Like the stray leaf that has been
torn from its native branch and
flutters resistlessly, aimlessly
hither and thither, at the mercy
of the chance breeze, nevermore
to return to its sheltering bough, so the lone wanderer felt
himself tossed about by the waves of destiny, a human derelict
without a haven where he might escape the storms of life.
Guiltless in his own conscience of an imputed sin, in that
his love for Hellayne had been pure and holy, Tristan could
find little comfort in the enforced penance, while his hungry
heart cried out for her who had so willed it. And, as with
weary feet he dragged himself through the streets of the
pontifical city, he vaguely wondered, if his would ever be the
peace of the goal. In the darkness in which he walked, in
the perturbation of his mind, he longed more than ever to
open his heart to some one who would understand and counsel
and guide his steps.</p>

<p>The Pontiff being a prisoner in the Lateran, Tristan's ardent
wish to confide in the successor of St. Peter had suffered a
sudden and a keen disappointment. There were but Odo of
Cluny, Benedict of Soracté or the Grand Penitentiary, holding
forth in the subterranean chapel at St. Peter's, to whom he
might turn for ease of mind, and a natural reluctance to lay
bare the holiest thoughts man may give to woman, restrained
him for the nonce from seeking these channels.</p>

<p>Thus three days had sped, yet naught had happened to
indicate that events would shape the course so ardently
desired by Tristan.</p>

<p>It was there, on one of the terraces crowning the splendid
heights of immortal Rome, with a view of the distant Sabine
and Alban hills, fading into the evening dusk, that the memory
of the golden days of Avalon returned to him in waves of
anguish that almost mastered his resolve to begin life anew
under conditions that seemed insupportable.</p>

<p>Again Hellayne was by his side, as in dream-forgotten
Avalon. Again side by side they wandered where the shattered
columns of old grey temples, all that remained of a
sunny Greek civilization of which they knew nothing, crowned
the heights above the lazy lapping waves of the tideless
Tyrrhenian sea. There, for whole hours would they sit, the
air full of the scent of orange and myrtle; under almond trees,
covered with blossoms that sprinkled the emerald ground
like rosy snowflakes, and watch the white sails of the far
feluccas that trailed the waves in monotonous rhythm to or
from the sunlit shores of Africa. The distant headlands
looked faint and dreamy, and the sparkling sea broke, gurgling,
foaming among the rocks at their feet, as it had broken
at the feet of other lovers who had sat there centuries ago,
when those shattered columns had been white in their freshness
and the temples had been wreathed with the garlands
of youth. And the eternal waves said to them what they had
said to the dead and forgotten; and the fickle winds sang to
them what they had sung to the fair and the nameless, and
they stretched forth their hands, and saw but the sea and the
sun.</p>

<p>And they knew not the deity to whom those temple columns
had been raised, just as he knew not to whose worship those
fallen columns had been erected, nor guessed they who had
knelt at the holy shrines. And as they sat there, the man and
the woman, their eyes probing the depths of living sapphire,
they would watch the restless sea-weed that seemed to coil
and uncoil like innumerable blue snakes upon a bed of bright
blue flames, and the luminous mosses that trembled like blue
stars ceaselessly towards the surface that they never, never
reached. And down there in the crystal palaces they would
fancy that they saw faces as of glancing mermen, even as the
lovers of older days had seen passing Tritons and the scaly
children of Poseidon.</p>

<p>And again she would croon those sad melancholy songs
that came from her lips like faint echoes of Aeolian harps.
Now she flung them upon the air in bursts of weird music,
to the accompaniment of a breaking wave, songs so passionate
and elemental that they seemed the cry of these same radiant
waters when churned by the storm into fury. Or they might
have been such wailings as spirits imprisoned in old sea caves
would utter to the hollow walls, or which the ghosts of ship-wrecked
crews might send forth from the rocks where they
had perished. Or again they might suggest some earthly
passion, love, jealousy, the cry of a longing heart, till the
dirge seemed to wear itself out and the soul of the listener
seemed to sail out of the tempest into bright and peaceful
waters like those that skirted dream-lost Avalon, scarcely
rippled by the faint breeze of summer, breaking in long unfurling
waves among the rocks at their feet. Thus they used to
sit long hours, heart listening to heart, soul clinging to soul,
while she bared her throat to the scent-laden breezes that
fanned her and looked out on the dazzling horizon&mdash;till a
lightning flash from the clear azure splintered the dream and
broke two lives.</p>

<p>For a long time Tristan gazed about, vainly trying to order
his thoughts. Could he but forget! Would but the present
engulf the past!&mdash;</p>

<p>His adventure at the Church of Santa Maria of the Aventine
and his chance meeting with Theodora recurred to him at
intervals throughout the day, and he could not but admit
that the reports of the woman's beauty were far from exaggerated.
Perchance, if the memory of Hellayne had been
less firmly rooted in his soul, he, too, might, like many another,
have sought solace at the forbidden fount. However, he was
resolved to avoid her, for he had seen something in the swift
glance she had bestowed upon him that discoursed of matters
it behooved him to beware of. And yet he wondered how
she had received his denial, she, whom no man had denied
before. Then this memory also faded before the exigencies
of the hour.</p>

<p>The sun had sunk to rest in a sky of turquoise, crimson and
gold, when Tristan found himself standing on the eminence
where seven decades later Crescentius, the Senator of Rome,
was to build the Church of Santa Maria in Ara Coeli.</p>

<p>Leaning on a broken pillar, Tristan watched the evening
light as it spread a veil of ethereal splendor over the Seven
Hills and there came to him a strange feeling of remoteness
as to one standing upon some hill-set shrine.</p>

<p>Far beneath him lay the Forum. White columns shone
roseate in the dying light of day.</p>

<p>Wrapt in deep thoughts and meditations, Tristan descended
the stairs leading from the summit whence in after time the
name of Santa Maria in Ara Coeli&mdash;Holy Mother at the
Altar of Heaven&mdash;was to ring in the ears of thousands like
a beautiful rhythmic chant, and after a time he found himself
in the Piazza fronting the Lateran.</p>

<p>Seized with a sudden impulse he entered the church.</p>

<p>Slowly the worshippers began to assemble. Their numbers
increased to almost a hundred, though they seemed but as
so many shadows in the vast nave. There was something
in their faces, touched by the uncertain glimmer of the tapers
and lamps, that filled him with awe, as if he were standing
among the ghosts of the past.</p>

<p>At last the holy office commenced.</p>

<p>A very old priest, whose features Tristan could not distinguish,
began to chant the Introitus, in deep long drawn
notes. Through the narrow windows filtered the light of the
rising moon. It did little more than stain the dusk. Over
the sombre high altar hung the white ivory figure of the
Christ, bowed, sagged, in the last agony. A few blood-red
poppies were the only flowers upon the altar. The fumes of
incense rose in spiral columns to the vaulted ceiling.</p>

<p>The Kyrie had been chanted, the Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
Later the Host was consecrated and the cup before the kneeling
worshippers, and the priest was turning to those near him
who, as was still the custom in those days, were present to
communicate in both kinds.</p>

<p>To each came from his lips the solemn words:</p>

<p>"Corpus Domini Nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam
tuam ad Vitam aeternam!"</p>

<p>He dipped his fingers in the cup, cleansing them with a
little wine. He consumed the cleansings and turned to read
the antiphony with resonant voice.</p>

<p>"I saw the heavens opened and Jesus at the right hand of
God. Lord Jesus receive their spirit and lay not this sin to
their charge!"</p>

<p>Then, with hands folded over his breast, he moved towards
the altar in the centre, touched it with his lips, and, turning
once more to the people, said:</p>

<p>"Dominus Vobiscum!"</p>

<p>"Et cum spiritu tuo," was not answered.</p>

<p>For at that moment rough shouts were heard and through
a side door, near a chapel, a body of ruffians rushed into the
Basilica, their faces vizored and masked.</p>

<p>With shouts and oaths they made their way towards the
altar. The worshippers scattered, the mail-clad ruffians
smiting their way through their kneeling ranks up to the
altar where stood the form of a youth clad in pontifical vestments,
pale but calm in the face of the impending storm.</p>

<p>It was Pope John XI., held prisoner in the Lateran by
Alberic, the Senator of Rome. Tristan had not noted his
presence during the ceremony. Now, like a revelation, the
import of the scene flashed upon his mind.</p>

<p>Bearing Tristan down by the sheer weight of their numbers,
they rushed upon the Pontiff, stripped him of his pallium and
chasuble, leaving him but one sacred vestment, the white
albe.</p>

<p>Unable to reach the Pontiff's side, unable to aid him,
Tristan stood rooted to the spot, an impotent witness of the
most heinous sacrilege his mind could picture, almost turned
to stone.</p>

<p>Before Tristan's very eyes, before the eyes of the worshippers,
who outnumbered the ruffians ten to one, an outrage
was being committed at which the fiends themselves would
shudder. Violence was being done to the Father of Christendom
in his own city, and the craven cowards had but their
own safety in mind.</p>

<p>Just what happened Tristan could not immediately remember.
For, as he rushed towards the spot where he saw the
Pontiff struggling helplessly against his assailants, he was
violently thrust back and the ruffians made their way towards
a side chapel with their captive. Thus he found himself
helplessly borne along in the darkness, and thrust out into
the night. Tristan fell beneath their feet and was for a
moment so utterly stunned that he could not rise.</p>

<p>As in a dream he heard the leader of the band give a command
to his followers. They mounted their steeds which
were tethered outside and tramped away into the night.</p>

<p>The sudden appearance of an armed band in the sacred
precincts of the Lateran had so terrified and cowed the crowd
of worshippers that even when the doors of the Basilica were
left unguarded, not one ventured to give assistance. Like
shadows they fled into the night.</p>

<p>When Tristan regained some sort of consciousness he
looked about in vain for aid.</p>

<p>Dimly he remembered that the ruffians were mounted,
and by the time he summoned succor they would have
stowed their captive safely away in one of their castellated
fortresses, where one might search for him in vain forever
more.</p>

<p>The Piazza in front of the Lateran was deserted. Not a
human being was to be seen. Tristan pursued his way
through waste spaces that offered no clue. He rushed
through narrow and deserted streets, abandoned of the living.
He felt like shouting at the top of his voice: "Romans awake!
They have abducted the Pontiff." But, stranger as he was,
and dreading lest he might share John's fate or worse, he
withstood the impulse and at last found himself upon the
Bridge of San Angelo before the fortress tomb of the former
master of the world, dreaming in the surrounding desolation.
Before the massive bronze gate cowered a man-at-arms,
drowsing over his pike.</p>

<p>Without a moment's hesitation, Tristan shook the drowsy
guardian of the Angel's Castle into blaspheming alertness.</p>

<p>"They have abducted the Pontiff!" he shouted, without
releasing his clutch on the gaping Burgundian. "Sound the
alarums! Even now it may be too late!"</p>

<p>The man in the brown leather jerkin and steel casque
stared open-mouthed at the speaker.</p>

<p>"The Lord Alberic is within&mdash;" he stammered at last,
with an effort to shake off the drowsiness that held his senses
captive.</p>

<p>"Then rouse him in the devil's name," shouted Tristan.</p>

<p>The last words had their effect upon the stolid Northman.
After the elapse of some precious moments Alberic himself
emerged from the Emperor's Tomb and Tristan repeated his
account of the outrage, little guessing the rank of him with
whom he was standing face to face.</p>

<p>But now they were confronted with a dilemma which it
seemed would put all Tristan's efforts to naught.</p>

<p>Who were the leaders of the party that had abducted the
Pontiff? For thereon hinged their success of intercepting
the outlaws.</p>

<p>Tristan's description of the leader did not seem to make
any marked impression on the Senator of Rome.</p>

<p>He questioned Tristan with regard to their coat-of-arms or
other heraldic emblems. But the author of the outrage had
shown sufficient foresight to avoid a hazardous display.
There seemed but one alternative; to scour the city of Rome
in the uncertain hope of intercepting the outlaws, if they
were still within the walls.</p>

<p>Tristan attached himself to the senatorial party, joining in
the pursuit. At first their task seemed hopeless indeed.
Those they met and questioned had seen no armed band, or,
if they had, denied all knowledge thereof. The frowning
masonry of the Cenci, Savelli, Frangipani, and Odescalchi,
which they passed in turn, returned but an inscrutable reply
to their questioning glances.</p>

<p>For a time they continued their fruitless quest. But as if
an outrage so horrible had ignited the very air about them,
they soon found people stirring, shutters opening and shadowy
figures issuing from dark doorways, while folk were running
and shouting to one another:</p>

<p>"The Pontiff has been abducted!"</p>

<p>Between cries of rage and shouts of command and indecision
on the part of the leader, who knew not in which direction
to pursue, an hour had elapsed, when they suddenly
heard the clatter of hoofs. A company of horsemen came
galloping down the street. Alberic's suspicions that the
ruffians would prefer carrying their victim by devious byways
to one or the other of their Roman lairs, rather than
attempt to leave the city in the teeth of the Senator's guard,
seemed realized. Oaths and sharp orders broke the silence
of the night.</p>

<p>It was amongst a gigantic pile of ruins, apart from all habitations
of the living, that they came to a halt. To a gaunt
brick-built tower they drew close, knocking against the iron-studded
door, but ere those within could open, they were
surrounded, outnumbered ten to one.</p>

<p>Tristan was the first to bound in amongst them.</p>

<p>His eyes quivered upon the steel-clad form of the leader
of the band.</p>

<p>At the next moment a blow from Tristan's fist struck him
down and, ere he could recover himself, he had been bound,
hand and foot, and turned over to the Senator's guards.</p>

<p>His followers, despairing of success, made a sudden dash
through the ranks of the people who had been attracted by
the melee, riding down a number, injuring and maiming
many.</p>

<p>The Senator of Rome ranged his men, now re-inforced by
the Prefect's guard, round the drooping form of John, while
a howling and shouting mob, ready to wreak vengeance on
the first object it encountered in its path, followed in their
wake as they made their way towards the Lateran.</p>

<p>An hour later, in a high vaulted, dimly lighted chamber of
the Archangel's Castle, Tristan, the pilgrim, and Alberic, the
Senator of Rome, faced each other for the second time.</p>

<p>In the course of the pursuit of the ruffians in which he participated,
Tristan had been casually informed of the rank of
him who led the Senatorial guard in person and when, their
object accomplished, he started to detach himself from the
men-at-arms, Alberic had foiled his intention by commanding
him to accompany him to the fortress-tomb where he himself
held forth.</p>

<p>Seated opposite each other, each seemed to scan the
other's countenance before a word was spoken between
them.</p>

<p>Alberic's regard of the man who seemed utterly unconscious
of the importance of the service he had rendered the
Senator betokened approval, and his eyes dwelt for some
moments on the frank and open countenance of this stranger,
perchance contrasting it inwardly with the complex nature
of those about his person in whom he could trust but so long
as he could tempt them with earthly dross, and who would
turn against him should a higher bidder for their favor appear.</p>

<p>Tristan's first impression of the son of Marozia was that
of one born to command. Dark piercing eyes were set in a
face, stern, haughty, yet strangely beautiful. Alberic's tall,
slender figure, dressed in black velvet, relieved by slashes of
red satin, added to the impressiveness of his personality.
Upon closer scrutiny Tristan could discover a marked resemblance
between the man before him and his half-brother, the
ill-fated Pontiff, whom, for political reasons, or considerations
of his personal safety, he kept prisoner in the pontifical palace.</p>

<p>But there was yet another present, who apparently took
little heed of the stranger, engaged as he seemed in the
perusal of a parchment, spread out upon a table before him,&mdash;Basil,
the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>A whispered conversation had taken place between the
Senator and his confidential adviser, for this was Basil's
true station in the senatorial household. In the evil days of
Marozia's regime he had occupied the same favored position
at the Roman court, and, when Alberic's revolt had swept the
regime of Ugo of Tuscany and Marozia from Roman soil, the
son had attached to himself the man who had shown a marked
sagacity and ability in the days that had come to a close.</p>

<p>Basil's complex countenance proved somewhat more of an
enigma to the silent on-looker than did the Senator's stern,
though frank face.</p>

<p>He was garbed in black, a color to which he seemed partial.
A flat cap of black velvet with a feather curled round the
brim, above a doublet of black velvet, close fitting, the sleeves
slashed, to show the crimson tunic underneath. The trunk
hose round the muscular legs were of black silk and gold
thread, woven together and lined with sarsenet. His feet
were encased in black buskins with silver buckles, and puffed
silk inserted in the slashings of the leather.</p>

<p>The whole suggestion of the dark, sable figure was odd.
It was exotic, and the absence of a beard greatly intensified
the impression. The face, as Tristan saw it by the light of
the taper, was expressionless&mdash;a physical mask.</p>

<p>At last Alberic broke the silence, turning his eyes full upon
the man who met his gaze without flinching.</p>

<p>"You have&mdash;at your own risk&mdash;saved Rome and Holy
Church from a calamity the whole extent of which we may
not even surmise, had the Pontiff been carried away by the
lawless band of Tebaldo Savello. We owe you thanks&mdash;and
we shall not shirk our duty. You are a stranger. Who are
you and why are you here?"</p>

<p>To the same questions that another had put to him on the
memorable eve of his arrival, in the Piazza Navona, Tristan
replied with equal frankness. His words bore the stamp of
truth, and Alberic listened to a tale passing strange to Roman
ears.</p>

<p>And, unseen by Tristan, something began to stir in the
dark, unfathomable eyes of Basil, as some unknown thing
stirs in deep waters, and the hidden thing therein, to him
who saw, was hidden no longer. Some nameless being was
looking out of these windows of the soul. One looking at
him now would have shrank away, cold fear gripping his
heart.</p>

<p>For a moment, after Tristan had finished his tale, there
was silence. Alberic had risen and, seemingly unconscious
of the presences in his chamber, was perambulating its
narrow confines until, of a sudden, he stopped directly before
Tristan.</p>

<p>"These penances completed, whereof you speak&mdash;do you
intend returning to the land of your birth?"</p>

<p>A blank dismay shone in Tristan's eyes. Not having
referred to the nature of the transgression, for which he was
to do penance, and obtain absolution, he found it somewhat
difficult to answer Alberic's question.</p>

<p>"This is a matter I had not considered," he replied with
some hesitancy, which remained not unremarked by the
Senator.</p>

<p>Alberic was a man of few words, and he possessed a discernment
far beyond his years. At the first glance at this
stranger whom fate had led across his path, he had known
that here was one he might trust, could he but induce him
to become his man.</p>

<p>He held out his hand.</p>

<p>"I am going to be your friend and I mean to requite the
service you have done the Senator, ere the dawn of another
day breaks in the sky. There is a vacancy in the Senator's
guard. I appoint you captain of Castel San Angelo."</p>

<p>Ere Tristan could sufficiently recover from his surprise to
make reply, another voice was audible, a voice, soft and
insinuating&mdash;the voice of Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>"My lord&mdash;the chain of evidence against Gamba is not
completed. In fact, later developments seem to point to an
intrigue of which he is but the unwitting victim&mdash;"</p>

<p>Alberic turned to the speaker.</p>

<p>"The proofs, my Lord Basil, are conclusive. Gamba is a
traitor convicted of having conspired with an emissary of
Ugo of Tuscany, to deliver the Archangel's Castle into his
hands. He is sentenced&mdash;he shall die&mdash;as soon as we
discover his abode&mdash;"</p>

<p>Basil's face had turned to ashen hues.</p>

<p>"What mean you, my lord? Gamba is awaiting sentence
in the dungeon where he has been confined, ever since his
trial&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The cage is still there," Alberic interposed sardonically.
"The bird has flown."</p>

<p>"Escaped?" stammered the Grand Chamberlain, rising
from his seat and raising his furtive eyes to those of the
Senator. "Then he has confederates in our very midst&mdash;"</p>

<p>"We shall know more of this anon," came the laconic
reply. "Will you accept the trust which the Senator of
Rome offers you?" Alberic turned from the Grand Chamberlain
to Tristan.</p>

<p>The latter found his voice at last.</p>

<p>"How shall I thank you, my lord!" he said, grasping the
Senator's hand. "Grant me but a week, wherein to absolve
the business upon which I came&mdash;and I shall prove myself
worthy of the lord Alberic's trust!"</p>

<p>"So be it," the son of Marozia replied. "A long deferred
pilgrimage to the shrines of the Archangel at Monte Gargano
will take me from Rome for the space of a month or more.
I should like to be assured that this keep is in the hands of one
who will not fail me in the hour of need! My Lord Basil&mdash;greet
the new captain of Castel San Angelo&mdash;"</p>

<p>Approaching almost soundlessly over the tiled floor, the
Grand Chamberlain extended his hand to Tristan, offering
his congratulations upon his sudden advancement.</p>

<p>Whatever it was that flashed in Basil's eyes, it was gone as
quickly as it had come. His thin lips parted in an inscrutable
smile as Tristan, with a bend of the head, acknowledged the
courtesy.</p>

<p>For a moment, following his acceptance, Tristan was
startled at his own decision. Another would have felt it to
be an amazing streak of luck. Tristan was frightened,
though his misgivings vanished after a time.</p>

<p>Owing to the lateness of the hour and the insecurity of the
streets Alberic offered Tristan the hospitality of his future
abode for the night and the latter gladly accepted.</p>

<p>After Basil had departed, he remained closeted with the
Senator for the space of an hour or more. What transpired
between these two remained guarded from the outer world,
and it was late ere the sentinel on the ramparts saw the light
in the Senator's chamber extinguished, wondering at the
nature of the business which detained the lord Alberic and
the tall stranger in the pilgrim's garb.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIa" id="CHAPTER_VIIa">CHAPTER VII</a><br />

MASKS AND MUMMERS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Amid the ruin of cities and the
din of strife during the tenth
century darkness closed in upon
the Romans, while the figures
of strange despots emerged from
obscurity only to disappear as
quickly into the night of oblivion.
Little of them is known, save
that they ruled the people and
the pope with merciless severity,
and that the first one of them was a woman.</p>

<p>The beautiful Theodora the older was the wife of Theophylactus,
Consul and Patricius of Rome, but the permanence of
her power seemed to have been due entirely to her own
charm and personality.</p>

<p>Her daughter Marozia, with even greater beauty, greater
fascination and greater gift of daring, played even a more
conspicuous part in the history of her time. She married
Alberic, Count of Spoleto, whose descendants, the Counts of
Tusculum, gave popes and mighty citizens to Rome. One of
their palaces is said to have adjoined the Church of S. S.
Apostoli, and came later into the possession of the powerful
house of Colonna.</p>

<p>Alberic of Spoleto soon died and Marozia, as the chronicles
tell us, continued as the temporal ruler of the city and the
arbitress of pontifical elections. She held forth in Castel
San Angelo, the indomitable stronghold of mediaeval Rome.</p>

<p>In John X. who, in the year 914, had gained the tiara
through Theodora, she found a man of character, whose aim
and ambition were the dominion of Rome, the supremacy of
the Church.</p>

<p>By the promise of an imperial crown, the pope gained
Count Ugo of Tuscany to his party, but Marozia outwitted
him, by giving her hand to his more powerful half-brother
Guido, then Margrave of Tuscany.</p>

<p>John X., after trying for two years, in spite of his enemies,
to maintain his regime from the Lateran, at last fell into
their hands and was either strangled or starved to death in
the dungeons of Castel San Angelo.</p>

<p>After the death of Guido, Marozia married his half-brother
Ugo. The strange wedding took place in the Mausoleum of
the Emperor Hadrian, where a bridal hall and nuptial chamber
had been arranged and adorned for them.</p>

<p>From the fortress tomb of the Flavian Emperor, Ugo lorded
it over the city of Rome, earning thereby the hatred of the
people and especially of young Alberic, his ambitious step-son,
the son of Marozia and Count Alberic of Spoleto.</p>

<p>The proud youth, forced one day to serve him as a page,
with intentional awkwardness, splashed some water over him
and in return received a blow. Mad with fury, Alberic rushed
from Castel San Angelo and summoned the people to arms.
The clarions sounded and the fortress tomb was surrounded
by a blood-thirsty mob. In no time the actors changed
places. Ugo escaped by means of a rope from a window in
the castello and returned to Tuscany, leaving behind him his
honor, his wife and his imperial crown, while the youth
Alberic became master of Rome, cast Marozia into a prison
in Castel San Angelo and kept his half-brother, John XI., a
close prisoner in the Lateran.</p>

<p>But the imprisonment of Marozia, and her mysterious
disappearance from the scenes of her former triumphs and
baleful activity did not end the story of the woman regime in
Rome.</p>

<p>There lived in a palace, built upon the ruins of nameless
temples and sanctuaries, and embellished with all the barbarous
splendor of Byzantine and Moorish arts, in the
remote wilderness of Mount Aventine, a woman, who, in
point of physical charms, ambition and daring had not her
equal in Rome since the death of Marozia. Theodora the
younger, as she is distinguished from her mother, the wife
of Theophylactus, by contemporary chroniclers, was the
younger sister of Marozia.</p>

<p>The boundless ambition of the latter had left nothing to
achieve for the woman who had reached her thirtieth year
when Alberic's revolution consigned her sister to a nameless
doom.</p>

<p>Strange rumors concerning her were afloat in Rome.
Strange things were whispered of her palace on Mount
Aventine, where she assembled about her the nobility of the
city and the surrounding castelli, and soon her court vied in
point of sumptuousness and splendor with the most splendid
and profligate of her time.</p>

<p>Her admirers numbered by thousands, and her exotic
beauty caused new lovers to swell the ranks of the old with
every day that passed down the never returning tide of time.</p>

<p>Some came openly and some came under the cover of
night, heavily muffled and cloaked: spendthrifts, gamblers,
gallants, men of fashion, officers of the Senator's Court,
poets, philosophers, and the feudal lords of the Campagna.</p>

<p>Wealthy debauchees from the provinces, princes from the
shores of the Euxine, Lombard and Tuscan chiefs, Northmen
from Scandinavia and Iceland, wearing over their gnarled
limbs the soft silken tunics of Rome, Greeks, sleek, furtive-eyed,
rulers from far-off Cathay, wearing coats of crimson
with strange embroidery from the scented East, men from
the isles of Venetia and the stormy plains of Thessaly, men
with narrow slanting eyes from the limitless steppes of
Sarmatia, blond warriors from the amber coasts of the
Baltic, Persian princes who worshipped the Sun, and Moors
from the Spanish Caliphate of Cordova; chieftains from the
Lybian desert, as restive as their fiery steeds; black despots
from the hidden heart of Africa, with thick lips and teeth like
ivory, effete youths from Sicily and the Ionian isles, possessed
of the insidious beauty of the Lesbian women, adventurers
from Samarkand and Bokhara, trading in strange wares and
steeped in odor of musk and spices; Hyperboreans from the
sea-skirt shores of an ever frozen unimaginable ocean;&mdash;from
every land under the sun they came to Rome, for the
sinister fame of Theodora's beauty, the baleful mystery that
surrounded her, and her dark repute proved powerful incentives
to curiosity, which soon gave way to overmastering
passion, once the senses had been steeped in the intoxicating
atmosphere of the woman's presence.</p>

<p>And, indeed, her physical charms were such as no mortal
had yet resisted whom she had willed to make her own.
Her body, tall as a column, was lustrous, incomparable.
The arms and hands seemed to have been chiselled of ivory
by a master creator who might point with pride to the perfection
of his handiwork&mdash;the perfection of Aphrodité, Lais and
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Phryné'">Phryne</ins> melted into one. The features were of such rare
mould and faultless type that even Marozia had to concede
to her younger sister the palm of beauty. The wonderful,
deep set eyes, with their ever changing lights, now emerald,
now purple, now black; the straight, pencilled brows, the
broad smooth forehead and the tiny ears, hidden in the
wealth of her raven hair, tied into a Grecian knot and surmounted
by a circlet of emeralds, skillfully worked into the
twining bodies of snakes with ruby eyes; the satin sheen of
the milk-white skin whose ivory pallor was tinted with the
faintest rose-light that never changed either in heat or in
cold, in anger or in joy: such was the woman whose long
slumbering, long suppressed ambition, coupled with a daring
that had not its equal, was to be fanned into a raging holocaust
after Marozia's untimely demise.</p>

<p>Concealing her most secret hopes and ambitions so utterly
that even Alberic became her dupe, Theodora threw herself
into the whirl of life with a keen appreciation of all its thrilling
excitement. Vitally alive with the pride of her sex and the
sense of its power, she found in her existence all the zest of
some breathlessly fascinating game. Men to her were mere
pawns. She regarded them almost impersonally, as creatures
to taunt, to tempt, to excite, to play upon. Deliberately
and unstintingly she applied her arts. She delighted to see
them at her feet, but to repel them as the mood changed,
with exasperating disdain. Love to her was a word she knew
but from report,&mdash;or, from what she had read. She knew
not its meaning, nor had she ever fathomed its depths.</p>

<p>To revel through delirious nights with some newly-chosen
favorite of the moment, who would soon thereafter mysteriously
disappear, to be tossed from the embrace of one into
the arms of another; in the restless, fruitless endeavor to
kill the pain of life, the memory of consciousness, to fill the
void of a heart, that, alive to the shallowness of existence,
clutches at the saving hope of power, to rule and to crush
the universe beneath her feet, a dream, vague, vain, unattainable:
this desire filled Theodora's soul.</p>

<p>Her soul was burning itself to cinders in its own fires,&mdash;those
baleful fires that had proven the undoing of her equally
beautiful sister.</p>

<p>Alone she would pace her gilded chambers, feverishly,
unable to think, driven hither and thither by the demons of
unrest, by the disquietude of her heart. Desperately she
threw herself into whatever excitement offered.</p>

<p>But it was always in vain.</p>

<p>She found no respite. Ever and ever a reiterant, restless
craving gnawed, like a worm, at her heart.</p>

<p>As she approached the thirtieth year of her life, Theodora
had grown more dazzling in beauty. Her body had assumed
the wonderful plasticity of marble. Her eyes had become
more unfathomable, more wondrously changeful in hues,
like the iridescent waters of the sea.</p>

<p>Living as she did in an age where a morbid trend pervaded
the world, where the approach of the Millennium, though no
one of the present generation would see the day, was heralded
as the End of Time; living as she did in the darkest
epoch of Roman history, Theodora felt the utter inadequacy
of her life, a hunger which nothing but power could assuage.</p>

<p>Slowly this desire began to grow and expand. She wished
to wield her will, not only on men's emotions, but upon their
lives as well. Perhaps even the death of Marozia, with its
paralyzing influence over her soul, the captivity in the Lateran
of her sister's son, and the hateful rule of Alberic, would not
have brought matters to a focus, had not the appearance upon
the stage of a woman, who, in point of beauty, spirit and
daring bade fair to constitute a terrible rival, roused all the
dormant passions in Theodora's soul and when Roxana
openly boasted that she would wrest the power from the
hands of her rival and rule in the Emperor's Tomb in spite
of the Pontiff, of Alberic and Marozia's blood-kin, the soul
of Theodora leaped to the challenge of the other woman and
she craved for the conflict as she had never longed for anything
in her life, save perchance, a love of which she had but
possessed the base counterfeit.</p>

<p>No one knew whence Roxana had come, nor how long she
had been in Rome, when an incident at San Lorenzo in
Lucina had brought the two women face to face. Both, with
their trains, had simultaneously arrived before the portals
of the sanctuary when Roxana barred Theodora's way.
Some mysterious instinct seemed to have informed each of
the person and ambition of the other. For a moment they
faced each other white to the lips. Then Roxana and her
train had entered the church, and as she passed the other
woman, a deadly challenge had flashed from her blue eyes
into Theodora's dark orbs. The populace applauded Roxana's
daring, and, in order to taunt her rival, she had established
her court on desert Aventine, assembling about her the disgruntled
lovers of Theodora and others, whom her disdain
had driven to seek oblivion and revenge.</p>

<p>The land of Roxana's birth was shrouded in mystery.
Some reported her from the icy regions of the North, others
credited her with being the fugitive odalisque of some Eastern
despot, a native of Kurdistan, the beauty and fire of whose
women she possessed to a high degree.</p>

<p>Such was Roxana, who had challenged Theodora for the
possession of the Emperor's Tomb.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIa" id="CHAPTER_VIIIa">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />

THE SHRINE OF HEKATÉ</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Athwart the gleaming balconies
of the east the morning
sun shone golden and the
shadows of the white marble
cornices and capitals and jutting
friezes were blue with the
reflection of the cloudless sky.
Far below Mount Aventine the
soft mists of dawn still hovered
over the seven-hilled city,
whence the distant cries of the water carriers and fruit venders
came echoing up from the waking streets.</p>

<p>A fugitive sunbeam stole through a carelessly closed lattice
of a chamber in the palace of Theodora, and danced now on
the walls, bright with many a painted scene, now on the
marble inlaid mosaic of the floor. Now and then a bright
blade or the jewelled rim of a wine cup of eastern design
would flash back the wayward ray, until its shaft rested on a
curtained recess wherein lay a faintly outlined form. Tenderly
the sunbeams stole over the white limbs that veiled
their chiselled roundness under the blue shot webs of their
wrappings, which, at the capricious tossing of the sleeper,
bared two arms, white as ivory and wonderful in their statuesque
moulding.</p>

<p>The face of the sleeper showed creamy white under a
cloud of dark, silken hair, held back in a net of gold from the
broad smooth forehead. Dark, exquisitely pencilled eyebrows
arched over the closed, transparent lids, fringed with
lashes that now and then seemed to flicker on the marble
pallor of the cheeks, and the proudly poised head lay back,
half buried in the cushions, supported by the gleaming white
arms that were clasped beneath it.</p>

<p>Then, as if fearful of intruding on the charms that his ray
had revealed, the sunbeam turned and, kissing the bosom
that swelled and sank with the sleeper's gentle breathing,
descended till it rested on an overhanging foot, from which a
carelessly fastened sandal hung by one vermilion strap.</p>

<p>Of a sudden a light footfall was audible without and in an
instant the sleeper had heard and awakened, her dark eyes
heavy with drowsiness, the red lips parted, revealing two
rows of small, pearly teeth, with the first deep breath of
returning consciousness.</p>

<p>At the sound one white hand drew the silken wrappings
over the limbs, that a troubled slumber and the warmth of the
Roman summer night had bared, while the other was endeavoring
to adjust the disordered folds of the saffron gossamer
web that clung like a veil to her matchless form.</p>

<p>"Ah! It is but you! Persephoné," she said with a
little sigh, as a curtain was drawn aside, revealing the form
of a girl about twenty-two years old, whose office as first
attendant to Theodora had been firmly established by her
deep cunning, a thorough understanding of her mistress'
most hidden moods and desires, her utter fearlessness
and a native fierceness, that recoiled from no consideration
of danger.</p>

<p>Persephoné was tall, straight as an arrow, lithe and sinuous
as a snake. Her face was beautiful, but there was
something in the gleam of those slightly slanting eyes that
gave pause to him who chanced to cross her path.</p>

<p>She claimed descent from some mythical eastern potentate
and was a native of Circassia, the land of beautiful
women. No one knew how she had found her way to Rome.
The fame of Marozia's evil beauty and her sinister repute
had in time attracted Persephoné, and she had been immediately
received in Marozia's service, where she remained
till the revolt of Alberic swept her mistress into the dungeons
of Castel San Angelo. Thereupon she had attached herself
to Theodora who loved the wild and beautiful creature and
confided in her utterly.</p>

<p>"Evil and troubled have been my dreams," Theodora
continued, as the morning light fell in through the parted
curtains. "At the sound of your footfall I started up&mdash;fearing&mdash;I
knew not what&mdash;"</p>

<p>"For a long time have I held out against his pleadings
and commands," Persephoné replied in a subdued voice,
"knowing that my lady slept. But he will not be denied,&mdash;and
his insistence had begun to frighten me. So at last
I dared brave my lady's anger and disturb her&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Frighten you, Persephoné?" Theodora's musical
laughter resounded through the chamber. "You&mdash;who
braved death at these white hands of mine without flinching?"</p>

<p>She extended her hands as if to impress Persephoné
with their beauty and strength.</p>

<p>Whatever the circumstance referred to, Persephoné made
no reply. Only her face turned a shade more pale.</p>

<p>The draped figure had meanwhile arisen to her full height,
as she stretched the sleep from her limbs, then, her question
remaining unanswered, she continued:</p>

<p>"But&mdash;of whom do you speak? A new defiance from
Roxana? A new insult from the Senator of Rome? I would
have it understood," this with a slight lift of the voice, "that
even were the end of the world at hand, of which they prate
so much of late, and heaven and earth to crumble into chaos,
I would not be disturbed to listen to shallow plaints and mock
heroics."</p>

<p>"It is neither the one nor the other," replied Persephoné
with an apprehensive glance of her slanting eyes over her
shoulder, "but my Lord Basil, the Grand Chamberlain. He
waits without where the eunuchs guard your slumber, and
his eyes are aflame with something more than impatience&mdash;"</p>

<p>At the mention of the name a subtle change passed over
the listener's face, and a sombre look crept into her eyes
as she muttered:</p>

<p>"What can he be bringing now?"</p>

<p>Then, with a sudden flash, she added, tossing back her
beautiful head:</p>

<p>"Let the Lord Basil wait! And now, Persephoné, remove
from me the traces of sleep and set the couches in better
order."</p>

<p>Silently and quickly the Circassian sprang forward and
rolled back the curtains from the lattices, letting a stronger
but still subdued light enter the chamber, revealing, as it
did, many a chased casket, and mirrors of polished steel
and bronze, and lighting up exquisite rainbow hued fabrics,
thrown carelessly over lion-armed chairs, with here and
there an onyx table wonderfully carved.</p>

<p>The chamber itself looked out upon a terrace and garden,
a garden filled with such a marvellous profusion of foliage
and flowers, that, looking at it from between the glistening
marble columns surrounding the palace, it seemed as though
the very sky above rested edgewise on towering pyramids
of red and white bloom. Awnings of softest pale blue
stretched across the entire width of the spacious outer colonnade,
where a superb peacock strutted majestically to and
fro, with boastfully spreading tail and glittering crest, as
brilliant as the gleam of the hot sun on the silver fringe of
the azure canopies, amidst the gorgeousness of waving
blossoms that seemed to surge up like a sea to the very
windows of the chamber.</p>

<p>Filling an embossed bowl with perfumed water, Persephoné
bathed the hands of her mistress, who had sunk
down upon a low, tapestried couch. Then, combing out her
luxuriant hair, she bound it in a jewelled netting that looked
like a constellation of stars against the dusky masses it
confined. Taking a long, sleeveless robe of amber, Persephoné
flung it about her subtle form and bound it over
breast and shoulders with a jewelled band. But Theodora's
glance informed her that something was still wanting and,
following the direction of her gaze, Persephoné's eye rested
on a life-size statue of Hekaté that stood with deadly calm
on its inexorable face and slightly raised hands, from one
of which hung something that glittered strangely in the
subdued light of the recess.</p>

<p>Obeying Theodora's silent gesture, Persephoné advanced
to the image and took from its raised arm a circlet fashioned
of two golden snakes with brightly enamelled scales, bearing
in their mouths a single diamond, brilliant as summer lightning.
This she gently placed on her mistress' head, so that
the jewel flamed in the centre of the coronet, then, kneeling
down, she drew together the unlatched sandals.</p>

<p>Persephoné's touch roused her mistress from a day dream
that had set her features as rigid as ivory, as she surveyed
herself for a moment intently in a great bronze disk whose
burnished surface gave back her flawless beauty line
for line.</p>

<p>In Persephoné's gaze she read her unstinted admiration,
for, beautiful as the Circassian was, she loved beauty in her
own sex, wherever she found it.</p>

<p>Theodora seemed to have utterly forgotten the presence of
the Grand Chamberlain in the anteroom, yet, in an impersonal
way, her thoughts occupied themselves with the impending
tete-a-tete.</p>

<p>Her life had been one constant round of pleasure and
amusement, yet she was not happy, nor even contented.</p>

<p>Day by day she felt the want of some fresh interest, some
fresh excitement, and it was this craving probably, more
than innate depravity, which plunged her into those disgraceful
and licentious excesses that were nightly enacted in the
sunken gardens behind her palace. Lovers she had had by
the scores. Yet each new face possessed for her but the
attraction of novelty. The favorite of the hour had small
cause to plume himself on his position. No sooner did he
believe himself to be secure in the possession of Theodora's
love, than he found himself hurled into the night of oblivion.</p>

<p>A strange pagan wave held Rome enthralled. Italy was in
the throes of a dark revulsion. A woman, beautiful as she
was evil, had exercised within the past decade her baleful
influence from Castel San Angelo. Theodora had taken up
Marozia's tainted inheritance. Members of a family of
courtesans, they looked upon their trade as a hereditary privilege
and, like the ancient Aspasias, these Roman women of
the tenth century triumphed primarily by means of their
feminine beauty and charms over masculine barbarism and
grossness. It was an age of feudalism, when brutal force
and murderous fury were the only divinities whom the barbarian
conqueror was compelled to respect. Lombards and
Huns, Franks and Ostrogoths, Greeks and Africans, the
savage giants issuing from the deep Teutonic forests, invading
the classic soil of Rome, became so many Herculeses sitting
at the feet of Omphalé, and the atmosphere of the city by
the Tiber&mdash;the atmosphere that had nourished the Messalinas
of Imperial Rome&mdash;poured the flame of ambition into
the soul of a woman whose beauty released the strongest
passions in the hearts of those with whom she surrounded
herself, in order to attain her soul's desire. To rule Rome
from the fortress tomb of the Flavian emperor was the dream
of Theodora's life. It had happened once. It would happen
again, as long as men were ready to sacrifice at the shrines
of Hekaté.</p>

<p>Unbridled in her passions as she was strong in her physical
organization, an unbending pride and an intensity of will
came to her aid when she had determined to win the object
of her desire. In Theodora's bosom beat a heart that could
dare, endure and defy the worst. She was a woman whom
none but a very bold or ignorant suitor would have taken to
his heart. Perchance the right man, had he appeared on
the stage in time, might have made her gentle and quelled
the wild passions that tossed her resistlessly about, like a
barque in a hurricane.</p>

<p>Suddenly something seemed to tell her that she had found
such a one. Tristan's manly beauty had made a strong
appeal upon her senses. The anomaly of his position had
captivated her imagination. There was something strangely
fascinating in the mystery that surrounded him, there was
even a wild thrill of pleasure in the seeming shame of loving
one whose garb stamped him as one claimed by the Church.
He had braved her anger in refusing to accompany Persephoné.
He had closed his eyes to Theodora's beauty, had
sealed his ears to the song of the siren.</p>

<p>"A man at last!" she said half aloud, and Persephoné,
looking up from her occupation, gave her an inquisitive
glance.</p>

<p>The splash of hidden fountains diffused a pleasant coolness
in the chamber. Spiral wreaths of incense curled from a
bronze tripod into the flower-scented ether. The throbbing
of muted strings from harps and lutes, mingling with the
sombre chants of distant processions, vibrated through the
sun-kissed haze, producing a weird and almost startling
effect.</p>

<p>After a pause of some duration, apparently oblivious of
the fact that the announced caller was waiting without,
Theodora turned to Persephoné, brushing with one white
hand a stray raven lock from the alabaster forehead.</p>

<p>"Can it be the heat or the poison miasma that presages
our Roman fever? Never has my spirit been so oppressed
as it is to-day, as if the gloomy messengers from Lethé's
shore were enfolding me in their shadowy pinions. I saw
his face in the dream of the night"&mdash;she spoke as if soliloquizing&mdash;"it
was as the face of one long dead&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused with a shudder.</p>

<p>"Of whom does my lady speak?" Persephoné interposed
with a swift glance at her mistress.</p>

<p>"The pilgrim who crossed my path to his own or my undoing.
Has he been heard from again?"</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response.</p>

<p>"His garb is responsible for much," replied the Circassian.
"The city fairly swarms with his kind&mdash;"</p>

<p>The intentional contemptuous sting met its immediate
rebuke.</p>

<p>"Not his kind," Theodora flashed back. "He has nothing
in common with those others save the garb&mdash;and there is
more beneath it than we wot of&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora's judgment is not to be gainsaid,"
the Circassian replied, without meeting her mistress' gaze.
"Do they not throng to her bowers by the legion&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A pilgrimage of the animals to Circé's sty&mdash;each eager
to be transformed into his own native state," Theodora interposed
contemptuously.</p>

<p>"Perchance this holy man is in reality a prince from some
mythical, fabled land&mdash;come to Rome to resist temptation
and be forthwith canonized&mdash;"</p>

<p>Persephoné's mirth suffered a check by Theodora's reply.</p>

<p>"Stranger things have happened. All the world comes to
Rome on one business or another. This one, however, has
not his mind set on the Beatitudes&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nevertheless he dared not enter the forbidden gates,"
the Circassian ventured to object.</p>

<p>"It was not fear. On that I vouch. Perchance he has
a vow. Whatever it be&mdash;he shall tell me&mdash;face to face&mdash;and
here!"</p>

<p>"But if the holy man refuse to come?"</p>

<p>Theodora's trained ear did not miss the note of irony in
the Circassian's question.</p>

<p>"He will come!" she replied laconically.</p>

<p>"A task worthy the Lady Theodora's renown."</p>

<p>"You deem it wonderful?"</p>

<p>"If I have read the pilgrim's eyes aright&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Perchance your own sweet eyes, my beautiful Persephoné,
discoursed to him something on that night that caused
misgivings in his holy heart, and made him doubt your
errand?" Theodora purred, extending her white arms and
regarding the Circassian intently.</p>

<p>Persephoné flushed and paled in quick succession.</p>

<p>"On that matter I left no doubt in his mind," she said
enigmatically.</p>

<p>There was a brief pause, during which an inscrutable
gaze passed between Theodora and the Circassian.</p>

<p>"Were you not as beautiful as you are evil, my Persephoné,
I should strangle you," Theodora at last said very quietly.</p>

<p>The Circassian's face turned very pale and there was
a strange light in her eyes. Her memory went back to an
hour when, during one of the periodical feuds between
Marozia and her younger sister, the former had imprisoned
Theodora in one of the chambers of Castel San Angelo,
setting over her as companion and gaoler in one Persephoné,
then in Marozia's service.</p>

<p>The terrible encounter between Theodora and the Circassian
in the locked chamber, when only the timely appearance
of the guard saved each from destruction at the hands
of the other, as Theodora tried to take the keys of her prison
from Persephoné, had never left the latter's mind. Brave
as she was, she had nevertheless, after Marozia's fall, entered
Theodora's service, and the latter, admiring the spirit of
fearlessness in the girl, had welcomed her in her household.</p>

<p>"I am ever at the Lady Theodora's service," Persephoné
replied, with drooping lids, but Theodora caught a gleam
of tigerish ferocity beneath those silken lashes that fired
her own blood.</p>

<p>"Beware&mdash;lest in some evil hour I may be tempted to
finish what I left undone in the Emperor's Tomb!" she
flashed with a sudden access of passion.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora is very brave," Persephoné replied,
as, stirred by the memory, her eyes sank into those of her
mistress.</p>

<p>For a moment they held each other's gaze, then, with a
generosity that was part of her complex nature, Theodora
extended her hand to Persephoné.</p>

<p>"Forgive the mood&mdash;I am strangely wrought up," she
said. "Cannot you help me in this dilemma, where I can
trust in none?"</p>

<p>"There dwells in Rome one who can help my lady,"
Persephoné replied with hesitation; "one deeply versed in
the lore and mysteries of the East."</p>

<p>"Who is this man?" Theodora queried eagerly.</p>

<p>"His name is Hormazd. By his spells he can change the
natural event of things, and make Fate subservient to his
decrees."</p>

<p>"Why have you never told me of him before?"</p>

<p>"Because the Lady Theodora's will seemed to do as much
for her as could, to my belief, the sorcerer's art!"</p>

<p>The implied compliment pleased Theodora.</p>

<p>"Where does he abide?"</p>

<p>"In the <ins title="Transcriber's note: Original read Trasteveré">Trastevere</ins>."</p>

<p>"What does he for those who seek him?"</p>

<p>"He reads the stars&mdash;foretells the future&mdash;and, with
the aid of strange spells of which he is master, can bring
about that which otherwise would be unattainable&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You rouse my curiosity! Tell me more of him."</p>

<p>An inscrutable expression passed over Persephoné's face.</p>

<p>"He was Marozia's trusted friend."</p>

<p>A frozen silence reigned apace.</p>

<p>"Did he foretell that which was to happen?" Theodora
spoke at last.</p>

<p>"To the hour!"</p>

<p>"And yet&mdash;forewarned&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Marozia, grown desperate in the hatred of her lord,
derided his warnings."</p>

<p>"It was her Fate. Tell me more!"</p>

<p>"He has visited every land under the sun. From Thulé
to Cathay his fame is known. Strange tales are told of him.
No one knows his age. He seems to have lived always.
As he appears now he hath ever been. They say he has
been seen in places thousand leagues apart at the same time.
Sometimes he disappears and is not heard of for months.
But&mdash;whoever he may be&mdash;whatever he may be engaged
in&mdash;at the stroke of midnight that he must suspend. Then
his body turns rigid as a corpse, bereft of animation, and
his spirit is withdrawn into realms we dare not even dream
of. At the first hour of the morning life will slowly return.
But no one has yet dared to question him, where he has
spent those dread hours."</p>

<p>Theodora had listened to Persephoné's tale with a strange
new interest.</p>

<p>"How long has this Hormazd&mdash;or whatever his name&mdash;resided
in Rome?" she turned to the Circassian.</p>

<p>"I met him first on the night on which the lady Marozia
summoned him to the summit of the Emperor's Tomb.
There he abode with her for hours, engaged in some unholy
incantation and at last conjured up such a tempest over the
Seven Hills, as the city of Rome had not experienced since
it was founded by the man from Troy&mdash;"</p>

<p>Persephoné's historical deficiency went hand in hand
with a superstition characteristic of the age, and evoked
no comment from one perchance hardly better informed
with regard to the past.</p>

<p>"I well remember the night," Theodora interposed.</p>

<p>"We crept down into the crypts, where the dog-headed
Egyptian god keeps watch over the dead Emperor," Persephoné
continued. "The lady Marozia alone remained on
the summit with the wizard&mdash;amidst such lightnings and
crashing peals of thunder and a hurricane the like of which
the oldest inhabitants do not remember&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I shall test his skill," Theodora spoke after a pause.
"Perchance he may give me that which I have never
known&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My lady would consult the wizard?" Persephoné interposed
eagerly.</p>

<p>"Such is my intent."</p>

<p>"Shall I summon him to your presence?"</p>

<p>"I shall go to him!"</p>

<p>In Persephoné's countenance surprise and fear struggled
for mastery.</p>

<p>"Then I shall accompany my lady&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I shall go alone and unattended&mdash;"</p>

<p>"It is an ill-favored region, where the sorcerer dwells&mdash;"</p>

<p>An inscrutable look passed into Theodora's eyes.</p>

<p>"Can he but give me that which I desire I shall brave the
hazard, be it ever so great."</p>

<p>The last words were uttered in an undertone. Then she
added imperiously:</p>

<p>"Go and summon the lord Basil and bid two eunuchs
attend him hither! And do you wait with them within call
behind those curtains."</p>

<p>Then, as Persephoné silently piled cushions behind her
in the lion-armed chair and withdrew bowing, Theodora
murmured to herself:</p>

<p>"Hardly can I trust even him in an hour so fraught with
darkness and peril. Yet strive as he will, he may not break
the chains his passion has woven around his senses."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IXa" id="CHAPTER_IXa">CHAPTER IX</a><br />

THE GAME OF LOVE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The pattering of footsteps resounded
on the marble floor of
the corridor and the hangings
once more parted, revealing the
form of a man sombre even in
the shadows which seemed part
of the darkness that framed his
white face.</p>

<p>With eyes that never left the
woman's graceful form the visitor
slowly advanced and, concealing his chagrin at having
been kept waiting like a slave in the anteroom, bent low over
Theodora's hand and raised it to his lips.</p>

<p>She had seated herself on a divan which somewhat shaded
her face and invited him with a mute gesture to take his seat
beside her. Persephoné and the eunuchs had left the chamber.</p>

<p>"Fain would I have departed, Lady Theodora, when the
maid Persephoné, who has the devil in her eyes, told me
that the Lady Theodora slept," Basil spoke as, with the light
of a fierce passion in his eyes, he sank down beside the wondrous
form, and his hot breath fanned her shoulder. "But
my tidings brook no delay. Closer, fairest lady, that your
ear alone may hear this new perplexity that does beset us,
for it concerns that which lies closest to our heart, and the
time is brief&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I cannot even guess your tidings," replied Theodora,
withdrawing herself a little from his burning gaze. "For
days mischance has emptied all her quivers at me, leaving me
not a dart wherewith to strike."</p>

<p>"It is as a bolt from the clear blue," interposed the Grand
Chamberlain. "Yet&mdash;how were we to reckon with that
which did happen? Every detail had been carefully planned.
In the excitement and turmoil which roared and surged over
the Navona the task could not fail of its accomplishment and
he who was to speed the holy man to his doom had but to
plunge into that seething vortex of humanity to make his
escape. Surely the foul fiend was abroad on that night and
stalked about visibly to our undoing. For not a word have I
been able to get out of Il Gobbo who raves that at the very
moment when he was about to strike, St. John himself
towered over him, paralyzed his efforts, and gave him such a
blow as sent him reeling upon the turf. Some say,"&mdash;the
speaker added meditatively, "it was a pilgrim&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A pilgrim?" Theodora interposed, a sudden gleam in
her eyes. "A pilgrim? What was he like?"</p>

<p>"To Il Gobbo he appeared no doubt of superhuman height,
else had he not affrighted him. For the bravo is no coward&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A pilgrim, you say," Theodora repeated, meditatively.</p>

<p>"Whosoever he is," Basil continued after a pause, "he
seems to scent ample entertainment in this godly city. For,
no doubt it was the same who thwarted by his timely appearance
the abduction of the Pontiff by certain ruffians, earning
thereby much distinction in the eyes of the Senator of Rome
who has appointed him captain of Castel San Angelo&mdash;and
Gamba in whom we placed our trust has fled. If he is captured&mdash;if
he should confess&mdash;"</p>

<p>The color had died out of Theodora's cheeks and she sat
bolt upright as a statue of marble, gazing into the shadows
with great wide eyes, as in a low voice, hardly audible even
to her visitor, she said:</p>

<p>"God! Will this uncertainty never cease? What is to
be done? Speak!&mdash;For I confess, I am not myself <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'today,' changed for the sake of consistency">to-day</ins>."&mdash;</p>

<p>Basil hesitated, and a sudden flame leaped into his eyes
as they devoured the beauty of the woman beside him, and
raising to his lips the hand that lay inert on the saffron-hued
cushion, he replied:</p>

<p>"The lady Theodora has many who do her bidding, yet is
the heart of none as true as his, who is even now sitting
beside her. Therefore ask of me whatever you will and, if
a blade be needed, your slightest favor will fire me to any
deed,&mdash;however unnameable."&mdash;</p>

<p>Lower the man bent, until his hot breath scorched her pale
cheeks. But neither by word nor gesture did she betray
that she was conscious of his nearer approach as, in a calm
voice, she replied:</p>

<p>"Full well do I know your zeal and devotion, my lord Basil.
Yet there hangs in the balance the keen and timely stroke
that shall secure for me the dominion of the Seven Hills and
the Emperor's Tomb. For failure would bring in its wake
that which would be harder to endure than death itself.
Therefore," she added slowly, "I would choose one whose
devotion is only equalled by his blind indifference to that
which I am minded to bring about; not one only fired with a
passion, which when cooled might leave nothing but fear
and hesitation behind."&mdash;</p>

<p>"Has all that has passed between us left you with so ill
an opinion of me?" Basil replied, drawing back somewhat
ostentatiously. "There are few that can be trusted with
that which must be done&mdash;and trusted blades are scarce."</p>

<p>"The more reason that we choose wisely and well," came
the reply in deliberate tones. "How much longer must
I suffer the indignity which this stripling dares to put upon
his own flesh and blood,&mdash;upon myself, who has striven
for this dominion with all the fire of this restless soul? How
much longer must I sit idly by, pondering over the mystery
that enshrouds Marozia's untimely end? How much
longer must I tremble in abject fear of him whom the Tuscan's
churlishness has set up in yonder castello and who
conspires with my rival to gain his sinister ends?"</p>

<p>"By what sorcery she holds him captive, I cannot tell,"
Basil interposed. "Yet, if we are not on our guard, we shall
awaken one day to the realization that even the faint chance
which remains to us now has passed from our hands. I
doubt not but that Roxana will enlist the services of the
stranger who in the space of a week, during the lord Alberic's
absence, will lord it over the city of Rome!"</p>

<p>With a smothered cry of hate, that drove from Theodora's
face every trace of her former mood, she bounded upright.</p>

<p>"What demon of madness possesses you, my lord Basil,
to taunt me with your suspicions?" she flashed.</p>

<p>Basil had sped his shaft at random, but he had hit the
mark.</p>

<p>In suave and insinuating tones, without relinquishing
his gaze upon the woman, he replied:</p>

<p>"I voice but my fears, Lady Theodora, and the urgency
of assembling your friends under the banners of your house.
What is more natural," he continued with slow and sinister
emphasis, "than for a beautiful woman to harbor the desire
for conquest, and to profit from so auspicious a throw of
fate as the stranger's espousing her part against an equally
beautiful, hated rival? Is not the inference justified, that,
ignorant of the merits of the feud, which has been raging
these many months, he will take the part of the one whose
beauty had compelled the Senator's unwitting tribute&mdash;as
it were?"</p>

<p>He paused for a moment, watching the woman before
him from under half-shut lids, then continued slowly:</p>

<p>"Roxana is consumed with the desire to stake soul and
body upon attaining her ends, humbling her rival in the dust
and set her foot upon her neck. Time and again has she
defied you! At the banquet she gave in honor of the Senator
of Rome, when one of the guests lamented the Lady Theodora's
absence from the festal board, she openly boasted,
that in youth as well as in beauty, in strength as in love,
she would vanquish Marozia's sister utterly&mdash;and when
one of the guests, commenting upon her boast, suggested
with a smile that in the time of the Emperor Gallus women
fought in the arena, she bared her arms and replied: 'Are
there no chambers in this demesne where a woman may
strangle her rival?'"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 402px;"><a name="ILLUSTRATION_02" id="ILLUSTRATION_02">
<img src="images/col02.jpg" width="402" height="600" alt="" /></a>
<p class="caption">"A strange look passed into Theodora's eyes"</p>
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Theodora had listened to Basil's recital, white to the lips.
Her bosom heaved and a strange fire burnt in her eyes as
she replied:</p>

<p>"Dares she utter this boast, woman to woman?"&mdash;</p>

<p>Basil, checking himself, gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"Misinterpret not my words, dearest lady," he said solicitously.
"It is to warn you that I came. Alberic's attitude
is no longer a secret. Roxana is leaving no stone unturned
to drive you from the city, to encompass your death&mdash;and
Alberic is swayed by strange moods. Roxana is growing
bolder each day and the woman who dares challenge the
Lady Theodora is no coward."</p>

<p>A strange look passed into Theodora's eyes.</p>

<p>"Three days hence," she said, "I mean to give a feast
to my friends, if," she continued with lurid mockery, "I
can still number such among those who flock to my bowers.
I shall ask the Lady Roxana to grace the feast with her presence&mdash;"</p>

<p>A puzzled look passed into Basil's eyes.</p>

<p>"Deem you she will come?"</p>

<p>Theodora's lips curved in a smile.</p>

<p>"You said but just now, my lord, the woman who dares
challenge Theodora is no coward&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Yet&mdash;as your guest&mdash;suspecting&mdash;knowing&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I doubt not, my lord, she is well informed," Theodora
interposed with the same inscrutable smile. "Yet&mdash;if
she is as brave as she is beautiful&mdash;she will come&mdash;doubt
not, my lord&mdash;she will come&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, I question the wisdom," Basil ventured
to interpose. "A sudden spark&mdash;from nowhere&mdash;who
will quench the holocaust?"</p>

<p>"When Roxana and Theodora meet,&mdash;woman to woman&mdash;ah,
trust me, my lord, it will be a festive occasion&mdash;one
long to be remembered. Perchance you, my lord, who
boast of a large circle know young Fabio of the Cavalli&mdash;a
comely youth with the air and manners of a girl. Persephoné,
my Circassian, could strangle him."</p>

<p>"I know the youth, Lady Theodora," Basil interposed with
a puzzled air. "What of him?"</p>

<p>"He once did me the honor to imagine himself in love
with me. Did he not pursue me with amorous sighs and
burning glances and oaths&mdash;my lord&mdash;such oaths! Cerberus
would wince in Tartarus could he hear but one of
them&mdash;"</p>

<p>Basil's lips straightened and his eyelids narrowed.</p>

<p>"Pardon, Lady Theodora, if I do not quite follow the trend
of your reminiscent mood&mdash;"</p>

<p>Theodora smiled.</p>

<p>"You will presently, my lord&mdash;believe me&mdash;you will
presently. When I became satiated with him I sent him
on his way and straightway he sought my beautiful rival.
I am told she is very fond of him&mdash;"</p>

<p>A strange nervousness had seized Basil.</p>

<p>"I shall bid him to the feast," Theodora continued.
"'Twere scant courtesy to request the Lady Roxaná's presence
without that of her lover. And more, my lord. Since you
boast your devotion to me in such unequivocal terms&mdash;your
task it shall be to bring as your honored guest the valiant
stranger who took so brave a part in aiding the Lord Alberic
to regain his prisoner, and who, within a week, is to be the
new captain of Castel San Angelo."&mdash;</p>

<p>Basil was twitching nervously.</p>

<p>"Lady Theodora, without attempting to fathom the mood
which prompts the request, am I to traverse the city in quest
of a churl who has hypnotized the Lord Alberic and has
destroyed our fondest hopes?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"That it shall be for myself to decide, my Lord Basil,"
Theodora replied with her inscrutable smile. "I do not
desire you to fathom my mood, but to bring to me this man.
And believe me, my Lord Basil&mdash;as you value my favor&mdash;you
will find and bring him to me!"</p>

<p>Half turning she flung a light vesture from off her bosom
and the faint light showed not the set Medusa face that
meditated unnameable things, but eyes alight with desire
and a mouth quivering for kisses.</p>

<p>As he gazed, Basil was suddenly caught in the throes of
his passion. He clutched at the ottoman's carved arms,
striving to resist the tide of emotion that tossed him like a
helpless bark in its clutches and, suddenly bearing down
every restraint, his arms went round the supple form as
he crushed her to him with a wild uncontrolled passion,
bending her back, and his eyes blazed with a baleful fire into
her own, while his hot kisses scorched her lips.</p>

<p>She struggled violently, desperately in his embrace, and at
last succeeded, bruised and crushed, in releasing herself.</p>

<p>"Beast! Coward!" she flashed, "Can you not bridle the
animal within you? I have it in mind to kill you here and
now."</p>

<p>Basil's face was ashen. His eyes were bloodshot. The
touch of her lips, of her hands, had maddened him. He
groaned, and his arms fell limply by his side. Presently he
raised his head and, his eyes aflame with the madness of
jealousy, he snarled:</p>

<p>"So I did not go amiss, when I long suspected another in
the bower of roses. Who is he? Tell me quickly, that I may
at least assuage this hatred of mine, for its measure overflows."</p>

<p>His hand closed on his dagger's hilt that was hidden by
his tunic, but Theodora rose and her own eyes flashed like
naked swords as with set face she said:</p>

<p>"Have you not yet learned, my lord, how vain it is to
probe the clouds of my mind for the unseen wind that stirs
behind its curtains? Aye&mdash;crouch at my feet, you miserable
slave, gone mad with the dream of my favor possessed and
wake to learn, that, as Theodora's enchantments compel all
living men, nevertheless she gives herself unto him she
pleases. I tell you, you jealous fool, that, although I serve
the goddess of night yonder, never till yesterday was my
heart touched by the divine enchantments of Venus, nor
have the lips ever closed on mine, that could kindle the spark
to set my breast afire with longing."</p>

<p>"Ah me!" she continued, speaking as though she thought
aloud. "Will Hekaté ever grant me to find amongst these
husks of passion and plotting that great love whereof once I
dreamed, that love which I am seeking and which ever flits
before me, disembodied and unattainable, like a ghost in
the purple twilight? Or, must I wander, ever loved yet
unloving, until I am gathered to the realms of shadows,
robbed of my desire by Death's cold hand?"</p>

<p>She paused, her lips a-quiver, the while Basil watched her
with half-closed eyes, filled with sudden and ominous brooding.</p>

<p>"Who is the favored one?" he queried darkly, "who
came and saw and conquered, while others of long-tried
loyalty are starving at the fount?"</p>

<p>She gave him an inscrutable glance, then answered quickly:</p>

<p>"A man willing to risk life and honor and all to serve me
as I would be served."</p>

<p>Basil gave her a baffled look.</p>

<p>"Can he achieve the impossible?"</p>

<p>Theodora gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"To him who truly loves nothing is impossible. You are
the trusted friend of the Senator who encompasses my
undoing&mdash;need I say more?"</p>

<p>"Were I not, Lady Theodora, in seeming,&mdash;who knows,
but that your blood would long have dyed this Roman soil,
or some dark crypt contained your wonderful beauty? Bide
but the time&mdash;"</p>

<p>An impatient wave of Theodora's hand interrupted the
speaker.</p>

<p>"Time has me now! Will there ever be an end to this
uncertainty?"</p>

<p>"You have not yet told me the name of him whose sudden
advent on the stage has brought about so marvellous a transformation,"
Basil said with an air of baffled passion and rage.</p>

<p>"What matters the name, my lord?" Theodora interposed
with a sardonic smile.</p>

<p>"A nameless stranger then," he flashed with a swiftness
that staggered even the woman, astute as she was.</p>

<p>"I said not so&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A circumstance that should recommend him to our consideration,"
he muttered darkly. "I shall find him&mdash;and
bring him to the feast&mdash;"</p>

<p>There was something in his voice that roused the tigress
in the woman.</p>

<p>"By the powers of hell," she turned on the man whose
fatal guess had betrayed her secret, "if you but dare touch
one hair of his head&mdash;"</p>

<p>Basil raised his hand disdainfully.</p>

<p>"Be calm, Lady Theodora! The Grand Chamberlain
soils not his steel with such carrion," he said with a tone
of contempt that struck home. "And now I will be plain
with you, Lady Theodora. All things have their price. Will
you grant to me what I most desire in return for that which
is ever closest to your heart?"</p>

<p>Theodora gave a tantalizing shrug.</p>

<p>"Like the Fata Morgana of the desert, I am all things
to all men," she said. "Remember, my lord, I must look
for that which I desire wherever I may find it, since life
and the future are uncertain."</p>

<p>There was a silence during which each seemed intent
upon fathoming the secret thoughts of the other.</p>

<p>It was Basil who spoke.</p>

<p>"What of that other?"</p>

<p>Theodora had arisen.</p>

<p>"Bring him to me&mdash;three days hence&mdash;as my guest.
Thrice has he crossed my path.&mdash;Thrice has he defied
me!&mdash;I have that in store for him at which men shall marvel
for all time to come!"</p>

<p>Basil bent over the white hand and kissed it. Then he
took his leave. Had he seen the expression in the woman's
eyes as the heavy curtains closed behind him, it would have
made the Grand Chamberlain pause.</p>

<p>Theodora passed to where the bronze mirror hung and
stood long before it, with hands clasped behind her shapely
head, wrapt in deepest thought.</p>

<p>And while she gazed on her mirrored loveliness, an evil
light sprang up in her eyes and all her mouth's soft lines
froze to a mould of dreaming evil, as she turned to where
the image of Hekaté gazed down upon her with inhuman
calm upon its face, and, holding out shimmering, imploring
arms, she cried:</p>

<p>"Help me now, dread goddess of darkness, if ever you
looked with love upon her whose prayers have been directed
to you for good and for evil. Fire the soul of him I desire,
as he stands before me, that he lose reason, honor, and manhood,
as the price of my burning kisses&mdash;that he become
my utter slave."</p>

<p>She clapped her hands and Persephoné appeared from
behind the curtains.</p>

<p>"For once Fate is my friend," she turned with flashing
eyes to the Circassian. "Before his departure to the shrines
of the Archangel, Alberic has appointed this nameless stranger
captain of Castel San Angelo. Go&mdash;find him and bring
him to me! Now we shall see," she added, "if all this
beauty of mine shall prevail against his manhood. Your
eyes express doubt, my sweet Persephoné?"</p>

<p>Theodora had raised herself to her full height. She
looked regal indeed&mdash;a wonderful apparition. What man
lived there to resist such loveliness of face and form?</p>

<p>Persephoné, too, seemed to feel the woman's magic,
for her tone was less confident when she replied:</p>

<p>"Such beauty as the Lady Theodora's surely the world
has never seen."</p>

<p>"I shall conquer&mdash;by dread Hekaté," Theodora flashed,
flushed by Persephoné's unwitting tribute. "He shall
open for me the portals of the Emperor's Tomb, he shall sue
at my feet for my love&mdash;and obtain his guerdon. Not a
word of this to anyone, my Persephoné&mdash;least of all, the
Lord Basil. Bring the stranger to me by the postern&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But&mdash;if he refuse?"</p>

<p>There was something in Persephoné's tone that stung
Theodora's soul to the quick.</p>

<p>"He will not refuse."</p>

<p>Persephoné bowed and departed, and for some time
Theodora's dark inscrutable eyes brooded on the equally
inscrutable face of the goddess of the Underworld, which
was just then touched by a fugitive beam of sunlight and
seemed to nod mysteriously.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Xa" id="CHAPTER_Xa">CHAPTER X</a><br />

A SPIRIT PAGEANT</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_w.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">When, on the day succeeding his
appointment Tristan returned
to the Inn of the Golden Shield
he felt as one in a trance. Like
a puppet of Fate he had been
plunged into the seething maelstrom
of feudal Rome. He
hardly realized the import of
the scene in which he had played
so prominent a part. He had
acted upon impulse, hardly knowing what it was all about.
Dimly at intervals it flashed through his consciousness,
dimly he remembered facing two youths, the one the Senator
of Rome&mdash;the other the High Priest of Christendom, even
though a prisoner in the Lateran. Vaguely he recalled
the words that had been spoken between them, vaguely
he recalled the fact that the Senator of Rome had commended
him for having saved the city, offering him appointment,
holding out honor and preferment, if he would enter his
service. Vaguely he remembered bending his knee before
the proud son of Marozia and accepting his good offices.</p>

<p>In the guest-chamber Tristan found pilgrims from every
land assembled round the tables discoursing upon the wonders
and perils hidden in the strange and shifting corridors
of Rome. Not a few had witnessed the scene in which he
had so conspicuously figured and, upon recognizing him,
regarded him with shy glances, while commenting upon
the prevailing state of unrest, the periodical seditions and
outbreaks of the Romans.</p>

<p>Tristan listened to the buzz and clamor of their voices,
gleaning here and there some scattered bits of knowledge
regarding Roman affairs.</p>

<p>He could now review more calmly the events of the preceding
day. Fortune seemed to have favored him indeed, in
that she had led him across the path of the Senator of Rome.</p>

<p>Thus Tristan set out once again, to make the rounds of
worship and obedience. These absolved, he wandered aimlessly
about the great city, losing himself in her ruins and
gardens, while he strove in vain to take an interest in what
he beheld, rather distracted than amused by the Babel-like
confusion which surrounded him on all sides.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, once more upon the piazzas and tortuous
streets of Rome, his pace quickened. His pulses beat faster.
At times he did not feel his feet upon those stony ways which
Peter and Paul had trod, and many another who, like himself,
had come to Rome to be crucified. People stared at his dark
and sombre form as he passed. Now and then he was
retarded by chanting processions, that wound their interminable
coils through the tortuous streets, pilgrims from all
the world, the various orders of monks in the habits peculiar
to their orders, wine-venders, water-carriers, men-at-arms,
sbirri, and men of doubtful calling. Sacred banners floated
in the sunlit air and incense curled its graceful spiral wreaths
into the cloudless Roman ether.</p>

<p>Surely Rome offered a wide field for ambition. A man
might raise himself to a certain degree by subservience to
some powerful prince, but he must continue to serve that
prince, or he fell and would never aspire to independent
domination, where hereditary power was recognized by the
people and lay at the foundation of all acknowledged authority.
It was only in Central Italy, and especially in Romagna
and the States of the Church, where a principle antagonistic
to all hereditary claims existed in the very nature of the
Papal power, so that any adventurer might hope, either by
his individual genius or courage, or by services rendered to
those in authority, to raise himself to independent rule or to
that station which was only attached to a superior by the thin
and worn-out thread of feudal tenure.</p>

<p>Rome was the field still open to the bold spirit, the keen
and clear-seeing mind. Rome was the table on which the
boldest player was sure to win the most. With every change
of the papacy new combinations, and, consequently, new
opportunities must arise. Here a man may, as elsewhere, be
required to serve, in order at length to command. But, if he
did not obtain power at length, it was his fault or Fortune's,
and in either event he must abide the consequences.</p>

<p>Revolving in his mind these matters, and wondering what
the days to come would hold, Tristan permitted himself to
wander aimlessly through the desolation which arose on all
sides about him.</p>

<p>Passing by the Forum and the Colosseum, ruins piled upon
ruins, he wandered past San Gregorio, where, in the garden,
lie the remains of the Servian Porta Capena, by which St.
Paul first entered Rome. The Via Appia, lined with vineyards
and fruit-trees, shedding their blossoms on many an
ancient tomb, led the solitary pilgrim from the memories of
the present to the days, when the light of the early Christian
Church burned like a flickering taper hidden low in Roman
soil.</p>

<p>The ground sweeping down on either side in gentle, but
well-defined curves, led the vision over the hills of Rome and
into her valleys. Beneath a cloudless, translucent sky the
city was caught in bold shafts of crystal light, revealing her in
so strong a relief that it seemed like a piece of exquisite
sculpture.</p>

<p>Fronting the Coelian, crowned with the temple church of
San Stefano in Rotondo, fringed round with tall and graceful
poplars, rose the immeasurable ruins of Caracalla's Baths,
seeming more than ever the work of titans, as Tristan saw
them, shrouded in deep shadows above the old churches of
San Nereo and San Basilio, shining like white huts, a stone's
throw from the mighty walls. Beyond, as a beacon of the
Christian world in ages to come, on the site of the ancient
Circus of Nero, arose the Basilica of Constantine, still in its
pristine simplicity, ere the genius of Michel Angelo, Bramanté
and Sangallo transformed it into the magnificence of the
present St. Peter's.</p>

<p>For miles around stretched the Aurelian walls, here fallen
in low ruins, there still rising in their proud strength. Weathered
to every shade of red, orange, and palest lemon, they
still showed much of their ancient beauty near the closed
Latin gate. High towers, arched galleries and battlements
cast a broad band of shade upon a line of peach trees whose
blossoms had opened out to the touch of the summer breeze.</p>

<p>Beneath Tristan's feet, unknown to him, lay the sepulchral
chambers of pagan patricians, and the winding passage
tombs of the Scipios. Out of the sunshine of the vineyard
Tristan's curiosity led him into the dusk of the Columbaria
of Pomponius Hylas, full of stucco altar tombs. He descended
into the lower chambers with arched corridors and
vaulted roofs where, in the loculi, stood terra-cotta jars
holding the ashes of the freedmen and musicians of Tiberius
with their servants, even to their cook.</p>

<p>Returning full of wonder to the golden light of day, Tristan
retraced his steps once again over the Appian Way. Passing
the ruined Circus of Maxentius, across smooth fields of
grass, he saw the fortress tomb of Cæcilia Metella, set grandly
upon the hill. It appeared to break through the sunshine,
its marble surface of a soft cream color, looking more like the
shrine of some immortal goddess of the Campagna than the
tomb of a Roman matron.</p>

<p>And, as he wandered along the Appian Way, past the site
of lava pools from Mount Alba, remains of ancient monuments
lay thicker by the roadside. Prostrate statues appeared in a
setting of wild flowers. Sculptured heads gazed out from
half-hidden tombs, while one watch-tower after another rose
out of the undulating expanse of the Campagna.</p>

<p>To Tristan the memories of an ancient empire which clung
to the place held but little significance.</p>

<p>Here emperors had been carried by in their litters to Albano.
Victorious generals returning in their chariots from the
south, drove between these avenues of cypress-guarded
tombs to Rome. The body of the dead Augustus had been
brought with great following from Bovilæ to the Palatine,
as before him Sulla had been borne along to Rome amid
the sound of trumpets and tramp of horsemen. Near the
fourth milestone stood Seneca's villa, where he received
his death warrant from an emissary of Nero, and nearby
was that of his wife who, by her own desire, bravely shared
his fate.</p>

<p>And, last to haunt the Appian Way in the spirit pageant
of the Golden Age, a memory destined to lie dormant till
the dawn of the Renaissance, was Paul the Apostle, the tent-maker
from Tarsus, who entered Rome while Nero reigned
in the white marble city of Augustus and suffered martyrdom
for the Faith.</p>

<p>It was verging towards evening when Tristan's feet again
bore him past the stupendous ruins of the Colosseum, through
the roofless upper galleries of which streamed the light of
the sinking sun.</p>

<p>After reaching the Forum, almost deserted by this hour,
save for a few belated ramblers, he seated himself on a
marble block and tried to collect his thoughts, at the same
time drinking in the picture which unrolled itself before his
gaze.</p>

<p>If Rome was indeed, as the chroniclers of the Middle
Ages styled her, "Caput Mundi," the Forum was the centre
of Rome. From this centre Rome threw out and informed
her various feelers, farther and farther radiating in all directions,
as she swelled out with greatness, drawing her sustenance
first from her sacred hills and groves, then from the
very marbles and granites of the mountains of Asia and
Africa, from the lives of all sorts of peoples, races and nations.
And like the Emperor Constantine, as we are told by Ammianus
Marcellinus, on beholding the Forum from the
Rostra of Domitian, stood wonder-stricken, so Tristan, even
at this period of decay, was amazed at the grandeur of the
ruins which bore witness to Rome's former greatness.</p>

<p>The sound of the Angelus, whose silvery chimes permeated
the tomb-like stillness, roused Tristan from his
reveries.</p>

<p>He arose and continued upon his way, until he found
himself in the square fronting the ancient Basilica of Constantine.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the fact that it was a Vigil of the Church,
popular exhibitions of all sorts were set upon the broad
flagstones before St. Peter's. Street dancing girls indulged
on every available spot in those gliding gyrations, so eloquently
condemned by the worthy Ammianus Marcellinus
of orderly and historical memory. Booths crammed with
relics of doubtful authenticity, baskets filled with fruits or
flowers, pictorial representations of certain martyrs of the
Church, basking in haloes of celestial light, tempted in every
direction the worldly and unworldly spectators. Cooks
perambulated, their shops upon their backs, merchants
shouted their wares, wine-sellers taught Bacchanalian philosophy
from the tops of their casks; poets recited spurious
compositions which they offered for sale; philosophers indulged
in argumentations destined to convert the wavering,
or to perplex the ignorant. Incessant motion and noise
seemed to be the sole aim and purpose of the crowd which
thronged the square.</p>

<p>Nothing could be more picturesque than the distant view
of the joyous scene, this Carnival in Midsummer, as it were.</p>

<p>The deep red rays of the westering sun cast their radiance,
partly from behind the Basilica, over the vast multitude
in the piazza. In unrivalled splendor the crimson light
tinted the water that purled from the fountain of Bishop
Symmachus. Its roof of gilded bronze, supported by six
porphyry columns, was enclosed by small marble screens
on which griffins were carved, its corners ornamented by
gilded dolphins and peacocks in bronze. The water flowed
into a square basin from out of a bronze pine cone which
may have come from Hadrian's Mausoleum. Bathed in
the brilliant glow the smooth porphyry colonnades reflected,
chameleon-like, ethereal and varying hues. The white
marble statues became suffused with delicate rose, and
the trees gleamed in the innermost of their leafy depths as
if steeped in the exhalations of a golden mist.</p>

<p>Contrasting strangely with the wondrous radiance around
it, the bronze pine-tree in the centre of the piazza rose up
in gloomy shadow, indefinite and exaggerated. The wide
facade of the Basilica cast its great depth of shade into the
midst of the light which dominated the scene.</p>

<p>Tristan stood for a time gazing into the glowing sky, then
he slowly made his way towards the Basilica, the edifice
which commemorated the establishment of Christianity as
the state religion of Rome, as in its changes it has reflected
every change wrought in the spirit of the new worship up
to the present hour.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIa" id="CHAPTER_XIa">CHAPTER XI</a><br />

THE DENUNCIATION</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The Basilica of Constantine no
longer retained its pristine splendor,
its pristine purity as in the
days, ere the revival of paganism
by the Emperor Julian the Apostate
had put a sudden and impressive
check upon the meretricious
defilement of the glory,
for which it was built.</p>

<p>The exterior began to show
signs of decay. The interior, too, had changed with the
inexorable trend of the times. The solemn recesses were
filled with precious relics. Many hued tapers surrounded
the glorious pillars, and eastern tapestries wreathed their
fringes round the massive altars.</p>

<p>As Tristan entered the incense-saturated dusk of St.
Peter's, the first part of the service had just been concluded.
The last faint echoes from the voices in the choir still hovered
upon the air, and the silent crowds of worshippers were still
grouped in their listening attitudes and absorbed in their
devotions.</p>

<p>The only light was bestowed by the evening sun, duskily
illuminating the emblazoned windows, or by the glimmer
of lamps in distant shrines, hung with sable velvet and
attended each by its own group of ministering priests.</p>

<p>Struck with an indefinable awe Tristan looked about.
At first he only realized the great space, the four long rows
of closely set columns, and the great triumphal arch which
framed the mosaics of the apse, where Constantine stood
in the clouds offering his Basilica to the Saviour and St.
Peter. Then he looked towards the sacred shrines above
the Apostle's grave, where lamps burned incessantly and
cast a dazzling halo above the high altar, reflected in the
silver paving of the presbytery and on the golden gates and
images of the Confessio. Immediately behind the altar
was revealed a long panel of gold, studded with gems and
ornaments, with figures of Christ and the Apostles, a native
offering from the Emperor Valentinian III. The high altar
and its brilliant surroundings were seen from the nave
between a double row of twisted marble columns, white as
snow. A beam covered with plates of silver united them
and supported great silver images of the Saviour, the Virgin
and the Apostles with lilies and candelabra.</p>

<p>To their shrines, to do homage, had in time come the Kings
from all the earth: Oswy, King of the Northumbrians,
Cædwalla, King of the West Saxons, Coenred, King of the
Mercians, and with him his son Sigher, King of the East
Saxons. Even Macbeth is said to have made the pilgrimage.
Ethelwulf came in the middle of the ninth century, and with
him came his son Alfred. In the arcades beneath the columned
vestibule of the Basilica, tomb succeeded tomb.
Here the popes were buried, Leo I, the Great, being first
in line, the Saxon Pilgrim Kings, the Emperors Honorius
III and Theodosius II, regarding whom St. John Chrysostomus
has written: "Emperors were proud to stand in the
hall keeping guard at the fisherman's door."</p>

<p>During the interval between the divisions of the service,
Tristan, like many of those present, found his interest directed
towards the relics, which were inclosed in a silver
cabinet with crystal doors and placed above the high altar.
Although it was impossible to obtain a satisfactory view of
these ecclesiastical treasures, they nevertheless occupied
his attention till it was diverted by the appearance of a monk
in the habit of the Benedictines, who had mounted the
richly carved pulpit fixed between two pillars.</p>

<p>As far as Tristan was enabled to follow the trend of the
sermon it teemed with allusions to the state of society and
religion as it prevailed throughout the Christian world, and
especially in the city of the Pontiff. By degrees the monk's
eloquence took on darker and more terrible tints, as he seemed
slowly to pass from generalities to personal allusions, which
increased the fear and mortification of the great assembly
with every moment.</p>

<p>From the shadows of the shrine, where he had chosen
his station, Tristan was enabled to mark every shade of
the emotions which swayed the multitudes and, as his eyes
roamed inadvertently towards the chapel of the Father
Confessor, he saw a continuous stream of penitents enter
the dark passage leading towards the crypts, many of whom
were masked.</p>

<p>Turning his head by chance, Tristan's glance fell upon
two men who had apparently just entered the Basilica and
paused a few paces away, to listen to the words which the
monk hurled like thunderbolts across the heads of his listeners.
Despite their precaution to wear masks, Tristan recognized
the Grand Chamberlain in the one, while his companion,
the hunchback, appeared rather uncomfortable in the sanctified
air of the Basilica.</p>

<p>Hitherto Odo of Cluny's attacks on the existing state had
been general. Now he glanced over the crowd, as if in quest
of some special object, as with strident voice he declaimed:</p>

<p>"Repent! Death stands behind you! The flag of your
glory shall cease to wave on the towers of your strong citadel.
Destruction clamors at your palace gates, and the enemy
that cometh upon you unaware is an enemy that none shall
vanquish or subdue, not even they who are the mightiest
among the mighty. Blood stains the earth and the sky. Its
red waves swallow up the land! The heavens grow pale
and tremble! The silver stars blacken and decay, and
the winds of the desert make lament for that which shall
come to pass, ere ever the grapes be pressed or the harvest
gathered. It is a scarlet sea wherein, like a broken and
deserted ship, Rome flounders, never to rise again&mdash;"</p>

<p>He paused for a moment and caught his breath hard.</p>

<p>"The Scarlet Woman of Babylon is among us!" he cried.
"Hence! accursed tempter. Thou poisoner of peace, thou
quivering sting in the flesh, destroyer of the strength of
manhood! Theodora!&mdash;thou abomination&mdash;thou tyrannous
treachery! What shall be done unto thee in the hour
of darkness? Put off the ornaments of gold, the jewels,
wherewith thou adornest thy beauty, and crown thyself
with the crown of endless affliction. For thou shalt be
girdled about with flame and fire shall be thy garment. Thy
lips that have drunk sweet wine shall be steeped in bitterness!
Vainly shalt thou make thyself fair and call upon
thy legion of lovers. They shall be as dead men, deaf to
thine entreaties, and none shall respond to thy call! None
shall hide thee from shame and offer thee comfort! In the
midst of thy lascivious delights shalt thou suddenly perish,
and my soul shall be avenged on thy sins, queen-courtesan
of the earth!"</p>

<p>Scarcely had the last word died to silence when a blinding
flash of lightning rent the gloom followed by a tremendous
crash of thunder that shook the great edifice to its foundation.
The bronze portals opened as of their own accord and a
terrific gust of wind extinguished every light in the thousand-jetted
candelabrum. Impenetrable darkness reigned&mdash;thick,
suffocating darkness, as the thunder rolled away in grand,
sullen echoes.</p>

<p>There was a momentary lull, then, piercing the profound
gloom, came the cries and shrieks of frightened women, the
horrible, selfish scrambling, struggling and pushing of a
bewildered multitude. A veritable frenzy of fear seemed to
possess every one. Groans and sobs, entreaties and curses
from those, who, intent on saving themselves, were brutally
trying to force a passage to the door, the heart-rending, frantic
appeals of the women&mdash;all these sounds increased the
horror of the situation, and Tristan, blind, giddy and confused,
listened to the uproar about him with somewhat of the
affrighted, panic-stricken compassion that a stranger in hell
might feel, while hearkening to the ceaseless plaints of the
self-tortured damned.</p>

<p>Lost in a dim stupefaction of wonderment, Tristan
remained where he stood, while the crowds rushed from the
Basilica. As he was about to follow in their wake, his gaze
was attracted towards the chapel of the Grand Penitentiary,
from which came a number of masked personages while
he, to whose keeping were confided crimes of a magnitude
that seemed beyond the extensive powers of absolution,
was barely visible under the cowl, which was drawn deeply
over his forehead.</p>

<p>The thought occurred to Tristan to seek the ear of the
Confessor, in as much as the Pontiff to whom he had hoped
to lay bare his heart could not grant him an audience.</p>

<p>The lateness of the hour and the uncertainty of the fate of
the Monk of Cluny prevented him from following the prompting
of the moment and, staggering rather than walking,
Tristan made for the portals of St. Peter's and walked unseeing
into the gathering dusk.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIIa" id="CHAPTER_XIIa">CHAPTER XII</a><br />

THE CONFESSION</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The storm had abated, but the
sheen of white lightnings to
southward and the menacing
growl of distant thunder that
seemed to come from the bowels
of the earth held out promise of
renewed upheavals of disturbed
nature.</p>

<p>The streets of Rome were
comparatively deserted with the
swiftly approaching dusk, and it occurred to Tristan to seek
the Monk of Cluny in his abode on Mount Aventine whither
he had doubtlessly betaken himself after his sermon in the
Basilica of St. Peter's. For ever and ever the memory of
lost Hellayne dominated his thoughts, and, while he poured
out prayers for peace at the shrines of the saints, with the
eyes of the soul he saw not the image of the Virgin, but of the
woman for the sake of whom he had come hither and, having
come, knew not where to find that which he sought.</p>

<p>From a passing friar Tristan learned the direction of Mount
Aventine, where, among the ruins near the newly erected
Church of Santa Maria of the Aventine, Odo of Cluny abode.
Tristan could not but marvel at the courage of the man whose
life was in hourly jeopardy and who, in the face of an ever
present menace could put his trust so completely in Heaven
as to brave the danger without even a guard.&mdash;</p>

<p>Taking the road indicated by the friar, Tristan pursued his
solitary path. In seeking the Monk of Cluny his purpose
was a twofold one, certainty with regard to his own guilt, in
having loved where love was a crime, and counsel with regard
to the woman who, he instinctively felt, would not stop at her
first innuendos.</p>

<p>As Tristan proceeded on his way his feelings and motives
became more and more perplexed, and so lost was he in
thought that, without heeding his way or noting the scattered
arches and porticoes, he lost himself in the wilderness of the
Mount of Cloisters. The hush was intensified rather than
broken by the ever louder peals of thunder, which reverberated
through the valleys, and the Stygian darkness,
broken at intervals by vivid flashes of lightning, seemed to
hem him in, as a wall of basalt.</p>

<p>Gradually all traces of a road vanished. On both sides
rose woody acclivities, covered with ruins and melancholy
cypresses, whose spectral outlines seemed to stretch into
gaunt immensity, in the sheen of the lightnings which grew
more and more frequent. The wind rose sobbingly among
the trees, and a few scattered rain-drops began to warn
Tristan that a shelter of any sort would be preferable to
exposing himself to the onslaught of the elements.</p>

<p>Entering the first group of ruins he came to, he penetrated
through a series of roofless corridors and chambers into
what seemed a dark cylindrical well at the farther extremity
of which there gleamed an infinitesimal light. Even through
the clamor of the storm that raged outside there came to
him the sound of voices from the interior.</p>

<p>Impelled as much by curiosity as by the consideration of
his own safety Tristan crept slowly towards the aperture.
As he did so, the light vanished, but a crimson glow, as of
smouldering embers, succeeded, and heavy fumes of incense,
wafted to his nostrils, informed him that his fears regarding
the character of the abode were but too well founded. He
cowered motionless in the gloom until the storm had abated,
determined to return at some time to discover what mysteries
the place concealed.</p>

<p>A fresher breeze had sprung up, driving the thunderclouds
to northward, and from a clear azure the stars shone in
undimmed lustre upon the dreaming world beneath.</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan stood gazing at the immense desolation,
the wilderness of arches, shattered columns and ivy-covered
porticoes. The hopelessness of finding among these
relics of antiquity the monk's hermitage impressed itself at
once upon him. Pausing irresolutely, he would probably
have retraced his steps, had he not chanced to see some one
emerge from the adjacent ruins, apparently bound in the
same direction.</p>

<p>Whether it was a presentiment of evil, or whether the
fear bred of the region and the hour of the night prompted
the precaution, Tristan receded into the shadows and watched
the approaching form, in whom he recognized Basil, the
Grand Chamberlain. He at once resolved to follow him
and the soft ground aided the execution of his design.</p>

<p>The way wound through a veritable labyrinth of ruins,
nevertheless he kept his eyes on the tall dark form, stalking
through the night before him. At times an owl or bat whirled
over his head. With these exceptions he encountered no
living thing among the ruins to break the hush of the sepulchral
desolation.</p>

<p>The distance between them gradually diminished. Tristan
saw the other turn to the right into a wilderness of grottoes,
the tortuous corridors of which were at times almost choked
up with weeds and wild flowers, but when he reached the
spot, there was no vestige of a human presence. Basil
had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed him.</p>

<p>Possessed by a sudden fear that some harm might be
intended the monk and remembering certain veiled threats
he had overheard against his life, he proceeded more slowly
and cautiously by the dim light of the stars.</p>

<p>Before long he found himself before a flight of grass grown
steps that led up to a series of desolate chambers which,
although roofless and choked with rank vegetation, still
bore traces of their ancient splendor. These corridors
led to a clumsy door, standing half ajar, from beyond which
shone the faint glimmer of a light.</p>

<p>After having reached the threshold Tristan paused.</p>

<p>High, oval-shaped apertures admitted light and air at
once, and the dying embers of a charcoal fire revealed a
chamber, singularly void of all the comforts of existence.
Almost in the centre of this chamber, before a massive
stone table, upon which was spread a huge tome, sat the
Monk of Cluny, shading his eyes with his right hand and
reading half aloud.</p>

<p>For a few moments Tristan regarded the recluse breathlessly,
as if he dreaded disturbing his meditations, when
Odo suddenly raised his eyes and saw the dark form standing
in the frame of the door.</p>

<p>The look which he bestowed upon Tristan convinced the
latter immediately of the doubt which the monk harbored
regarding the quality of his belated caller, a doubt which
he deemed well to disperse before venturing into the monk's
retreat.</p>

<p>Therefore, without abandoning his position, he addressed
the inmate of the chamber and, as he spoke, the tone of his
voice seemed to carry conviction, that the speaker was
sincere.</p>

<p>"Your pardon, father," Tristan stammered, "for one
who is seeking you in an hour of grave doubt and misgiving."</p>

<p>The monk's ear had caught the accent of a foreign tongue.
He beckoned to Tristan to enter, rising from the bench
on which he had been seated.</p>

<p>"You come at a strange hour," he said, not without
a note of suspicion, which did not escape Tristan. "Your
business must be weighty indeed to embolden one, a stranger
on Roman soil, to penetrate the desolate Aventine when
the world sleeps and murder stalks abroad."</p>

<p>"I am here for a singular purpose, father,&mdash;having obeyed
the impulse of the moment, after listening to your sermon
at St. Peter's."</p>

<p>"But that was hours ago," interposed the monk, resting
his hand on the stone table, as he faced his visitor.</p>

<p>"I lost my way&mdash;nor did I meet any one to point it,"
Tristan replied, as he advanced and kissed the monk's
hand reverently.</p>

<p>"What is your business, my son?" asked the monk.</p>

<p>Tristan hesitated a moment. At last he spoke.</p>

<p>"I came to Rome not of my own desire,&mdash;but obeying
the will of another that imposed the pilgrimage. I have
sinned, father&mdash;and yet there are moments, when I would
almost glory in that which I have done. It was my purpose,
while at St. Peter's to confess to the Grand Penitentiary.
But&mdash;I know not why&mdash;I chose you instead, knowing that
you would give truth for truth."</p>

<p>The monk regarded his visitor, wondering what one so
young and possessed of so frank a countenance might have
done amiss.</p>

<p>"You are a pilgrim?" he queried at last.</p>

<p>"For my sins&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Of French descent, yet not a Frenchman&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tristan started at the monk's penetration.</p>

<p>"From Provence, father," he stammered, "the land of
songs and flowers&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And women&mdash;" the monk interposed gravely.</p>

<p>"There are women everywhere, father."</p>

<p>"There are women and women. Perchance I should
say 'Woman.'"</p>

<p>Tristan bowed his head in silence.</p>

<p>The monk cast a penetrating glance at his visitor. He
understood the gesture and the silence with that quick comprehension
that came to him who was to reform Holy Catholic
Church from the abuse of decades&mdash;as an intuition.</p>

<p>"But now, my son, speak of yourself," said the monk
after a pause.</p>

<p>"I lived at the court of Avalon, the home of Love and
Troubadours."</p>

<p>"Of Troubadours?" the monk interposed dreamily. "A
worldly lot&mdash;given to extolling free love and what not&mdash;"</p>

<p>"They may sing of love and passion, father, but their
lives are pure and chaste," Tristan ventured to remonstrate.</p>

<p>"You are a Troubadour?" came the swift query.</p>

<p>"In my humble way." Tristan replied with bowed head.</p>

<p>The monk nodded.</p>

<p>"Go on&mdash;go on!"</p>

<p>"At the court of Avalon I met the consort of Count Roger
de Laval. He was much absent, on one business or another,&mdash;the
chase&mdash;feuds with neighboring barons.&mdash;He chose
me to help the Lady Hellayne to while away the long hours
during his absence&mdash;"</p>

<p>"His wife! What folly!"</p>

<p>"The Count de Laval is one of those men who would
tempt the heavens themselves to fall upon him rather than to
air himself beneath them. That his fair young wife, doing
his will among men given to the chase and drinking bouts,
and the society of tainted damsels, should long for something
higher, she, whom he regarded with the high air of the lord
of creation&mdash;that she should dare dream of some intangible
something, for which she hungered, and craved and
starved&mdash;"</p>

<p>"If you are about to confess, as I conceive, to a wrong
you have done to this same lord," interposed the monk, "your
sin is not less black if you paint him you have wronged in
odious tints."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless I am most sorry to do so, father," Tristan
interposed, "else could I not make you understand to its full
extent his folly and conceit by placing me, a creature of
emotion, day by day beside so fair a being as his young wife.
Therefore I would explain."</p>

<p>"It needs some explanation truly!" the monk said sternly.</p>

<p>"The Count de Laval is a man whose conceit is so colossal,
father, that he would never think it possible that any
one could fail in love and admiration at the shrine which he
built for himself. A man of supreme arrogance and self-righteousness."</p>

<p>"Sad, indeed&mdash;" mused the monk.</p>

<p>"Our thoughts were pagan, drifting back to the days
when the world was peopled with sylvan creatures&mdash;with
the deities of field and stream&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Mere heathen dreams," interposed the monk. "Go on!
Go on!"</p>

<p>"I then felt within myself the impulse to throw forth a
minstrelsy prophetic of a new world resembling that old
which had vanished. It was not to be a mere chant of wrath
or exultation&mdash;it was to sound the joy of the earth, of the
air, of the sun, of the moon and the stars,&mdash;the song of the
birds, the perfume of the flowers&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Words that have but little meaning left in this stern
world wherein we dwell&mdash;"</p>

<p>"They had meaning for me, father. Also for her.
They were to both of us a bright and mystical ideal, in the
fumes of which we steeped our souls,&mdash;our very selves,
till our natures seemed to know no hurt, seemed incapable
of evil&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Alas&mdash;the greater the pity!"</p>

<p>"I was sure of myself. She was sure of me. I loved
her. Her presence was to me as some intoxication of the
soul&mdash;some rare perfume that captivates the senses, raising
the spirit to heights too rarefied for breath&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And you fell?"</p>

<p>The words came from the monk's lips, slowly, inexorably,
as the knell of fate.</p>

<p>"I&mdash;all, but fell!" stammered Tristan. "One day in
a chamber far removed from the inhabited part of the castle
we sat and read. And suddenly she laid her face close
to mine and with eyes in whose mystic depths lurked something
more than I had ever seen in them before asked why,
through Fate's high necessity, two should forever wander
side by side, longing for each other&mdash;their longing unsatisfied&mdash;when
the hour was theirs&mdash;"</p>

<p>Again Tristan paused.</p>

<p>The monk regarded him in silence.</p>

<p>"You fell?" the question came again.</p>

<p>"In that moment, father, I was no more myself, no more
the one whose art is sacred and alone upon the mountain
summit of his soul. Its freedom and aspirations were no
more. I was undone, a tumbled, wingless thing. My
pride had fled. Long, long I looked into her eyes, and
when she put her wonderful white arms about me, I, in a
dizzy moment of desire, dropped my face to hers. Then
was love all uttered. Straightway I arose. I clasped her
in my arms. I kissed&mdash;I kissed her&mdash;"</p>

<p>The monk regarded him sternly, yet not unkindly.</p>

<p>"It was a sin. Yet&mdash;there is more?"</p>

<p>Tristan's hands were clasped.</p>

<p>"One evening in the rose garden&mdash;at dusk&mdash;the evening
on which she sent me from her&mdash;bade me go to Rome
to obtain forgiveness for a sin of which I could not repent."</p>

<p>The monk nodded. "Go on! Go on!"</p>

<p>"The world had fallen away from us. We stood in a
grove, our arms about each other. Suddenly I saw a face.
I withdrew my arm, overwhelmed by all the shame of guilt.
The face vanished and, passion overmastering once more,
we touched our lips anew. It was the last time we were
to see each other. I left behind the wondrous silken hair
my hands had touched in our last mad caress. I left behind
that tender face and form. She made no attempt to follow,
or to call me back. I hastened to my chamber, and there
I fought anew with all that evil impulse of my youth, to
face the shame, as long as joy endured. If I had sinned
in mind against my high ideal might I not some day recover
it and be purified?"</p>

<p>"What of God and Holy Church?" queried the monk.</p>

<p>"To them I gave no heed, but to my honor. This upheld
me."</p>

<p>The monk gave a nod.</p>

<p>"I left Avalon. It seemed as if without her my life were
ebbing away. I joined a pilgrim party, and now my pilgrimage
is ended. What must I do to still this inward craving
that will not leave my soul at peace?"</p>

<p>He ended in a sob.</p>

<p>The monk had relapsed into deep thought, and Tristan's
eyes were riveted on the ascetic form in silent dread, as to
what would be the verdict.</p>

<p>At last Odo broke the heavy silence.</p>

<p>"You have committed a grievous sin&mdash;adultery&mdash;nay,
speak not!" he said, as Tristan attempted to remonstrate
against the dire accusation. "The seed of every act slumbers
in the mind ere its pernicious shoots are manifest in
deeds. He who looks upon a woman with the desire to
possess her has already committed adultery with her. Yet&mdash;not
one in a thousand would have done so nobly under
such temptation!"</p>

<p>The monk's voice betrayed some feeling as he placed
his hand on Tristan's bowed head.</p>

<p>"I shall consider what penances are most fit for one who
has transgressed as you have, my son. It is for your future
life&mdash;perchance Holy Orders&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tristan raised his head imploringly.</p>

<p>"Not that, father,&mdash;not that! I am not fit!"</p>

<p>The monk regarded him quizzically.</p>

<p>"The lust of the eye is mighty and the fever of the world
still burns in your veins, my son, rebelling against the passion
that chastens and purifies. Nevertheless, the Church
desires no enforced service. She wishes to be served
through love, not with aversion and fear. Continue to do
penance, implore His forgiveness, and that He may take
from you this worldly desire."</p>

<p>Kissing anew the hand which the monk extended, Tristan
arose, after Odo had made upon him the holy sign.</p>

<p>"I shall obey your behest," he said in a low, broken
voice, then withdrew, while the Monk of Cluny returned
to his former pursuit, unconscious that another had witnessed
and overheard the strange confession from a recess
in the wall.</p>

<p>As one in a trance Tristan left the Monk of Cluny, his
heart filled with gratitude for the man who, in the midst
of a world of strife and unrest, had listened to his tale and
had not dealt harshly with him, but had received him sympathetically,
even while rebuking the offence. While the
penances imposed upon him were not severe, Tristan chafed
nevertheless under the restraint they laid upon his soul.</p>

<p>What was his future life to be? What new vistas would
open before him? What new impressions would superimpose
themselves upon the memories of the past&mdash;the
memory of Hellayne?</p>

<p>As he passed the church of Santa Maria of the Aventine,
Tristan saw the portals open. Puzzled over the problems
he was face in the days to come, he entered the dim shadows
of the sanctuary.</p>

<p>All that night Tristan knelt in solitary prayer.</p>

<p>The great church was empty and silent, unlit save for
the lamp upon the altar. There Tristan kept his vigil, his
tired, tearful eyes upon the crucifixion, searching his own
heart.</p>

<p>The night of silence brought him no vision and shed no
light upon his path. The pale dawn found him still upon
his knees before the altar, his eyes upon the drooping form
of the crucified Christ.</p>

<p>Thus the monks found him when they entered for early
Matins. At last he arose, in his sombre eyes a touching
resignation and infinite regret.</p>

<div class='center'>END OF BOOK THE FIRST</div>


<hr class="chap" />
<h2>BOOK THE SECOND</h2>




<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Ib" id="CHAPTER_Ib">CHAPTER I</a><br />

THE GRAND CHAMBERLAIN</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_c.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Castel San Angelo, the
Tomb of the Flavian Emperor,
seemed rather to have been
built for a great keep, a breakwater
as it were to stem the
rush of barbarian seas which
were wont to come storming
down from the frozen north,
than for the resting-place of the
former master of the world. Its
constructors had aimed at nothing less than its everlastingness.
So thick were its bastioned walls, so thick the curtains
which divided its inner and outer masonry, that no force of
nature seemed capable of honeycombing or weakening them.</p>

<p>Hidden within its screens and vaults, like the gnawings of
a foul and intricate cancer, ran dark passages which discharged
themselves here and there into dreadful dungeons,
or secret places not guessed at in the common tally of its
rooms.</p>

<p>These oubliettes were hideous with blotched and spotted
memories, rotten with the dew of suffering, eloquent in their
terror and corruption and darkness of the cruelty which
turned to these walls for security. The hiss and purr of
subterranean fires, the grinding of low, grated jaws, the
flop and echo of stagnant water that oozed from a stagnant
inner moat into vermin-swarming, human-haunted cellars:
these sounds spoke even less of grief than the hellish ferment
in the souls of those who had lorded it in this keep
since the fall of the Western Empire.</p>

<p>On this night there hung an air of menace about the Mausoleum
of the Flavian Emperor which seemed enhanced by
the roar and clatter of the tempest that raged over the seven-hilled
city. Snaky twists of lightning leaped athwart the
driving darkness, and deafening peals of thunder reverberated
in deep, booming echoes through the inky vault
of the heavens.</p>

<p>In one of the upper chambers of the huge granite pile,
which seemed to defy the very elements, in a square room,
dug out of the very rock, containing but one window that
appeared as a deep wedge in the wall, piercing to the sheer
flank of the tower, there sat, brooding over a letter he held
in his hand, Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>The drowsy odor of incense, smouldering in the little
purple shrine lamp, robbed the air of its last freshness.</p>

<p>A tunic of dark velvet, fur bound and girt with a belt of
finest Moorish steel, was relieved by an undervest of deepest
crimson. Woven hose to match the tunic ended in crimson
buskins of soft leather. The mantle and the skull cap
which he had discarded lay beside him on the floor, guarded
by a tawny hound of the ancient Molossian breed.</p>

<p>By the fitful light of the two waxen tapers, which flickered
dismally under the onslaught of the elements, the inmate
of the chamber slowly and laboriously deciphered the letter.
Then he placed it in his doublet, lapsing into deep rumination,
as one who is vainly seeking to solve a problem that defies
solution.</p>

<p>Rising at last from his chair Basil paced the narrow confines
of the chamber, whose crimson walls seemed to form
a fitting background for the dark-robed occupant.</p>

<p>Outside, the storm howled furiously, flinging gusty dashes
of rain and hail against the stone masonry and clattering
noisily with every blow inflicted upon the solid rock.</p>

<p>When, spent by its own fury, the hurricane abated for a
moment, the faint sound of a bell tolling the Angelus could
be heard whimpering through the night.</p>

<p>When Basil had left Theodora after their meeting at the
palace, there had been a darker light in his eyes, a something
more ominous of evil in his manner. While his passion
had utterly enslaved him, making him a puppet in the
hands of the woman whose boundless ambition must inevitably
lead her either to the heights of the empire whereof
she dreamed, or to the deepest abyss of hell, Basil was far
from being content to occupy a position which made him
merely a creature of her will and making. To mount the
throne with the woman whose beauty had set his senses
aflame, to rule the city of Rome from the ramparts of Castel
San Angelo, as Ugo of Tuscany by the side of Marozia,
this was the dream of the man who would leave no stone
unturned to accomplish the ambition of his life.</p>

<p>In an age where certain dark personalities appeared terribly
sane to their contemporaries, their occult dealings
with powers whose existence none questioned must have
seemed terribly real to themselves and to those who gazed
from afar. When the mad were above the sane in power,
and beyond the reach of observation, there was no limit
to their baleful activity.</p>

<p>Basil, from the early days of his youth, had lived in a
world of evil spirits, imaginary perhaps for us, but real
enough for those who might at any moment be at his mercy.
Stimulating his mad desire with the potent drug which the
Saracens had brought with them from the scented East,
he pushed his hashish-born imaginings to the very throne
of Evil. His ambition, which was boundless, and centred
in the longed for achievement of a hope too stupendous
even for thought, had intimately connected him with those
whose occult researches put them outside the pale of the
Church, and the power he wielded in the shadowy world
of demons was as unchallenged as that which he felt himself
wielding in the tangible world of men.</p>

<p>Among the people there was no end to the dark stories
of magic and poison, some of them real enough, that were
whispered about him, and many a belated rambler looked
with a shudder up to the light that burned in a chamber
of his palace on the Pincian Hill till the wee, small hours
of the night. Had he been merely a practitioner of the
Black Arts he would probably long since have ended his
career in the dungeons of Castel San Angelo. But he was
safe enough as one of the great ones of the world, the confidant
of the Senator of Rome; safe, because he was feared
and because none dared to oppose his baleful influence.</p>

<p>Basil pondered, as if the solution of the problem in his
mind had at last presented itself, but had again left him,
unsatisfied, in the throes of doubt and fear.</p>

<p>Rising from his seat he again unfolded the letter and
peered over its contents.</p>

<p>"Can we regain the door by which we have entered?"
he soliloquized. "Can we conquer the phantom that haunts
the silent chambers of the brain? Were it an eye, or a hand,
I could pluck it off. However, if I cannot strangle it, I can
conquer it! Shall it forever blot the light of heaven from
my path? Shall I forever suffer and tremble at this impalpable
something&mdash;this shade from the abyss&mdash;of hell&mdash;that
is there&mdash;yet not there?"</p>

<p>He paused for a moment in his perambulation, gazing
through the narrow unglazed window into the storm-tossed
night without. Now and then a flash of lightning shot
athwart the inky darkness, lighting up dark recesses and
deep embrasures. The sullen roar of the thunder seemed
to come from the bowels of the earth.</p>

<p>And as the Grand Chamberlain walked, as if driven by
some invisible demon, the great Molossian hound followed
him about with a stealthy, noiseless gait, raising its head
now and then as if silently inquiring into its master's
mood.</p>

<p>When at length he reseated himself, the huge hound
cowered at his feet and licked its huge paws.</p>

<p>The mood of the woman for whom his lust-bitten soul
yearned as it had never yearned for anything on earth, her
words of disdain, which had scorched his very brain, and,
above all, the knowledge that she read his inmost thoughts,
had roused every atom of evil within his soul. This state
of mind was accentuated by the further consideration that
she, of all women whom he had sent to their shame and
death, was not afraid of him. She had even dared to hint
at the existence of a rival who might indeed, in time, supersede
him, if he were not wary.</p>

<p>For some time Basil had been vaguely conscious of losing
ground in the favor of the woman whom no man might utterly
trust save to his undoing. The rivalry of Roxaná, who, like
her tenth-century prototypes, was but too eager to enter
the arena for Marozia's fateful inheritance, had poured oil
on the flames when Theodora had learned that the Senator
of Rome himself was frequenting her bowers, and she was
not slow to perceive the agency that was at work to defeat
and destroy her utterly.</p>

<p>By adding ever new fuel to the hatred of the two women
for each other Basil hoped to clear for himself a path that
would carry him to the height of his aspirations, by compelling
Theodora to openly espouse him her champion. Sooner
or later he knew they would ignite under each other's taunts,
and upon the ruins of the conflagration he hoped to build
his own empire, with Theodora to share with him the throne.</p>

<p>Alberic had departed for the shrines of the Archangel
at Monte Gargano. Intent upon the purification of the
Church and upon matters pertaining to the empire, he was
an element that needed hardly be reckoned with seriously.
A successful coup would hurl him into the dungeons of his
own keep, perchance, by some irony of fate, into the very
cell where Marozia had so mysteriously and ignominiously
ended her career. Once in possession of the Mausoleum,
the Germans and Dalmatians bought and bribed, he would
be the master&mdash;unless&mdash;</p>

<p>Suddenly the huge beast at his feet raised its muzzle,
sniffing the air and uttering a low growl.</p>

<p>A moment later Maraglia, the Castellan of Castel San
Angelo, entered through a winding passage.</p>

<p>"What brings you here at this hour, with your damned
butcher's face?" Basil turned upon the newcomer who
had paused when his gaze fell upon the Molossian.</p>

<p>The brutal features of Maraglia looked ghastly enough
in the flickering light of the tapers and Basil's temper seemed
to deepen their ashen pallor.</p>

<p>"My lord&mdash;it is there again,&mdash;in the lower gallery&mdash;near
the cell where the Lady Marozia was strangled&mdash;"</p>

<p>"By all the furies of Hell! Since when are you in the
secrets of the devil?"</p>

<p>"Since I held the noose, my Lord Basil," replied the warden
of the Emperor's Tomb doggedly. "Though I knew not
at the time whose breath was being shortened. It was
all too dark&mdash;a night just like this&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Perchance your memory, going back to that hour, has
retained something more than the mere surmise," Basil
glowered from under the dark, straight brows. "How
many were there?"</p>

<p>"There were three&mdash;all masked, my lord. But their
voices were their own&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You possess a keen ear, my man, as one, accustomed to
dark deeds and passages, well should," Basil interposed
sardonically. "Deem you, in your undoubted wisdom, the
lady has returned and is haunting her former abode? Once
upon a time she was not wont to abide in estate so lowly.
And, they say, she was beautiful&mdash;even to her death."</p>

<p>"And well they may," Maraglia interposed. "I saw
her but twice. When she came, and before she died."</p>

<p>"Before she died?"</p>

<p>"And the look she bent upon him who led the execution,"
Maraglia continued thoughtfully. "She spoke not once.
Dumb and silent she went to the fishes. When the Lord
Alberic arrived, it was all too late&mdash;"</p>

<p>"All too late!" Basil interposed sardonically. "The
fishes too were dumb. Profit by their example, Maraglia.
Too much wisdom engenders death."</p>

<p>"The death rattle of one sounds to my ears just like that
of another, my lord," Maraglia replied, quaking under the
look that was upon him. "And the voices of the few who
still abide are growing weaker day by day."</p>

<p>"They shall not much longer annoy your delicate ears,"
Basil replied. "The Senator who has found this abode
somewhat too draughty has departed for the holy shrines,
to do penance for the death of his mother. He suspects
all was not well. He would know more. Perchance the
Archangel may grant him a revelation. Meanwhile, we
must to work. The new captain appointed by the Senator
enters his service on the morrow. A holy man, much given
to contemplation over the mysteries of love. His attention
must be diverted. Every trace of life must be extinct&mdash;this
very night. No proofs must be allowed to remain.
Meanwhile, what of the apparition whereof you rave?"</p>

<p>"It is there, my lord, as sure as my soul lives," replied
the castellan. "A shapeless something, preceded by a
breath, cold as from a newly dug grave."</p>

<p>"A shapeless something, say you? Whence comes it
and where goes it? For whose diversion does it perambulate?"</p>

<p>"The astrologer monk perchance who improvises prophecies."</p>

<p>"Then let his improvising damn himself," replied Basil
sullenly. "To call himself inspired and pretend to read the
stars! How about his prophecy now?"</p>

<p>"He holds to it!"</p>

<p>"What! That I have less than one month to live?"</p>

<p>"Just that&mdash;no more!"&mdash;</p>

<p>Basil gave the speaker a quick glance.</p>

<p>"What niggardly dispensation and presumption withal!
This fellow to claim kinship with the stars! To profess to
be in their confidence, to share the secrets of the heavens
while he is smothered by darkness, utter and everlasting.
The heavens mind you, Maraglia! My star! It is a star
of darker red than Mars and crosses Hell&mdash;not Heaven!
In thought I watch it every night with sleepless eyes. Is
it not well to cleanse the earth of such lying prophets that
truth may have standing room? Where have you lodged
him?"</p>

<p>"In the Hermit's cell&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well done! Thereby he shall prove his asceticism.
Let practised abstinence save him in such a pass! He shall
eat his words&mdash;an everlasting banquet. A fat astrologer&mdash;by
the token&mdash;as I hear, was he not?"</p>

<p>"He was fat when he entered."</p>

<p>"Wretch! Would you starve him? Remember the worms
and the fishes&mdash;your friends. Would you cheat them?
Hath he foretold his end?"</p>

<p>"Ay&mdash;by starvation."</p>

<p>"He lies! You shall take him in extremis and, with
your knife in his throat, give him the lie. An impostor
proved. What of the night?"</p>

<p>"It rains and thunders."</p>

<p>"Why should we mind rain and thunder? Lead me to
this madman, and, incidentally, to this phantom that keeps
him company. Why do you gape, Maraglia? Move on!
I follow!"</p>

<p>Maraglia was ill at ease, but he dared not disobey. Taking
up one of the candles, he led the way, trembling, his face
ashen, his teeth chattering, as if in the throes of a chill.</p>

<p>Through a panel door in the wall they descended a winding
stairway, leaving the dog behind. The flight conducted
them to a private postern, well secured and guarded inside
and out. As they issued from this the howl of blown rain
met and staggered them. Looking up at the cupola of
basalt from the depths of that well of masonry, it seemed
to crack and split in a rush of fusing stars. Basil's mad
soul leapt to the call of the hour. He was one with this
mighty demonstration of nature. His brain danced and
flickered with dark visions of power. He appeared to himself
as an angel, a destroying angel, commissioned from on
high to purge the world of lies.</p>

<p>"Take me to this monk!" he screamed through the
thunder.</p>

<p>Deep in the foundation of the northeastern crypts the
miserable creature was embedded in a stone chamber as
utterly void and empty as despair. The walls, the floor,
the roof were all chiselled as smooth as glass. There was
not a foothold anywhere even for a cat, neither door, nor
traps, nor egress, nor window of any kind save where, just
under the ceiling, the grated opening by which he had been
lowered, admitted by day a haggard ghost of light. And
even that wretched solace was withdrawn as night fell,
became a phantom, a diluted whisp of memory, sank like
water into the blackness, and left the fancy suddenly naked
in the self-consciousness of hell. Then the monk screamed
like a madman and threw himself towards the flitting spectre.
He fell on the smooth surface of the polished rock and bruised
his limbs horribly. Yet the very pain was a saving occupation.
He struck his skull and revelled in the agonizing
dance of lights the blow procured him. But one by one
they blew out; and in a moment dead negation had him by
the throat again, rolling him over and over, choking him under
enormous slabs of darkness. Gasping, he cursed his improvidence,
in not having glued his vision to the place of
the light's going. It would have been something gained from
madness to hold and gloat upon it, to watch hour by hour
for its feeble redawn. Among all the spawning monstrosities
of that pit, with only the assured prospect of a lingering
death before him, the prodigy of eternal darkness quite
overcrowded that other of thirst or starvation.</p>

<p>Yet the black gloom broke, it would seem, before its due.
Had he annihilated time and was this death? He rose
rapturously to his feet and stood staring at the grating, the
tears gushing down his sunken cheeks. The bars were
withdrawn, in their place a dim lamp was intruded and a
face looked down.</p>

<p>"Barnabo&mdash;are you hungry and a-thirst?"</p>

<p>The voice spoke to him of life. It was the name he had
borne in the world and he wondered who from that world
could be addressing him.</p>

<p>He answered quaveringly.</p>

<p>"Of a truth, I am hungry and a-thirst."</p>

<p>"It is a beatitude," replied the voice suavely. "You
shall have your fill of justice."</p>

<p>"Justice!" screamed the prisoner. "I fear it is but an
empty phrase."</p>

<p>"Comfort yourself," said the other. "I shall make a
full measure of it! It shall bubble and sparkle to the brim
like a goblet of Cyprian. Know you the wine, monk? A
cool fragrant liquid, that gurgles down the arid throat and
brings visions of green meadows and sparkling brooks&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I ask no mercy," cried the monk, falling on his knees
and stretching out his lean arms. "Only make an end of
it&mdash;of this hellish torment."</p>

<p>"Torment?" came the voice from above. "What torment
is there in the vision of the wine cup&mdash;or, for that
matter, a feast on groaning tables under the trees? Are
you not rich in experiences, Barnabo,&mdash;both of the board
and of love? Remember the hours when she lay in your
arms, innocent, save of original sin? Ah! Could she see
you now, Barnabo&mdash;how you have changed! No more the
elegant courtier that wooed Theodora ere despair drove
you to don the penitential garb and, like Balaam's ass, to
raise your voice and prophesy! Deem you&mdash;as fate has
thrown her into these arms of mine&mdash;memory will revive
the forgotten joys of the days of long ago?"</p>

<p>"Mercy&mdash;demon!" gasped the monk. His swollen
throat could hardly shape the words.</p>

<p>Basil laughed and bent lower.</p>

<p>"Answer me then&mdash;you who boast of being inspired
from above&mdash;you who listen to the music of the spheres
in the dead watches of the night&mdash;tell me then, you man
of God&mdash;how long am I to live?"</p>

<p>"Monster, relieve me of your sight!" shrieked the unhappy
wretch.</p>

<p>"It is the light," mocked Basil. "The light from above.
Raise your voice, monk, and prophesy. You who would
hurl the anathema upon Basil, the Grand Chamberlain,
who arrogated to yourself the mission to purge the universe
and to summon me&mdash;me&mdash;before the tribunal of the
Church&mdash;tell me, you, who aspired to take to his bed the
spouse of the devil, till the white lightnings of her passion
seared and blasted your carcass,&mdash;tell me&mdash;how long am
I to live?"</p>

<p>An inarticulate shriek came from within.</p>

<p>"By justice&mdash;till the dead rise from their graves."</p>

<p>"Live forever&mdash;on an empty phrase?" Basil mocked.
"Are you, too, provisioned for eternity?"</p>

<p>He held out his hand as if he were offering the starving
wretch food.</p>

<p>The monk fell on his knees. His lips moved, but no
sound was audible.</p>

<p>"Perchance he hath a vision," Basil turned to Maraglia
who stood sullenly by.</p>

<p>"Oh, dull this living agony."</p>

<p>"How long am I to live?"</p>

<p>"Now, hear me, God," screamed the monk. "Let not
this man ever again know surcease from torment in bed,
at board, in body or in mind. Let his lust devour him, let
the worm burrow in his entrails, the maggot in his brain!
May death seize and damnation wither him at the moment
when he is nearest the achievement of his fondest hopes!"</p>

<p>Basil screamed him down.</p>

<p>An uncontrollable terror had seized him.</p>

<p>"Silence, beast, or I shall strangle you!"</p>

<p>"Libertine, traitor, assassin&mdash;may heaven's lightnings
blast you&mdash;"</p>

<p>For a moment the two battled in a war of screeching blasphemy.</p>

<p>At the next moment the grate was flung into place, the
light whisked and vanished, a door slammed and the Stygian
blackness of the cell closed once more upon the moaning
heap in its midst.</p>

<p>Basil's eyes gleamed like live coals as he turned to Maraglia,
who, quaking and ashen, was babbling a prayer between
white lips.</p>

<p>"Make an end of him!" he snarled. "He has lived
too long. And now, in the devil's name, lead the way above!"</p>

<p>A flash of lightning that seemed to rend the very heavens
illumined for a moment the dark and tortuous passage, its
sheen reflected through the narrow port-holes on the blackness
of the walls. It was followed by a peal of thunder
so terrific that it shook the vast pile of the Emperor's Tomb
to its foundations, clattering and roaring, as if a thousand
worlds had been rent in twain.</p>

<p>Maraglia, who had preceded the Grand Chamberlain
with the taper, uttered a wild shriek of terror, dropped the
light, causing it to be extinguished and his fleeting steps
carried him down a night-wrapped gallery as fast as his
limbs would carry him, utterly indifferent to Basil's fate in
the Stygian gloom.</p>

<p>Paralyzed with terror, the Grand Chamberlain stared
into the inky blackness. For a moment it had seemed to
him as if a breath from an open grave had indeed been
wafted to his nostrils.</p>

<p>But it was neither the thunder, nor the lightning, neither
the swish of the rain nor the roar of the hurricane, that had
prompted Maraglia's outcry and precipitate flight and his
abject terror, as we shall see.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIb" id="CHAPTER_IIb">CHAPTER II</a><br />

THE CALL OF EBLIS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">In the lurid flash that had illumined
the gallery, lighting
up rows of cells and deep recesses,
Basil had seen, as if
risen from the floor, a black,
indefinable shape, wrapped in a
long black mantle, the hood of
which was drawn over its face.
Through its slits gleamed two
eyes, like live coals. Of small
stature and apparently great age, the bent apparition supported
itself by a crooked staff, the fleshless fingers barely
visible under the cover of the ample sleeve, and resembling
the claws of some bird of prey.</p>

<p>At last the terror which the uncanny apparition inspired
changed to its very counterpart, as, defiance in his tone,
the Grand Chamberlain made a forward step.</p>

<p>"Who goes there?&mdash;Friend or foe of the Lord Basil?"&mdash;</p>

<p>His voice sounded strange in his own ears.</p>

<p>A gibbering response quavered out of the gloom.</p>

<p>"What matters friend or foe as long as you grasp the
tenure of power?"</p>

<p>Basil breathed a sigh of relief.</p>

<p>"I ought to know that voice. You are Bessarion?"</p>

<p>"I have waited long," came the drawling reply.</p>

<p>There was a pause brief as the intake of a breath.</p>

<p>"What do you demand?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"You shall know in time."</p>

<p>"In time comes death!"</p>

<p>"And more!"</p>

<p>"It is the hour that calls!"</p>

<p>"Are you prepared?"</p>

<p>"Show me what you can do!"</p>

<p>"For this I am here! Are you afraid?"</p>

<p>The air of mockery in the questioner's tone cut the speaker
to the quick.</p>

<p>In the intermittent flashes of lightning Basil saw the
shapeless form cowering before him in the dusk of the gallery,
barring the way. But again it mingled quickly with the
darkness.</p>

<p>"Of whom?" Basil queried.</p>

<p>There was another pause.</p>

<p>"Of the Presence!"</p>

<p>"That craven hound Maraglia has upset the light," muttered
Basil. "I cannot see you."</p>

<p>"Can you not feel my presence?" came the gibbering
reply.</p>

<p>"Even so!"</p>

<p>"Know you what high powers of night control your life&mdash;what
dark-winged messengers of evil fly about you?"</p>

<p>"Your words make my soul flash like a thunder cloud."</p>

<p>"And yet does your power stand firm?"</p>

<p>"It rests on deep dug dungeons, where the light of heaven
does not intrude. I spread such fear in men's white hearts
as the craven have never known."</p>

<p>A faint chuckle came in reply.</p>

<p>"Only last night I saw you in the magic crystal sphere in
which I read the dire secrets of Fate. Above your head
flew evil angels. Beneath your horse's hoofs a corpse-strewn
path."</p>

<p>"The time is not yet ripe."</p>

<p>"Time does not wait for him who waits to dare."</p>

<p>An evil light flashed from Basil's eyes.</p>

<p>"What can you do?"</p>

<p>Response came as from the depths of a grave.</p>

<p>"I shall conjure such shapes from the black caves of fear
as have not ventured forth since madness first began to
prowl among the human race, when the torturing dusk
drowns every helpless thing in livid waves of shadow. It
is the spirit of your sire that draws the evil legions to you."</p>

<p>Basil straightened in surprise.</p>

<p>"What know you of him?" he exclaimed. "Dull prayers
and fasts and penances, not such freaks as this, were the
only things he thought of."</p>

<p>From the cowled form came a hiss.</p>

<p>"Fool! Not that grunting and omnivorous swine who
took the cowl, begat you! Your veins run with fiery evil
direct from its fountainhead. No, no,&mdash;not he!"</p>

<p>"Not he?" shrieked the Grand Chamberlain. "If I am
not his progeny, then whose?"</p>

<p>"Some mighty lord's."</p>

<p>"The Duke of Beneventum?"</p>

<p>"One greater yet."</p>

<p>"King Berengar?"</p>

<p>"One adored by him as his liege."</p>

<p>"Ha! I guess it now! It was Otto the Great, he whose
fury gored the heart of the Romans."</p>

<p>"One greater still."</p>

<p>"Earth hath no greater lord."</p>

<p>"Is there not heaven above and hell below? Your sire
rules the millions who have donned fear's stole forever.
He is lord of lords, where all the lips implore and none reply."</p>

<p>A flash of lightning gleamed through the gallery.</p>

<p>A shadow passed over Basil's countenance, like a swift
sailing cloud.</p>

<p>Darkness supervened, impenetrable, sepulchral.</p>

<p>"Well may you cower," gibbered the shape in its inexorable
monotone. "For you came into this life among
the death-fed mushrooms that grow where murder rots.
The moon-struck wolves howled for three nights, and ill-omened
birds flapped for three days around the tower where
she who gave you life breathed her last."</p>

<p>A fitful muttering as of souls in pain seemed to pervade
the night-wrapped galleries, with sultry storm gusts breathing
inarticulate evil. No light save the white flash of the
lightning revealed now and then the uncanny form of the
speaker. The smell of rotting weeds came through the
crevices of the wall.</p>

<p>When Basil, spell-bound, found no tongue, the dark shape
continued:</p>

<p>"Wrapped in midnight's cloak, nine witches down in
the castle moat sang a baptismal hymn of horror as you
saw the light. As mighty brazen wings sounded the roaring
of the tempest-churned seas. And above you stood he who
holds the keys to thought's dark chambers, he in whose
ranks the sullen angels serve, whose shadowy dewless
wings cast evil on the world. And I am he whose palace
rings with the eternal Never!"</p>

<p>Frozen with terror Basil listened.</p>

<p>The thunder growled ever louder. A vampire's bark
stabbed the darkness; the shriek of witches rose above the
tempest, there was a rattling of bones as if skeletons were
rising from their graves. All round the Emperor's Tomb
the ghouls were prowling, and the soulless corpses were as
restless as the fleshless souls that whimpered and moaned
in the night. Giant bats flew to and fro like evil spirits.
The great peals shook the huge pile from vault to summit.
The running finger of the storm scribbled fiery, cabalistical
zigzags on the firmament's black page. And in every peal,
louder and louder as the echoes spread, Basil seemed to
hear his name shrieked by the weird powers of darkness,
till, half mad with terror, he cried:</p>

<p>"Away! Away! Your presence flings dark glare like
glowing lava&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I come across the night," replied the voice, "ere death
has made you mine! Deserve the doom that is prepared
for those who do my bidding. You have shot into my heart
a ray of blackest light&mdash;"</p>

<p>Basil held out his hands, as if to ward off some unseen
assailant.</p>

<p>"Whirl back into the night&mdash;" he shrieked, but the
voice resumed, mocking and gibbering.</p>

<p>"Only a coward will shrink from the dreadful boundaries
between things of this earth and things beyond this earth.
I have sought you by night and by day&mdash;as fiercely as any
of those athirst pant round hell's mock springs! In the
great vaults of wrath, in the sleepless caverns, whose eternal
darkness is only lighted by pools of molten stone that
bathe the lost, where, in the lurid light, the shadows dance&mdash;I
sit and watch the lakes of torment, taciturn and lone.
I summon you to earthly power&mdash;to the fulfillment of all
your heart desires!"&mdash;</p>

<p>The voice ceased. All the elements of hell seemed to
roar and shriek around the battlemented walls.</p>

<p>There was a pause during which Basil regained his composure.</p>

<p>At last the dread shadow was looming across his path.
An undefined awe crept over him, such as dark chasms
instill; an awe at his own self. He would fain have been
screened from his own substance. By degrees he welcomed
the tidings with a dark rapture. In himself lay the substance
of Evil. It was not the Angel of Light that ruled
the reeling universe. It was the shadow of Eblis looming
dark and terrible over the lives of men. Long before he
had ever guessed what rills of flaming Phlegethon ran riot
in his veins, had he not felt his pulses swell with joy at human
pain, had he not played the fiend untaught? Could not
the Fiend, as well as God, live incarnate in human clay?
Was not the earth the meeting ground of Heaven and Hell?
And why should not he, Basil, defying Heaven, be Hell's
incarnation?&mdash;</p>

<p>Ay&mdash;but the day of death and the day of reckoning!
Would his parentage entail eternal fire, or princely power
and sway in the dark vaults of nameless terror? Should
he quail or thrill with awful exaltation?</p>

<p>"And&mdash;in return for that which I offer up&mdash;King of
the dark red glare&mdash;will you give to me what I crave&mdash;boundless
power and the woman for which my soul is on
fire?"</p>

<p>"Have you the courage to snatch them from the talons
of Fate?" came back the gibbering reply.</p>

<p>A blinding flash of lightning was succeeded by an appalling
crash of thunder.</p>

<p>"From Hell itself!" shrieked Basil frenzied. "Give me
Theodora and I will fill the cup of torture that I have seized
on your shadowy altars, and quaff your health at the terrific
banquet board of Evil in toasts of torment&mdash;in wine of
boundless pain!"</p>

<p>In the quickly succeeding flashes of lightning the dark
form seemed to rise and to expand.</p>

<p>"I knew you would not fail me! Come!"</p>

<p>For a moment Basil hesitated, fingering the hilt of his
poniard.</p>

<p>"Where would you lead me?" he queried, his tone far
from steady. "How many of these twilights must I traverse
before I see him whom you serve?"</p>

<p>"That you shall know to-night!"</p>

<p>In the deep and frozen silence which succeeded the terrible
peals of thunder their retreating footsteps died to silence
in the labyrinthine galleries of the Emperor's Tomb.</p>

<p>Only the dog-headed Anubis seemed to stare and nod
mysteriously.</p>




<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIIb" id="CHAPTER_IIIb">CHAPTER III</a><br />

THE CRYSTAL SPHERE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_o.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Outwardly and in daylight
there was nothing noticeable
about the sixth house in the
Lane of the Sclavonians in
Trastevere beyond the fact that
it was a dwelling of a superior
kind to those immediately surrounding
it, which were chiefly
ill-favored cottages of fishermen
and boatmen, and had about it
an air of almost sombre retirement.</p>

<p>It stood alone within a walled court, containing a few shrubs.
The windows were few, high and narrow, and the front bore
a rather forbidding appearance. One ascending to the flat
roof would have found it to command on the left a desolate
view of a square devoted to executions, and on the right
a scarcely more cheerful prospect over the premises belonging
to the convent of Santa Maria in Trastevere. Had the
visitor been farther able to penetrate into the principal
chamber of the first floor, on the night of the scene about
to be related, he might indeed have found himself well repaid
for his trouble.</p>

<p>This chamber, which was of considerable size and altogether
devoid of windows, being lighted during the daytime
by a skylight, carefully blinded from within, was now duskily
illumined by a transparent device inlaid into the end wall
and representing the beams of the rising moon gleaming
from a sky of azure. The extremity of the room, which
fronted the symbol, was semi-circular and occupied by a
narrow table, before which moved a tall, shadowy form
that paused now and then before a fire of fragrant sandal
wood, which burned in a brazen tripod, passing his fingers
mechanically, as it would seem, through the bluish flame.
In its unsteady flicker the strange figures on the walls, which
had defied the decree of Time, seemed to nod fantastically
when touched by a fitful ray.</p>

<p>This was Hormazd, the Persian, the former confidant
and counsellor of Marozia, in the heyday of her glory. In
those days he had held forth in a turret chamber on the
summit of Castel San Angelo, where he would read the
stars and indulge his studies in the black arts to his heart's
content. Driven forth by Alberic, after Marozia's fall, the
Persian had taken up his abode in the Trastevere, where
he continued to serve those who came to him for advice,
or on business that shunned the light of day.</p>

<p>Now and then the Oriental bent his tall, spare form over
a huge tome which lay open upon the table, the inscrutable,
ascetic countenance with the deep, brilliant eyes seemingly
plunged in deep, engrossing thought, but in reality listening
intently, as for the approach of some belated caller.</p>

<p>The soft patter of hurried footsteps on the floor of the
corridor without soon rewarded his attention. The rustle
of a woman's silken garments caused him to give a start
of surprise. A heavy curtain was raised and she glided
noiselessly into his presence.</p>

<p>The woman's face was covered with a silken vizor, but
her coronet of raven hair no less than the matchless figure,
outlined against the crimson glow, at once proclaimed her
rank.</p>

<p>The first ceremony of silent greeting absolved, the
Persian's visitor permitted the black silken cloak which
had enveloped her from head to toe, to fall away, revealing
a form exquisitely proportioned. The ivory pallor of the
throat, which rose like a marble column from matchless
shoulders, and the whiteness of the bare arms, seemed
even enhanced by the dusky background whose incense-laden
pall seemed to oppress the very walls.</p>

<p>"I am trusting you to-night with unreserved confidence,"
the woman spoke in her rich, vibrant voice. "Many serve
me from motives of selfishness and fear. Do you serve me,
because I trust you."</p>

<p>She laid her white hand frankly upon his arm and the
Persian, isolated above and below the strongest impulses
of humanity, shivered under her touch.</p>

<p>"What is it you desire?" he questioned after a pause.</p>

<p>"If you possess the knowledge with which the vulgar credit
you," the woman said slowly, not without an air of mockery
in her tone, "I hardly need reveal to you the motives which
prompted this visit! You knew them, ere I came, even as
you knew of my coming!"</p>

<p>"You speak truly," said Hormazd slowly, now completely
master of himself. "For even to the hour it was revealed
to me!"</p>

<p>The woman scanned him with a searching look.</p>

<p>"Yet I had confided in none!" she said musingly. "Tell
me then who I am!"</p>

<p>"You are Theodora!"</p>

<p>"When have we met before?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Not in this life, but in a previous existence. Our souls
touched then, predestined to cross each other on a future
plane."</p>

<p>She removed her silken vizor and faced him.</p>

<p>The dark eyes at once challenged and besought. No
sculptor could have chiselled those features on which a
divinity had recklessly squandered all it had to bestow for
good or for evil. No painter could have reproduced the
face which had wrought such havoc in the hearts of men.</p>

<p>Like summer lightnings in a dark cloudbank, all the emotions
of the human soul seemed to have played therein and
left it again, forging it in the fires of passion, but leaving
it more beautiful, more mysterious than before.</p>

<p>The Oriental regarded her in silence, as she stood before
him in the flickering flame of the brazier.</p>

<p>"In some previous existence, you say?" she said with
dreamy interest. "Who was I then&mdash;and who were you?"</p>

<p>"Two driftless spirits on the driftless sea of eternity,"
he replied calmly. "Foredoomed to continue our passage
till our final destiny be fulfilled."</p>

<p>"And this destiny is known to you?"</p>

<p>"Else I had watched in vain. But you&mdash;queen and
sorceress&mdash;do you believe in the message?"</p>

<p>She pondered.</p>

<p>"I believe," she said slowly, "that we make for ourselves
the destiny to which hereafter we must submit. I believe
that some dark power can foretell that destiny, and more&mdash;compel
it!"&mdash;</p>

<p>Hormazd bowed ever so slightly. There was a dawning
gleam of satire in his brilliant eyes, a glimpse which was
not lost on her.</p>

<p>Again the question came.</p>

<p>"What is it you desire?"</p>

<p>Theodora gave an inscrutable smile that imparted to her
features a singular softness and beauty, as a ray of sunlight
falling on a dark picture will brighten the tints with a momentary
warmth of seeming life.</p>

<p>"I was told," she spoke slowly, as if trying to overcome
an inward dread, "that you are known in Rome chiefly
as being the possessor of some mysterious internal force
which, though invisible, is manifest to all who place themselves
under your spell! Is it not so?"</p>

<p>The Persian bowed slightly.</p>

<p>"It may be that I have furnished the Romans with something
to talk about besides the weather; that I have made
a few friends, and an amazing number of enemies&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The latter argues in your favor," Theodora interposed.
"They say, furthermore, that by this same force you are
enabled to disentangle the knots of perplexity that burden
the overtaxed brain."</p>

<p>Hormazd nodded again and the sinister gleam of his eyes
did not escape Theodora's watchful gaze.</p>

<p>"If this be so," the woman continued, "if you are not
an impostor who exhibits his tricks for the delectation of
the rabble, or for sordid gain&mdash;exert your powers upon
me, for something, I know not what, has frozen up the
once overflowing fountain of life."</p>

<p>The Oriental regarded her intently.</p>

<p>"You have the wish to be deluded&mdash;even into an imaginary
happiness?"</p>

<p>Theodora gave a start.</p>

<p>"You have expressed what I but vaguely hinted. It may
be that I am tired"&mdash;she passed her hand across her brow
with a troubled gesture&mdash;"or puzzled by some infinite
distress of living things. Perchance I am going mad&mdash;who
knows? But, whatever the cause, you, if report be true,
possess the skill to ravish the mind away from its trouble,
to transport it to a radiant Elysium of illusions and ecstasies.
Do this for me, as you have done it for another, and,
whatever payment you demand, it shall be yours!"</p>

<p>She ceased.</p>

<p>Faintly through the silence came the chimes of convent
bells from the remote regions of the Aventine, pealing through
the fragrant summer night above the deep boom of distant
thunder that seemed to come as from the bowels of the
earth.</p>

<p>Hormazd gave his interrogator a swift, searching glance,
half of pity, half of disdain.</p>

<p>"The great eastern drug should serve your turn," he
replied sardonically. "I know of no other means wherewith
to stifle the voice of conscience."</p>

<p>Theodora flushed darkly.</p>

<p>"Conscience?" she flashed in resentful accents.</p>

<p>The Persian nodded.</p>

<p>"There is such a thing. Do you profess to be without
one?"</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes endeavored to pierce the inscrutable
mask before her. The ironical curtness of the question
annoyed her.</p>

<p>"Your opinion of me does little honor to your wisdom,"
she said after a pause.</p>

<p>"A foul wound festers equally beneath silk and sack-cloth,"
came the dark reply.</p>

<p>"How know you that I desire relief from this imaginary
malady?"</p>

<p>The Oriental gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"Why does Theodora come to the haunts of the Persian?
Why does she ask him to mock and delude her, as
if it were his custom to make dupes of those who appeal
to him?"</p>

<p>"And are they not your dupes?" Theodora interposed,
her face a deeper pallor than before.</p>

<p>"Of that you shall judge after I have answered your
questions," Hormazd returned darkly. "There are but
two things in life that will prompt a woman like Theodora
to seek aid of one like myself."&mdash;</p>

<p>"You arouse my curiosity!"</p>

<p>"Disappointment in power&mdash;or love!"</p>

<p>There was a silence.</p>

<p>"Will you help me?"</p>

<p>She was pleading now.</p>

<p>The Oriental sparred for time. It was not his purpose to
commit himself at once.</p>

<p>"I am but one who, long severed from the world, has long
recognized its vanities. My cures are for the body rather
than the soul."</p>

<p>Theodora's face hardened into an expression of scorn.</p>

<p>"Am I to understand that you will do nothing for me?"
she said in a tone which convinced the Persian that the time
for dallying was past.</p>

<p>The words came slowly from his lips.</p>

<p>"I can promise you neither self-oblivion nor visionary
joys. I possess an internal force, it is true, a force which,
under proper control, overpowers and subdues the material,
and by exerting this I can, if I think it well to do so, release
your soul, that inner intelligence which, deprived of its mundane
matter, is yourself, from its house of clay and allow it a
brief interval of freedom. But&mdash;what in that state its experience
may be, whether joy or sorrow, I cannot foretell."</p>

<p>"Then you are not the master of the phantoms you evoke?"</p>

<p>"I am merely their interpreter!"</p>

<p>She looked at him steadfastly as if pondering his words.</p>

<p>"And you profess to be able to release the soul from its
abode of clay?"</p>

<p>"I do not profess," he said quietly. "I can do so!"</p>

<p>"And with the success of this experiment your power
ceases? You cannot tell whether the imprisoned creature
will take its course to the netherworld of suffering, or a heaven
of delight?"</p>

<p>"The liberated soul must shift for itself."</p>

<p>"Then begin your incantations," Theodora exclaimed recklessly.
"Send me, no matter where, so long as I escape
from this den of the world, this dungeon with one small
window through which, with the death rattle in our throats,
we stare vacantly at the blank, unmeaning horror of life.
Prove to me that the soul you prattle of exists, and if mine
can find its way straight to the mainsprings of this revolving
creation, it shall cling to the accursed wheels and stop them,
that they may grind out the torture of life no more."</p>

<p>She stood there, dark, defiant, beautiful with the beauty of
the fallen angel. Her breath came and went quickly. She
seemed to challenge some invisible opponent.</p>

<p>The tall sinewy form by her side watched her as a physician
might watch in his patient the workings of a new disease,
then Hormazd said in low and tranquil tones:</p>

<p>"You are in the throes of your own overworked emotions.
You are seeking to obtain the impossible&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Why taunt me?" she flashed. "Cannot your art supply
the secret in whose quest I am?"</p>

<p>The Persian bowed, but kept silent.</p>

<p>Again, with the shifting mood, the rare, half-mournful smile
shone in Theodora's face.</p>

<p>"Though you may not be conscious of it," she said, laying
her white hand on his trembling arm, "something impels me
to unburden my heart to you. I have kept silence long."</p>

<p>Hormazd nodded.</p>

<p>"In the world one must always keep silence, veil one's
grief and force a smile with the rest. Is it not lamentable to
think of all the pent-up suffering, the inconceivably hideous
agonies that remain forever unrevealed? Youth and innocence&mdash;"</p>

<p>Theodora raised her arm.</p>

<p>"Was I ever&mdash;what they call&mdash;innocent?" she interposed
musingly. "When I was young&mdash;alas, how long
it seems, though I am but thirty&mdash;the dream of my life
was love! Perchance I inherited it from my mother. She
was a Greek, and she possessed that subtle quality that
can never die. What I was&mdash;it matters not. What I am&mdash;you
know!"</p>

<p>She raised herself to her full height.</p>

<p>"I long for power. Men are my puppets. And I long for
love! I have sought it in all shapes, in every guise. But I
found it not. Only disillusion&mdash;disappointment have been
my share. Will my one desire be ever fulfilled?"</p>

<p>"Some day you shall know," he said quietly, keeping his
dark gaze upon her.</p>

<p>"I doubt me not I shall! But&mdash;when and where? Tell
me then, you who know so much! When and where?"</p>

<p>Hormazd regarded her quizzically, but made no immediate
reply.</p>

<p>After a time she continued.</p>

<p>"Some say you are the devil's servant! Show me then
your power. Read for me my fate!"</p>

<p>She looked at him with an air of challenge.</p>

<p>"It was not for this you came," the Persian said calmly,
meeting the gaze of those mysterious wells of light whose
appeal none had yet resisted whom she wished to bend to
her desires.</p>

<p>The woman turned a shade more pale.</p>

<p>"Then call it a whim!"</p>

<p>"What will it avail?"</p>

<p>Her eyes flashed.</p>

<p>"My will against&mdash;that other."</p>

<p>A flash of lightning was reflected on the dark walls of the
chamber. The thunder rolled in grand sullen echoes down
the heavens.</p>

<p>She heard it not.</p>

<p>"What are you waiting for?" she turned to Hormazd.</p>

<p>There was a note of impatience in her tone.</p>

<p>"You are of to-day&mdash;yet not of to-day! Not of yesterday,
nor to-morrow. To some in time comes love&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But to me?"</p>

<p>His voice sank to a frozen silence.</p>

<p>She stood, gazing at him steadily. She was very pale, but
the smile of challenge still lingered on her lips.</p>

<p>"But to me?" she repeated.</p>

<p>He regarded her darkly.</p>

<p>"To you? Who knows?&mdash;Some day&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah! When my fate has chanced! Are you a cheat then,
like the rest?"</p>

<p>He was silent, as one in the throes of some great emotion.
She took a step towards him. He raised both hands as if
to ward her off. His eyes saw shapes and scenes not within
the reach of other's ken.</p>

<p>"Tell me the truth," she said calmly. "You cannot
deceive me!"</p>

<p>Hormazd sprinkled the cauldron with some white powder
that seethed and hissed as it came in contact with the glowing
metal and began to emit a dense smoke, which filled
the interior of the chamber with a strange, pungent odor.</p>

<p>Then he slowly raised one hand until it touched Theodora.
Dauntless in spirit, her body was taken by surprise, and
as his clammy fingers closed round her own she gave an
involuntary start. With a compelling glance, still in silence,
he looked into her face.</p>

<p>A strange transformation seemed to take place.</p>

<p>She was no longer in the chamber, but in a grove dark
with trees and shrubbery. A dense pall seemed to obscure
the skies. The atmosphere was breathless. Even as she
looked he was no longer there. Great clouds of greenish
vapor rolled in through the trees and enveloped her so utterly
as to shut out all vision. It was as if she were alone in some
isolated spot, far removed from the ken of man. She was
conscious of nothing save the insistent touch of his hand
upon her arm.</p>

<p>Gradually, as she peered into the vapors, they seemed
to condense themselves into a definite shape. <a name="ILLUSTRATION_01" id="ILLUSTRATION_01">It was that
of a man coming towards her</a>, but some invisible agency
seemed ever to retard his approach. In fact the distance
seemed not to lessen, and suddenly she saw her own self
standing by, vainly straining her gaze into space, indescribable
longing in her eyes.</p>

<p>A flash of lightning that seemed to rend the vault of heaven
was followed by so terrific a peal of thunder that it seemed
to shake the very earth.</p>

<p>A shriek broke from Theodora's lips.</p>

<p>"It is he! It is he!" she cried pointing to the curtain.
Hormazd turned, hardly less amazed than the woman. He
distinctly saw, in the recurrent flash, a face, pale and brooding,
framed by the darkness, of which it seemed a part.</p>

<p>At the next moment it was gone, as if it had melted into air.</p>

<p>Theodora's whole body was numb, as if every nerve had
been paralyzed. The Persian was hardly less agitated.</p>

<p>"Is it enough?" she heard Hormazd's deep voice say
beside her.</p>

<p>She turned, but, though straining her eyes, she could
not see him. The flame in the tripod had died down. She
was trembling from head to foot.</p>

<p>But her invincible will was unshaken.</p>

<p>"Nay," she said, and her voice still mocked. "Having
seen the man my soul desires, I must know more. The end!
I have not seen the end! Shall I possess him? Speak!"</p>

<p>"Seek no more!" warned the voice by her side. "Seek
not to know the end!"</p>

<p>She raised herself defiantly.</p>

<p>"The end!"</p>

<p>He made no reply. She saw the white vapors forming
into faces. The hour and the place of the last vision were
not clear. She saw but the man and herself, standing together
at some strange point, where time seemed to count
for naught.</p>

<p>Between them lay a scarf of blue samite.</p>

<p>After a protracted silence a moan broke from Theodora's lips.</p>

<p>The Persian took no heed thereof. He did not even seem
to hear. But, beneath those half-closed lids, not a movement
of the woman escaped his penetrating gaze. Though
possessed with a vague assurance of his own dark powers,
controlled by his nerve and coolness, Hormazd could read
in that fair, inscrutable face far more than in the magic
scrolls.</p>

<p>And as he scanned it now, from under half-shut lids, it
was fixed and rigid as marble, pale, too, with an unearthly
whiteness. She seemed to have forgotten his presence.
She seemed to look into space, yet even as he gazed, the
expression of that wonderfully fair face changed.</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes were fierce, her countenance bore a rigid
expression, bright, cold, unearthly, like one who defies and
subdues mortal pain.</p>

<p>The tools of love and ambition are sharp and double-edged,
and Hormazd knew it was safer to trust to wind and
waves than to the whims of woman.</p>

<p>But already her mood had changed and her face had
resumed its habitual expression of inscrutable repose.</p>

<p>"Is it the gods or the devil who sway and torture us and
mock at our helplessness?" she turned to the Oriental,
then, without waiting his reply, she concluded with a searching
glance that seemed to read his very heart.</p>

<p>"Report speaks true of you. Unknowingly, unwittingly
you have pointed the way. Farewell!"</p>

<p>Long after she had disappeared Hormazd stared at the
spot where her swiftly retiring form had been engulfed by
the darkness. Then, weighing the purse, which she had
left as an acknowledgment of his services, and finding it
sufficiently heavy to satisfy his avarice, the Persian stood
for a time wrapped in deep thoughts.</p>

<p>"That phantom at least I could not evoke!" he muttered
to himself. "Who dares to cross the path of Hormazd?"</p>

<p>The thunder seemed to answer, for a crash that seemed
to split the seven hills asunder caused the house to rock
as with the force of an earthquake.</p>

<p>With a shudder the Persian extinguished the fire in the
brazier and retreated to his chamber, while outside thunder
and lightning and rain lashed the summer night with the
force of a tropical hurricane.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IVb" id="CHAPTER_IVb">CHAPTER IV</a><br />

PERSEPHONÉ</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was not Tristan's other self,
conjured by the Persian from
the mystic realms of night which
Theodora had seen outlined
against the dark curtain that
screened the entrance into the
Oriental's laboratory. The object
of her craving had, indeed,
been present in the body, seeking
in the storm that suddenly
lashed the city the shelter of an apparently deserted abode.
Thus he had unwittingly strayed into the domain of the astrologer,
finding the door of his abode standing ajar after Theodora
had entered.</p>

<p>A superstition which was part and parcel of the Persian's
character, caused the latter to regard the undesired presence
in the same light as did Theodora, the more so as, for the
time, it served his purpose, although, when the woman had
departed, he was puzzled no little over a phenomenon which
his skill could not have conjured up. Tristan had precipitately
retreated, so soon as the woman's outcry had reached
his ear, convinced that he had witnessed some unholy incantation
which must counteract the effect of the penances he had
just concluded and during the return from which the tempest
had overtaken him.</p>

<p>Thoroughly drenched he arrived at the Inn of the Golden
Shield and retired forthwith, wondering at the strange scene
which he had witnessed and its import.</p>

<p>Tristan arose early on the following day.</p>

<p>On the morrow he was to enter the service of the Senator
of Rome, who had departed on his pilgrimage to the shrines
of Monte Gargano.</p>

<p>Tristan resolved to make the most of his time, visiting the
sanctuaries and fitly preparing himself to be worthy of the
trust which Alberic had reposed in him. Yet his thoughts
were not altogether of the morrow. Once again memory
wandered back to the sunny days in Provence, to the rose
garden of Avalon, and to one who perchance was walking
alone in the garden, along the flower-bordered paths where
he had found and lost his greatest happiness.&mdash;</p>

<p>Persephoné meanwhile had not been idle. It pleased her
for once to propitiate her mistress, and through her own spies
she had long been informed of Tristan's movements, being
not altogether averse to starting an intrigue on her own
account, if her mistress should fail sufficiently to impress the
predestined victim. Her own beauty could achieve no less.</p>

<p>Drawing a veil about her head and shoulders so as effectually
to conceal her features, she proceeded to thread her
way through the intricate labyrinth of Roman thoroughfares.
When she reached her destination she concealed herself in
a convenient lurking place from which she took care not to
emerge till she had learned all she wished from one who had
dogged Tristan's footsteps all these weary days.</p>

<p>"What do you want with me?" asked the latter somewhat
disturbed by her sudden appearance, as he came out of the
little temple church of San Stefano in Rotondo on the brow of
the Cælian Hill.</p>

<p>Persephoné had raised her veil and in doing so had taken
care to reveal her beautiful white arms.</p>

<p>"I am unwelcome doubtless," she replied, after a swift
glance had convinced her that there was no one near to witness
their meeting. "Nevertheless you must come with
me&mdash;whether you will or no. We Romans take no denial.
We are not like your pale, frozen women of the North."</p>

<p>Subscribing readily to this opinion, Tristan felt indignant,
nevertheless, at her self-assurance.</p>

<p>"I have neither time nor inclination to attend upon your
fancies," he said curtly, trying to pass her. But she barred
his passage.</p>

<p>"As for your inclination to follow me," Persephoné laughed&mdash;"that
is a matter for you to decide, if you intend to prosper
in your new station."</p>

<p>She paused a moment, with a swift side glance at the man.
Persephoné had not miscalculated the effect of her speech,
for Tristan had started visibly at her words and the knowledge
they implied.</p>

<p>"As for your time," Persephoné continued sardonically,
"that is another matter. No doubt there are still a few
sanctuaries to visit," she said suggestively, with tantalizing
slowness and a tinge of contempt in her tones that was far
from assumed. "Though I am puzzled to know why one of
your good looks and courage should creep like a criminal
from shrine to shrine, when hot life pulsates all about us.
Are your sins so grievous indeed?"</p>

<p>She could see that the thrust had pierced home.</p>

<p>"This is a matter you do not understand," he said,
piqued at her persistence. "Perchance my sins are grievous
indeed."</p>

<p>"Ah! So much the better," Persephoné laughed, showing
her white teeth and approaching a step closer. "The world
loves a sinner. What it dislikes is the long-faced repentant
transgressor. You are a man after all&mdash;it is time enough to
become a saint when you can no longer enjoy. Come!"</p>

<p>And the white arm stole forth and a white hand took hold
of his mantle.</p>

<p>Every word of the Circassian seemed to sting Tristan like
a wasp. His whole frame quivered with anger at her taunts,
but he scorned to show it, and putting a strong constraint
upon his feelings he only asked quietly:</p>

<p>"What would you with me? Surely it was not to tell me
this that you have tracked me hither."</p>

<p>Persephoné thought she had now brought the metal to a
sufficiently high temperature for fusion. She proceeded to
mould it accordingly. Nevertheless she was determined to
gain some advantage for herself in executing her mistress'
behest.</p>

<p>"I tracked you here," she said slowly, "because I wanted
you! I wanted you, because it is in my power to render you
a great service. Listen, my lord,&mdash;you must come with me!
It is not every man in Rome who would require so much
coaxing to follow a good-looking woman&mdash;"</p>

<p>She looked very tempting as she spoke, but her physical
charms were indeed sadly wasted on the pre-occupied man
before her, and if she expected to win from him any overt act
of admiration or encouragement, she was to be woefully disappointed.</p>

<p>"I cannot follow you," he said. "My way lies in another
direction. Besides&mdash;you have said it yourself&mdash;I am now
in the service of another."</p>

<p>"That is the very reason," she interposed. "Have you
ever stopped to consider the thousand and one pitfalls which
your unwary feet will encounter when you&mdash;a stranger&mdash;unknown&mdash;hated
perchance&mdash;attempt to wield the authority
entrusted to you? What do you know of Rome that you
should hope to succeed when he, who set you in this hazardous
place, cannot quell the disturbances that break out between
the factions periodically?"</p>

<p>"And why should you be disposed to confer upon me such
a favor?" Tristan asked with instinctive caution. "I am
a stranger to you. What have we in common?"</p>

<p>Persephoné laughed.</p>

<p>"Perchance I am in love with you myself&mdash;ever since
that night when you would not enter the forbidden gates.
Perchance you may be able to serve me in turn&mdash;some day.
How cold you are! Like the frozen North! Come! Waste
no more time, if you would not regret it forevermore."&mdash;</p>

<p>There was something compelling in her words that upset
Tristan's resolution.</p>

<p>Still, he wavered.</p>

<p>"You have seen my mistress," Persephoné resumed, "the
fairest woman and the most powerful in Rome&mdash;a near
kinswoman, too, of your new master&mdash;the Senator."</p>

<p>The words startled Tristan.</p>

<p>"It needs but a word from her to make you what she
pleases," she continued, as they delved into the now darkening
streets. "She is headstrong and imperious and does
not brook resistance to her will."</p>

<p>Tristan remembered certain words Alberic had spoken
to him at their final parting. It behooved him to be on his
guard, yet without making of Theodora an open enemy.
"Be wary and circumspect," had been the Senator's parting
words.</p>

<p>"Did the Lady Theodora send you for me?" he asked,
with some anxiety in his tone. "And how did you know
where to find me in a city like this?"</p>

<p>"I know a great many things&mdash;and so does my mistress,"
Persephoné made smiling reply. "But she does not choose
every one to be as wise as she is. I will answer both your
questions though, if you will answer one of mine in return.
The Lady Theodora did not mention you by name," Persephoné
prevaricated, "yet I do not think there is another
man in Rome who would serve her as would you.&mdash;And now
tell me in turn.&mdash;Deem you not, she is very beautiful?"</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora is very beautiful," Tristan replied
with a hesitation that remained not unremarked. "Yet,
what is there in common between two strangers from the
farthest extremities of the earth?"</p>

<p>"What is there in common?" Persephoné smiled. "You
will know ere an hour has sped. But, if you would take
counsel from one who knows, you will do wisely to ponder
twice before you choose&mdash;your master. Silence now!
Step softly, but follow close behind me! It is very dark under
the trees."</p>

<p>They had arrived on Mount Aventine. Before them, in
the dusk, towered the great palace of Theodora.</p>

<p>After cautioning him, Persephoné led Tristan through a
narrow door in a wall and they emerged in a garden. They
were now in a fragrant almond grove where the branches of
the trees effectually excluded the rays of the rising moon,
making it hardly possible to distinguish Persephoné's tall
and lithe form.</p>

<p>Presently they emerged upon a smooth and level lawn,
shut in by a black group of cedars, through the lower branches
of which peeped the crescent moon and, turning the corner
of a colonnade, they entered another door which opened to
Persephoné's touch and admitted them into a long dark
passage with a lamp at the farther end.</p>

<p>"Stay here, while I fetch a light," Persephoné whispered
to Tristan and, gliding away, she presently returned, to
conduct him through a dark corridor into another passage,
where she stopped abruptly and, raising some silken hangings,
directed him to enter.</p>

<p>"Wait here. I will announce you."&mdash;</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Vb" id="CHAPTER_Vb">CHAPTER V</a><br />

MAGIC GLOOMS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_f.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Floods of soft and mellow light
dazzled Tristan's eyes at first,
but he soon realized the luxurious
beauty of the retreat into
which he had been ushered. It
was obvious that, despite a decadent
age, all the resources of
wealth had been drawn upon
for its decoration. The walls
were painted in frescoes of the
richest colorings and represented the most alluring scenes.
Around the cornices, relics of imperial Rome, nymphs and
satyrs in bas-relief danced hand in hand, wild woodland
creatures, exultant in all the luxuriance of beauty and redundancy
of strength; and yonder, where the lamp cast its
softest glow upon her, stood a marble statue of Venus Anadyomené,
her attitude expressive of dormant passion lulled
by the languid insolence of power and tinged with an imperious
coquetry, the most alluring of all her charms.</p>

<p>Tristan moved uneasily in his seat, wishing that he had
not come, wondering how he had allowed himself to be thus
beguiled, wondering what it was all about, when a rustling
of the hangings caused him to turn his head. There was
no more attraction now in bounding nymph or marble enchantress.
The life-like statue of Venus was no longer the masterpiece
of the chamber for there, in the doorway, appeared
Theodora herself.</p>

<p>Tristan rose to his feet, and thus they stood, confronting
each other in the subdued light&mdash;the hostess and her guest&mdash;the
assailant and the assailed.</p>

<p>Theodora trembled in every limb, yet she should have
remained the calmer of the two, inasmuch as hers could
scarcely have been the agitation of surprise. Such a step
indeed, as she had taken, she had not ventured upon without
careful calculation of its far reaching effect. Determined
to make this obstinate stranger pliable to her desires, to
instill a poison into his veins which must, in time, work her
will, she had deliberately commanded Persephoné to conduct
him to this bower, the seductive air of which no one
had yet withstood.</p>

<p>Theodora was the first to speak, though for once she
hardly knew how to begin. For the man who stood before
her was not to be moulded by a glance and would match his
will against her own. Such methods as she would have
employed under different circumstances would here and
now utterly fail in their intent. For once she must not
appear the dominant factor in Rome, rather a woman wronged
by fate, mankind and report. Let her beauty do the rest.</p>

<p>"I have sent for you," she said, "because something
tells me that I can rely implicitly on your secrecy. From
what I have seen of you, I believe you are incapable of betraying
a trust."</p>

<p>Theodora's words had the intended effect. Tristan,
expecting reproach for his intentional slight of her advances,
was thrown off his guard by the appeal to his honor. His
confusion at the sight of the woman's beauty, enhanced by
her gorgeous surroundings, was such that he did but bow in
acknowledgment of this tribute to his integrity.</p>

<p>Theodora watched him narrowly, never relinquishing his
gaze, which wandered unconsciously over her exquisite
form, draped in a diaphanous gown which left the snowy
arms and hands, the shoulders and the round white throat
exposed.</p>

<p>"I have been told that you have accepted service with
the Lord Alberic, who has offered to you, a stranger, the
most important trust in his power to bestow."</p>

<p>Tristan bowed assent.</p>

<p>"The Lord Alberic has rewarded me, far beyond my deserts,
for ever so slight a service," he replied, without referring
to the nature of the service.</p>

<p>Theodora nodded.</p>

<p>"And you&mdash;a stranger in the city, without counsellor&mdash;without
friend. Great as the honor is, which the Senator
has conferred upon you&mdash;great are the pitfalls that lurk
in the hidden places. Doubtlessly, the Lord Alberic did
not bestow his trust unworthily. And, in enjoining above
all things watchfulness&mdash;he has doubtlessly dropped a word
of warning regarding his kinswoman," here Theodora dropped
her lids, as if she were reluctantly touching upon a distasteful
subject, "the Lady Theodora?"</p>

<p>As suddenly as she had dropped her lids as suddenly her
eyes sank into the unwary eyes of Tristan. The scented
atmosphere of the room and the woman's nearness were
slowly creeping into his brain.</p>

<p>"The Lord Alberic did refer to the Lady Theodora," he
stammered, loth to tell an untruth, and equally loth to wound
this beautiful enigma before him.</p>

<p>"I thought so!" Theodora interposed with a smile, without
permitting him to commit himself. "He has warned
you against me. Admit it, my Lord Tristan. He has put
you on your guard. And yet&mdash;I fain would be your friend&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The Lord Alberic seems to count you among his enemies,"
Tristan replied. The mention of an accepted fact could not,
to his mind, be construed into betraying a confidence.</p>

<p>Theodora smiled sadly.</p>

<p>"The Lord Alberic has been beguiled into this sad attitude
by one who was ever my foe, perchance, even his. Time
will tell. But it was not to speak of him that I summoned
you hither. It is because I would appear lovable in your
eyes. It is, because I am not indifferent to your opinion,
my Lord Tristan. Am I not rash, foolish, impulsive, in thus
placing myself in the power of one who may even now be
planning my undoing? One who on a previous occasion so
grievously misjudged my motives as to wound me so cruelly?"</p>

<p>The woman's appeal knocked at the portals of Tristan's
heart. Would she but state her true purpose, relieve this
harrowing suspense. She had propounded the question
with a deepening color, and glances that conveyed a tale.
And it was a question somewhat difficult to answer.</p>

<p>At last he spoke, stammeringly, incoherently:</p>

<p>"I shall try to prove myself worthy of the Lady Theodora's
confidence."</p>

<p>She seemed somewhat disappointed at the coldness of his
answer, nevertheless her quick perception showed her where
she had scored a point, in making an inroad upon his heart.
And her critical eye could not but approve of the proud attitude
he assumed, the look that had come into his face.</p>

<p>She edged a little closer to him and continued in a subdued
tone.</p>

<p>"A woman is always lonely and helpless&mdash;no matter
what may be her station. How liable we are to be deceived
or&mdash;misjudged. But I knew from the first that I could
trust you. Do you remember when we first met in the
Navona?"</p>

<p>Again the warm crimson of the cheek, again the speaking
flash from those luring eyes. Tristan's heart began to beat
with a strange sensation of excitement and surprise. To
love this wonder of all women&mdash;to be loved by her in return&mdash;life
would indeed be one mad delirium.</p>

<p>"How could I forget it?" he said, more warmly than he
intended, meeting her gaze. "It was on the day when I
arrived in Rome."</p>

<p>Her eyes beamed on him more benevolently than ever.</p>

<p>"I saw you again at Santa Maria of the Aventine. I sent
for you," she said, with drooping lids, "because I so wanted
some one to confide in. I have no counsellor,&mdash;no champion&mdash;no
friend. The object of hatred to the rabble which
stones those to-day before whom it cringed yesterday&mdash;I
am paying the penalty of the name I bear&mdash;kinship to one
no longer among the living. But you scorned my messenger.
Why did you?"</p>

<p>She regarded Tristan with expectant, almost imploring
eyes. She saw him struggling for adequate utterance.
Continuing, she held out to him her beautiful hands. Her
tone was all appeal.</p>

<p>"I want you to feel that Theodora is your friend. That
you may turn to her in any perplexity that may beset you,
that you may call upon her for counsel whenever you are
in doubt and know not what to do. And oh! I want you
to know above all things how much you could be to me, did
you but trust&mdash;had not the drop of poison instilled by the
Senator set you against the one woman who would make
you great, envied above all men on earth!"</p>

<p>Tristan bent over Theodora's hands and kissed them.
Cool and trusting, yet with a firm grasp, they encircled his
burning palms and their whiteness caused his senses to reel.</p>

<p>"In what manner can I be of service to the Lady Theodora?"
he spoke at last, unable to let go of those wonderful
hands that sent the hot blood hurtling to his brain.</p>

<p>Theodora's face was very close to his.</p>

<p>As she spoke, her perfumed breath softly fanned his
cheeks.</p>

<p>She spoke with well-studied hesitancy, like a child that,
in preferring an overbold request, fears denial in the very
utterance.</p>

<p>"It is a small thing, I would ask," she said in her wonderfully
melodious voice. "I would once again visit the places
where I have spent the happy days of my childhood, the
galleries and chambers of the Emperor's Tomb. You start,
my Lord Tristan! Perchance this speech may sound strange
to the ears of one who, though newly arrived in Rome, has
heard but vituperations showered upon the head of a defenceless
woman, who, if not better, is at least not worse
than the rest of her kind. Yes&mdash;" she continued, returning
the pressure of his fingers and noting, not without inward
satisfaction, a soft gleam that had dispelled the sterner look
in his eyes, "those were days of innocence and peace, broken
only when the older sister, my equal in beauty, began to
regard me as a possible rival. Stung by her taunts I leaped
to her challenge and the fight for the dominion of Rome was
waged between us with all the hot passion of our blood,
Marozia conquered, but Death stood by unseen to crown her
victory. The Mount of Cloisters is my asylum. The gates
of the Emperor's Tomb are sealed to me forever more. Why
should Alberic, disregarding the ties of blood, fear a woman&mdash;unless
he hath deeply wronged her, even as he has wronged
another who wears the crown of thorns upon earth?"</p>

<p>Theodora paused, her lids half-shut as if to repress a tear;
in reality to scan the face of him who found her tale most
strange indeed.</p>

<p>And, verily, Tristan was beginning to feel that he could
not depend upon himself much longer. The subdued lights,
the heavy perfume, the room itself, the seductive beauty of
this sorceress so near to him that her breath fanned his
cheeks, the touch of her hands, which had not relinquished
his own, were making wild havoc with his senses and reason.</p>

<p>Like many a gentle and inexperienced nature, Tristan
shrank from offending a woman's delicacy, by even appearing
to question the truth of her words, and he doubted not
but that here was a woman who had been sinned against
much more than she had sinned, a woman capable of gentler,
nobler impulses than were credited to her in the common
reckoning. It required indeed a powerful constraint upon
his feelings not to give way to the starved impulse that drove
him to forget past, present and future in her embrace.</p>

<p>A sad smile played about the small crimson mouth as
Theodora, with a sigh, continued:</p>

<p>"I have quaffed the joys of life. There is nothing that
has remained untasted. And yet&mdash;I am not happy. The
fires of unrest drive me hither and thither. After years of
fiercest conflict, with those of my own sex and age, who
consider Rome the lawful prey of any one that may usurp
Marozia's fateful inheritance, I have had a glimpse of Heaven&mdash;a
Heaven that perchance is not for me. Yet it aroused
the desire for peace&mdash;happiness&mdash;love! Yes, my Lord
Tristan, love! For though I have searched for it in every
guise, I found it not. Will the hour every toll&mdash;even
for me? Deem you, my Lord Tristan, that even one so guilt
lost as Theodora might be loved?"</p>

<p>"How were it possible," he stammered, "for mortal eyes
to resist such loveliness?"</p>

<p>His words sounded stilted in his ears. Yet he knew if
he permitted the impulse to master him he would be swept
away by the torrent.</p>

<p>The woman also knew, and woman-like she felt that the
poison rankled in his veins. She must give it time to work.
She must not precipitate a scene that might leave him sobered,
when the fumes had cleared from his brain.</p>

<p>Putting all the witchery of her beauty into her words she
said, with a tinge of sadness:</p>

<p>"I fear I am trespassing, my Lord Tristan. It is so long,
since I have unveiled the depths of my heart. Forget the
request I have made. It may conflict with your loyalty
to my Lord Alberic. I shall try to foster the memories of
the place which I dare not enter&mdash;"</p>

<p>She had ventured all upon the last throw, and she had
conquered.</p>

<p>"Nay, Lady Theodora," Tristan interposed, with a seriousness
that even staggered the woman. "There is no
such clause or condition in the agreement between the Lord
Alberic and myself. It is true," he added in a solemn tone,
"he has warned me of you, as his enemy. Report speaks
ill of you. Nevertheless I believe you."</p>

<p>"I thank you, my Lord Tristan," she said, releasing his
hands. "Theodora never forgets a service. Three nights
hence I am giving a feast to my friends. You will not fail
me?"</p>

<p>"I am happy to know," he said, "that the Lady Theodora
thinks kindly of me. I shall not fail her. And now"&mdash;he
added, genuine regret in his tone&mdash;"will the Lady Theodora
permit me to depart? The hour waxes late and there is much
to be done ere the morrow's dawn."</p>

<p>Theodora clapped her hands and Persephoné appeared
between the curtains.</p>

<p>"Farewell, my Lord Tristan. We shall speak of this
again," she said, beaming upon him with all the seductive fire
of her dark eyes, and he, bowing, took his leave.</p>

<p>When Persephoné returned, she was as much puzzled at
the inscrutable smile that played about her mistress' lips as
she had been at Tristan's abstracted state of mind, for, hardly
noting her presence, he had walked in silence beside her to
the gate, and had there taken silent leave.&mdash;</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIb" id="CHAPTER_VIb">CHAPTER VI</a><br />

THE LURE OF THE ABYSS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The sun had sunk to rest in
fleecy clouds of crimson and
gold.</p>

<p>The clear and brilliant moonlight
of Italy enveloped hill and
dale, bathing in its effulgence
the groves, palaces and ruins of
the Eternal City. The huge
pile of the Colosseum was bathed
in its rosy glow, raising itself in
serene majesty towards the beaming night sky.</p>

<p>A few hours later a great change had come over the heavens.
The wind had sprung up and had driven the little downy
clouds of sunset into a great, black mass, which it again tore
into flying tatters that it swept before it. The moon rose and
raced through the dun and silver. Below it, in the vast
spaces of the deserted amphitheatre, from whose vomitories
pale ghosts seemed to flit, the big boulders and rain-left pools
looked dim and misty. Night had cast her leper's cloak on
nature and the moon seemed the leprous face.</p>

<p>Deepest silence reigned, broken only by the occasional
hoot of an owl, or the swishing of a bat that whirled its crazy
flight in and out the labyrinthine corridors.</p>

<p>By the largest of these boulders stood the dark cloaked
form of a man. As the moon-thrown shadows of the clouds
swept over him and the rude rock by which he stood looking
up at the sky, his black mantle flapped in the wind and clung
to his limbs, making him look even taller than he was.</p>

<p>At the feet of Basil cowered the huge Molossian hound.
As the wind grew stronger and the clouds above assumed
more fantastic shapes, it raised its head and gave voice to a
low whine. On the distant hillocks a myriad dusky flames
seemed to writhe and hiss and dart through tinted moon-gleams.</p>

<p>Three times he whistled&mdash;and in the misty, moonlit
expanse countless forms, as weird as himself, seemed to rise
and form a great circle about him.</p>

<p>Were they the creatures of his brain which had at last
given way in the excitement of the hour? Were they phantoms
of mist and moon, wreathing round him from the desolate
marshes? Or were they real beings of flesh and blood,
congregations of crime and despair, mad with the misery of
a starving century, the horrors of serfdom and oppression
that had united in the great reel of a Witches' Sabbat?</p>

<p>Round him they circled, at first slowly,&mdash;like the curls of
a marsh, then faster and ever faster, till his eyes could
scarcely follow them as they rotated about him in their horrible
dance of madness and sin.</p>

<p>Black clouds raced over the moon. The reddish gleam of
a forked tongue of fire illumined the dark heavens, and
thunder went pealing down the hills. Suddenly out of the
underbrush arose a black form, about the height and breadth
of a man, but without the distinct outlines of one. Basil's
face grew white as death, and his gaze became fixed as he
clutched at the rock for support. But the next moment he
seemed to gain his reassurance from the knowledge that he
had seen this phantom before. The dog lay at his feet and
continued its low tremulous whine.</p>

<p>"You have kept the tryst," gibbered the bent form as it
slowly approached, supporting itself upon a crooked staff of
singular height.</p>

<p>"Else were I not the man to compel fate to do my bidding,"
responded the Grand Chamberlain. "Fear can have no
part in the compact which binds us. I have live things under
my feet that clog my steps and grow more stubborn day by
day."&mdash;</p>

<p>"Deem you, you can keep your footing in the black lobbies
of hell?" gibbered the cowled form. "For you will need all
your courage, if you would reach the goal!"</p>

<p>Basil, for a moment, faced his shadowy interlocutor in
silence. There was a darker light in his eyes when he spoke.</p>

<p>"Give me but that which my soul desires and I shall run
the gauntlet unflinchingly. I shall brace my courage to the
dread experiment."</p>

<p>A fierce gust of wind shook the cypresses and holm oaks
into shuddering anxiety.</p>

<p>"You are about to embark upon an enterprise more perilous
than any man now living has ever ventured upon," spoke the
cowled form. "Your soul will travel through the channels,
through which the red and fiery tide rolls up when the volcano
wakes. Each time it wakes the lava washes over the lost
souls, which, chained to rings in the black rock, glow like
living coals, but leaves them whole, to undergo their fate
anew. Do you persist?"</p>

<p>"Give me what I desire&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ay&mdash;so say they all&mdash;but to grovel in the dust before
the Unknown Presence which they have defied."</p>

<p>"Who are you to taunt me with a fear my soul knows not?"
Basil turned to the black-robed form, stretching out his hand
as if to touch his mantle.</p>

<p>A magnetic current passed through his limbs that caused
him to drop his arm with a cry of pain.</p>

<p>Forked lightnings leaped from one cloud-bank to another.</p>

<p>Distant thunder growled and died among the hills.</p>

<p>"I have seen the fall of Nineveh and Babylon. I was
present at the destruction of the Holy City by the legions of
Titus, I witnessed the burning of Rome by Nero and the
fall of the temple of Serapis. I stood upon Mount Calvary
under the shadow of the world's greatest tragedy."</p>

<p>The voice of the speaker died to silence.</p>

<p>Basil's hand went to his head, as if he wished to assure
himself whether he was awake or in the throes of some mad
dream.</p>

<p>It is a narrow boundary line, that divides the two great
realms of sanity and madness. And the limits are as restless
as those of two countries divided from each other by a
network of shifting rivers. What belonged to the one overnight
may belong to the other to-morrow.</p>

<p>An overmastering dread had seized upon Basil at the
speech of the uncanny apparition. Was not he, too, pushing
his excursions now into the one realm, now into the other?
And who would know in which of the two to seek for him?</p>

<p>"Have you indeed wandered upon earth ever since those
days?" he stammered, once more slave to his superstition.</p>

<p>The apparition nodded.</p>

<p>"I have drunk deep from the black wells of despair. I
have raised the shadowy altars of him who was cast out of
the heavens, higher and higher, till they almost touch the
throne of the Father."</p>

<p>"Your master then is Lucifer&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Cannot the Fiend as well as God live incarnate in human
clay? Is not the earth the meeting ground of Heaven and
Hell? Why should not Basil, the Grand Chamberlain, be
Hell's incarnation?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"What then must I do to deserve the crimson aureole?"</p>

<p>"Espouse the cause of him who rules the shadows. He
will give to you what your soul desires. One of the shadowy
congregation that rules the world through fear, make quick
wings for Time, that crawls through eternity like a monstrous
snake, while with starved desire your eyes glare at the fleeting
things of life&mdash;dominion, power and love, that you may
snatch from fate! Only by becoming one of us can your
soul slake its thirst. Speak&mdash;for my time is brief&mdash;"</p>

<p>When Basil turned towards the bent form of the speaker
his gaze fell upon a gleaming knife which Bessarion had
produced from under the loose folds of his gown.</p>

<p>For a moment the two stood face to face. Neither spoke,
each seemingly intent upon fathoming the thoughts of the
other. The wind hissed and screamed through the corridors
of the Colosseum.</p>

<p>It was Basil who broke the silence.</p>

<p>"What is it, you want?"</p>

<p>"Bare your left arm!"</p>

<p>There was a natural hollow in the rock, that the weather
had scooped out in the stone altar.</p>

<p>Basil obeyed.</p>

<p>The gibbering voice rose again above the silence.</p>

<p>"Hold it over the basin!"</p>

<p>The lightnings twisted and streamed like silvery adders
through the dark vaults of the heavens, and terrific peals of
thunder shook the shuddering world in its foundations.</p>

<p>The bent form raised the knife.</p>

<p>Three drops of blood dripped, one by one, into the hollow
of the stone.</p>

<p>Bessarion chanted some words in an unintelligible jargon
as, with a claw-like hand, he bound up the wound in Basil's
arm.</p>

<p>"At midnight&mdash;in the Catacombs of St. Calixtus&mdash;you
will stand face to face with the Presence," the apparition
spoke once more.</p>

<p>The next moment, after a fantastic salutation, he had
vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him, behind a projecting
rock.</p>

<p>Basil remained for a time in deep rumination. The Molossian
hound rose up from the ground as soon as the adept
of the black arts had disappeared, and, sitting on its haunches,
gazed inquisitively into its master's face.</p>

<p>Suddenly it uttered a growl.</p>

<p>At the next moment the misshapen form of an African
Moor crouched at the feet of the Grand Chamberlain. Noiselessly
and swiftly as a panther he had sped through the
waste spaces of the amphitheatre, and even Basil could
not overcome a feeling of revulsion as he gazed into the
hairy, bestial features of Daoud, whom he employed when
secrecy and despatch were essential to the success of a
venture.</p>

<p>Red inflamed eyelids gleamed from a face whose cadaverous
tints seemed enhanced by wiry black hair that hung
in disordered strands from under a broad Spanish hat.
Daoud was undersized in stature, but possessed prodigious
strength, and the size of his hands argued little in favor of
him who had incurred the disfavor of his master or his own.</p>

<p>This monster in human guise Basil had acquired from a
certain nobleman in the suite of the Byzantine ambassador
extraordinary to the Holy See.</p>

<p>Basil looked up at the moon which just then emerged from
the shadow of a cloud. Then he gave a nod of satisfaction.</p>

<p>"Your promptness argues well for your success," he
turned to his runner who was cowering at his feet, the ashen
face with the blinking and inflamed eyes raised to his master.
"Know you the road to southward, my good Daoud?"</p>

<p>The Moor gave a nod and Basil proceeded.</p>

<p>"You must depart this very night. Take the road that
leads by Benevento to the Shrines of the Archangel. You
will overtake the Senator and deliver into his hands this
token. You will return forthwith and bring to me&mdash;his
answer. Do I make myself quite clear to your understanding,
my good Daoud?"</p>

<p>The Moor fell prostrate and touched Basil's buskin with
his forehead.</p>

<p>"Up!" the latter spurned the kneeling brute. "To-morrow
night must find you in the Witches' City."</p>

<p>With these words he placed into the Moor's hand a small
article, carefully tied and sealed.</p>

<p>The twain exchanged a mute glance of mutual understanding,
then Daoud gave a bound, darted forward and shot away
like an arrow from the bow. Almost instantly he was out of
sight.</p>

<p>The hound bounded after him but, obedient to his master's
call, instantly returned to the latter's feet.</p>

<p>For some time Basil remained near the rock where the
weird ceremony had taken place.</p>

<p>"The Rubicon is passed," he muttered. "The stars&mdash;or
the abyss."</p>

<p>Then, slowly quitting the stupendous ruins of the Amphitheatre,
he took the direction of the Catacombs of St. Calixtus.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIb" id="CHAPTER_VIIb">CHAPTER VII</a><br />
THE FACE IN THE PANEL</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_o.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">On the following day Tristan
entered upon his duties as captain
of the Senator's guard.</p>

<p>The first person upon whom
he chanced on his rounds at the
Lateran was the Grand Chamberlain,
who inquired affably
how his penitences were progressing
and expressed the hope
that he had received final absolution,
and that his sins would not weigh too heavily upon his
soul. Basil commended him for his zeal in the cause of the
Senator, hinting incidentally that his duties between the Lateran
and Castel San Angelo need not deprive him of the
society of the fair Roman ladies, who would welcome the
stranger from Provence and would doubtlessly enmesh his
heart, if it were not well guarded. He then proceeded to
caution Tristan with respect to his exalted prisoner. Numerous
attempts at abduction had been made from time to time,
Tristan having, by his prowess and daring, prevented the
last, emanating doubtlessly from the Pontiff's nearest kith
and kin. The men under him could be fully relied upon.
Nevertheless, it behooved him to be circumspect.</p>

<p>After a time Basil departed, and Tristan went about his
business, inspecting the guard and familiarizing himself with
the place where he was to keep his first watch.</p>

<p>The level beams of the evening sun filled the Basilica of
St. John in Laterano. There were pearl lights and lights of
sapphire; falling radiances of emerald and blood-red; vague
translucent greens, that seemed to tremble under spiral
clouds of incense.</p>

<p>Now the sun was sinking behind Mount Janiculum. The
clouds at the zenith of the heavens were rose-hued, but it was
growing dark in the valleys, and the great church began to
take on sombre hues. It seemed to frown upon him, to warn
him not to enter, an impression he was long afterwards to
remember, as he strode through the high-vaulted corridors.</p>

<p>He hesitated, till the sound of a distant chant reached his
ear. With a sort of fascination he could not account for, he
watched the advance of the slowly gathering gloom, as an
increasing greyness stole into the chapels.</p>

<p>Evening was about to take the veil of night.</p>

<p>The light left the stained-glass windows and the church
grew darker and darker. The altar steps lay now in purple
shadows that were growing deeper and denser each moment.</p>

<p>Shadowy forms seemed to be moving about in the sanctuaries.
Soon a monk entered with a taper, lighting the lights
before some remote shrines. Tristan could not distinguish
his features, for the light was very dim. Yet it enabled him
to see that there were a few belated worshippers in the
church.</p>

<p>After a time the great nave was deserted. As the lone
monk passed quickly through a sphere of thin light, Tristan
gave a start. It seemed a ghost in a cassock that had vanished
in the sacristy. He told himself that the impression
was absurd, but he could not throw it off. He had caught a
momentary glimpse of a face that had no human likeness, and
the way in which the cassock had flapped about the limbs of
the fleeting form seemed to suggest that it clothed a frame
that had lost its flesh.</p>

<p>Superstitious fear began to creep over him. He felt that
he must seek the open, escape the haunting incense-saturated
pall, these dim sepulchral chapels. Such light as there was,
save what emanated from the candles on the altar, came
from a stone lamp which cast its glimmer on the vanishing
form.</p>

<p>In every corner of the vast nave now lay fast gathering
darkness. The figures of the saints seemed vague and
formless. The altar loomed dim in the shadows.</p>

<p>All these things Tristan noted.</p>

<p>The whole interior of the church was now steeped in the
dense pall of night, illumined only by the faint radiance of
the lamp upon the altar, which seemed rather to intensify
than to lift the gloom.</p>

<p>A faint footfall was audible behind the carven screen, near
the entrance to the chapels. A figure, almost lost in the
gloom, glided into the nave, and shadows were falling about
him like thin veils.</p>

<p>It was an unusual hour for monks to be abroad. None the
less, he seemed sure of himself, for he proceeded without
hesitation to the altar, shrouded as it was in utter darkness,
but for the light of one faint taper, which gleamed afar, like
a star in the nocturnal heavens, driving the gloom a few paces
from the carven stone. There the shrouded form seemed to
melt into the very pall of night that weighed heavily upon the
time-stained walls of the Mother Church of Rome.</p>

<p>At first Tristan thought it was some belated penitent seeking
forgiveness for his sins, but when the dark-robed form did
not return he strode towards the altar to see if he might
perchance be of assistance to him.</p>

<p>When Tristan reached the altar steps he could discover no
trace of a human being, though he searched every nook and
corner and peered into every chapel, examined every shrine.</p>

<p>Seized with a strange restiveness he began to pace up and
down before the altar steps. He was far from feeling at ease.
He remembered the warning of the Grand Chamberlain. He
remembered the strange tales he had heard whispered of the
Pontiff's prison house.</p>

<p>Tristan suddenly paused.</p>

<p>He thought he heard sibilant whispers and the low murmur
of voices from behind the screen at the eastern transept of
the Capella, and at once he began assembling the things in
his mind which might beset him in the hour of darkness.</p>

<p>The Chapel of the Most Holy Saviour of the Holy Stairs,
the Scala Santa of the present day, adjoins the Lateran
Church. At the period of which we write it was still the
private chapel of the popes in the Patriarchium, and was
called the Sancta Sanctorum on account of the great number
of precious relics it enshrines.</p>

<p>To this chapel Tristan directed his steps, oppressed by
some mysterious sense of evil. By a judicious disposition
of the men under his command he had, after a careful survey
of the premises, placed them in such a manner that it would
be impossible for any one to gain access to the stairs leading
to the Pontiff's chamber.</p>

<p>Had it been a hallucination of his senses conjured up by
his sudden fear?</p>

<p>Not a sound broke the stillness. Only the echoes of his
own footsteps reverberated uncannily from the worn mosaics
of the floor. In the dim distance of the corridors he saw a
shadow moving to and fro. It was the guard before the
entrance to a side-chapel of the Basilica.</p>

<p>What caused Tristan to pause in the night gloom of the
corridor leading to the Pontifical Chapel he did not know.
He seemed as under a strange spell. At a distance from
him of some five feet, in the decorated wall, there was a dark
panel some two feet in height and of corresponding breadth,
looking obliquely towards the Pontifical Chapel. The panel
contained a small round opening, a spy-hole which communicated
with a secret chamber in the thickness of the wall.</p>

<p>A slight rustling noise came from behind the masonry.
Tristan heard it quite distinctly. It suggested the passing
of naked feet over marble.</p>

<p>Suddenly, noiselessly the panel parted.</p>

<p>A sudden gleam of white, blinding light shot into the chapel
like a spear of silver.</p>

<p>Tristan paused with a start, looking swiftly and inquiringly
at the black slit in the wall and as he did so the spear of light
shifted a little in its passing.</p>

<p>A face, white with the pallor of death, ghastly and hideous
as a corpse that has retained upon its set features the agony
of dying, peered out from blackness into blackness.</p>

<p>A tremor shook Tristan's frame from head to toe. He
could not have cried out, had he wished to. He felt as one
grazed by a lightning bolt. Then, in a flash that made his
heart and soul shudder within him, he knew.</p>

<p>He had seen looking at him a face&mdash;the clean shaven face
of a man. But it was not human. It bore the terrible stigmata
of the unquenchable fire; an abominable vision of the
lust that cannot be satiated, the utter, unconquerable, fiendish
malevolence of Hell. A harsh, raven-like croak broke the
stillness, and at the sound of that cry the terrible face vanished
with the swiftness of a trick. Instead, a long arm,
clothed in a black sleeve, stole through the opening. A flash,
keen as that of the lightning, cut the air and a dagger struck
the mosaic floor at Tristan's feet with such force that its
point snapped after shattering the stone, drawing fire from
the impact.</p>

<p>Bounding back, Tristan uttered a shrill cry of terror, but
when he looked in the direction of the panel only dim dun
dusk met his eyes.</p>

<p>Rushing frantically from the corridor he now called with all
his might. His outcries brought the guards to the scene.
Briefly, incoherently, almost mad with terror, he told his
tale. They listened with an air of amazement in which surprise
held no small share. Then they accompanied him
back to the chapel.</p>

<p>Arriving near the spot he was about to point to the dagger,
to corroborate his wild tale. But the dagger had disappeared.
Only the shattered marble of the floor lent testimony and
credence to his words.</p>

<p>On the following morning an outcry of horror arose from
all quarters of Rome.</p>

<p>On the night which preceded it, the Holy Host had been
taken from the Pontifical Chapel in the Lateran.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIb" id="CHAPTER_VIIIb">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />

THE SHADOW OF ASRAEL</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was ten in the morning.</p>

<p>Deep silence reigned in the
strange walled garden on the
Pincian Hill that surrounded the
marble villa of the Grand Chamberlain.
Only the murmur of
the city below and the soft
sounds of bells from tower and
campanile seemed to break the
dreamlike stillness as they began
to toll for High Mass.</p>

<p>In a circular chamber lighted only by lamps, for there were
no windows, and daylight never penetrated there, before an
onyx table covered with strange globes and philtres, sat
Basil.</p>

<p>The walls of the chamber were of wood stained purple.
The far wall was hidden by shelves on which were many rolls
of vellum and papyrus, spoils of pagan libraries of the past.
There were the works of monks from all the monasteries of
Europe, illuminated by master hands, the black letter pages
glowing with red and gold, almost priceless even then. In
one corner of the room stood an iron chest, secured by locks.
What this contained no one even dared to guess.</p>

<p>As the chimes from churches and convents reached his
ears, Basil's face paled. Something began to stir in the
dark unfathomable eyes as some unknown thing stirs in
deep water. Some nameless being was looking out of those
windows of the soul. Yet the rest of the face was unruffled
and expressionless, and the contrast was so horrible that a
spectator would have shrank away, cold fear gripping his
heart, and perhaps a cry upon his lips.</p>

<p>Basil had closed the heavy bronze doors behind him when
he had entered from the atrium. The floor of colored marbles
was flooded with the light from the bronze lamps. Before
him was a short passage, hardly more than an alcove, terminating
in a door of cedarwood behind a purple curtain.</p>

<p>In the dull yellow gleam of the lamps the chamber seemed
cold, full of chill and musty air.</p>

<p>In a moment however the lamps seemed to burn more
brightly, as Basil's eyes became adjusted to their lights.</p>

<p>There was the silence of the tomb. The lamps burnt
without a flicker, for there was not a breath of air to disturb
their steady glow. The plan of the room, its yellow lights,
its silence, its entire lack of correspondence with the outside
world, was Basil's own. He had designed it as a port, as it
were, whence to put out to sea upon the tide of his ever-changing
moods in the black barque of sin.</p>

<p>For some time he remained alone in the silent room, dreaming
and brooding over greatness and power, that terrible
megalomania that is the last and rarest madness of all.</p>

<p>He had read of Caligula, Nero, and Domitian, of Heliogabalus,
whose madness passed the bounds of the imaginable.
Like gold and purple clouds, bursting with sombre light and
power, they had passed over Rome and were gone.</p>

<p>Then thoughts of the popes came to him, those supreme
rulers of the temporal and spiritual world whose dominion
had been so superb, since they first began to crown the emperors,
one hundred and thirty-five years ago.</p>

<p>In a monstrous and swiftly moving panorama they passed
through a brain that worked as if it were packed in ice. And
yet one and all had gone into the dark. The power of none
had been lasting and complete.</p>

<p>But into his reverie stole a secret glow, into his blood an
intense, ecstatic quickening. For them the hour had tolled.
Each step in life was but one nearer the grave. Not so was
it to be with him.</p>

<p>A black fire began to burn round his heart, coiling there
like a serpent, as he thought of the illumination that was his,
the promise he had received&mdash;deep down in the crypts of
the Emperor's Tomb and again in the Catacombs of St.
Calixtus. And he had fallen down and worshipped, had
given his soul to Darkness and abjured the Light.</p>

<p>Satan should rule again on earth. For this had been
revealed to him by the High Priest of Satan himself, then in
a vision by the Lord of Evil. To penetrate the mysteries of
Hell with his whole heart and soul, to strike chill terror into
the hearts of those who worshipped at the altars of Christ,
had become Basil's ambition for which he would live and die.</p>

<p>Basil sat dreaming and gloating over his coming glory; a
glory in which the woman whose beauty had stung him with
maddening desire should share, even if he had to drag her
before the dark throne upon which sat the Unspeakable
Presence. The yellow light of the lamps fell upon his unnatural
and mask-like face as he sat rigid in his chair hypnotized
by Hell.</p>

<p>Christ had thrown his great Cross upon the feasts and
banquets of the gods. On his head was a crown of thorns
and the Stigmata upon his hands and feet. And the goblets
of red gold had lost their brightness. The pagan gods were
stricken dumb. They had faded away in vapor and were
gone.</p>

<p>And with them the fierce joy of living had left the world.
Christ reigned upon earth, implanting conscience in the souls
of men, that robbed ecstasy of its fruition and infused the
most delicious cup touched with the Aliquid Amari of the
poet.</p>

<p>Basil paced the narrow confines of the room, and from his
lips came the opening stanza of that dreadful parody of the
Good Friday hymn sung by the votaries of Satan: "Vexilla
Regis Prodeunt Inferni."</p>

<p>Already the banners of the advancing hosts were in the
sky. Soon&mdash;soon would he appear himself&mdash;the Lord of
Darkness!</p>

<p>The room suddenly grew very chill, as if the three dread
winds of Cocytus were blowing through the chamber.</p>

<p>There was a slim rod of copper suspended from the wall,
close to the couch of dull grey damask upon which he had
been reclining. He pulled it and somewhere away in the villa
a gong sounded. A moment later a drab man, lean as a
skeleton and bald as an egg, with slanting eyes in an ashen
face and a stooping gait, came gliding noiselessly into the
lamplit room. He wore a long black cassock, which covered
his fleshless form from head to toe.</p>

<p>"Has no one called?" Basil turned to his factotum.</p>

<p>"A stranger," came the sepulchral reply. "He bade me
give you this!"</p>

<p>Basil took the scroll which his famulus handed to him and
cut the cord.</p>

<p>A fiendish smile passed over his face and lighted up the
dark, sinister eyes. But quickly as the mood had come it
left. It fell from him as a dropped cloak.</p>

<p>He stood upright, supporting himself on the onyx table,
while Horus, who only understood in a dull dim way his
master's moods, assisting him in all his villainies, but confessing
his own share to a household priest, stood impassively
by.</p>

<p>"Give me some wine!" Basil turned to the sinister Major
Domo, and the latter disappeared and returned with a jug
of Malvasian.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain grasped the jug which Horus had
brought him and held it with shaking fingers to his mouth.
When he had drank deep he dismissed his famulus, struck a
flint and burnt the scroll to pallid ashes. Then he staggered
out into the hall of colored marbles and through it to the
garden doors.</p>

<p>The bronze gates trembled as they swung back upon their
hinges, and as the full noon of the quiet garden burst upon
Basil's eyes he fancied he saw the fold of a dark robe disappear
among the cypresses.</p>

<p>And now the hot air of high noon wrapped him round with
its warm southern life, flowing over the lithe body within the
silken doublet, drawing away the inward darkness and the
vaulting flames within his soul and reminding his sensuous
nature that the future held gigantic promise of love and power.</p>

<p>The great tenor and alto bells of St. John in Lateran were
beating the echoes to silver far away. The roofs and palaces,
domes and towers of Rome, were bathed in sunlight as he
advanced to the embrasure in the wall and once more surveyed
the city.</p>

<p>The heat shimmered down and, through the quivering
sunlit air, the colors of the buildings shone like pebbles at
the bottom of a pool and the white ruins glowed like a mirage
of the desert.</p>

<p>An hour later, regardless of the vertical sun rays that beat
down upon the tortuous streets of the city with unabated
fervor, the Grand Chamberlain rode through the streets of
Rome, attended by a group of men-at-arms with the crest of
the Broken Spear in a Field of Azure embroidered upon their
doublets.</p>

<p>As the cavalcade swept through the crowded streets, with
their pilgrims from all parts of the world, the religious in
their habits, men-at-arms, flower-sellers, here and there the
magnificent chariot of a cardinal, many of the people lowered
their eyes as Basil cantered past on his black Neapolitan
charger, trapped with crimson. More than one made the
sign of the horn, to avert the spell of the evil eye.</p>

<p>When Basil reached the Lateran he found a captain of the
noble guard with two halberdiers in their unsightly liveries
guarding the doors. They saluted and Basil inquired whether
the new captain of the guard was within.</p>

<p>"The Lord Tristan is within," came the reply, and Basil
entered, motioning to his escort to await his return outside.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain traversed several anterooms,
speaking to one or the other of the senatorial guard, and on
every face he read consternation and fear. Little groups of
priests stood together in corners, whispering among each
other; the whole of the Lateran was aroused as by a secret
dread. Such deeds, though they were known to have occurred,
were never spoken of, and the priests of the various
churches that had suffered desecration wisely kept their own
counsel.</p>

<p>In this, the darkest age in the history of Rome, when crime
and lust and murder lurked in every corner, an outrage such
as this struck every soul with horror and awe. It was
unthinkable, unspeakable almost, suggesting dark mysteries
and hidden infamies of Hell, which caused the blood to run
cold and the heart to freeze.</p>

<p>When Basil had made his way through the crowded corridors,
receiving homage, though men looked askance at him as
he passed, he came to a chamber usually reserved for a waiting
room in times when the Pontiff received foreign envoys or
members of the priesthood and nobility; a privilege from
which the unfortunate prisoner in the Lateran was to be forever
debarred.</p>

<p>Basil entered this chamber, giving orders that he was to be
in no wise disturbed until he called and those outside heard
him lock and bar the door from within.</p>

<p>In the exact centre of the wall, reaching within two feet of
the ground, there was a large picture of St. Sebastian, barbarously
painted by some unknown artist.</p>

<p>Basil approached the picture and pressed upon the flat
frame with all his strength. There was a sudden click, a
whirring, as of the wheels of a clock. Then the picture
swung inward, revealing a circular stairway of stone, mounting
upward. Without replacing the panel door, Basil mounted
the stairs for nearly a hundred steps, until he came to a door
upon which he beat with the hilt of his poniard.</p>

<p>An answering knock came from within, and the door
opened. Basil entered a small chamber, lighted from above
by a window in a small dome.</p>

<p>A bat-like figure stood before a table covered with strange
manuscripts. As Basil entered, a thin black arm emerged
from the folds of the gown, which the inmate of the chamber
wore. Then, with a quick bird-like movement, an immensely
thin hand twisted like a claw, wrinkled, yellow and of incredible
age, was stretched out toward the newcomer.</p>

<p>On the second finger of this claw was a certain ring. Basil
bent and kissed the ring. There was another deft and almost
imperceptible movement. When the hand reappeared the
ring was gone.</p>

<p>"It has been done?" Basil turned to the dark-robed form
in bated whispers.</p>

<p>The voice that answered seemed to come from a great
distance. The lips in the waxen face scarcely moved. They
parted, that was all. Yet the words were audible and distinct.</p>

<p>"It was done. Last night."</p>

<p>"You were not seen?"</p>

<p>"I wore the mask."</p>

<p>"Is it here?" Basil queried, his eyes flickering with a faint
reflection of that hate which had blazed in them earlier in the
day.</p>

<p>"It is not here."</p>

<p>"Where is it?"</p>

<p>"You shall know to-night!"</p>

<p>The light faded out of Basil's eyes.</p>

<p>"What of the new captain?"</p>

<p>"His presence is a menace."</p>

<p>In Basil's eyes gleamed a sombre fire.</p>

<p>"I, too, owe him a grudge. In good time!"</p>

<p>"The time is Now!"</p>

<p>"Patience!" replied the Grand Chamberlain. "He will
work his own undoing. We dare not harm him yet."</p>

<p>"Only a miracle saved him last night."</p>

<p>"Are there not other churches in Rome?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ay!" mouthed the black form. "But the time of the
great sacrifice draws near&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I knew not it was so near at hand," interposed Basil with
a start.</p>

<p>"The Becco Notturno demands a bride!"</p>

<p>"How am I to help you in these matters?"</p>

<p>"Am I to counsel the Lord Basil?" sneered the shape.
"You drew the crimson ball."</p>

<p>"When is it to be?"</p>

<p>"Three weeks from to-night. Mark you&mdash;a stainless
dove!"</p>

<p>Basil nodded, an evil smile upon his lips.</p>

<p>"It shall be as you say! As for that other&mdash;I am minded
to try his mettle&mdash;"</p>

<p>"So be it!" said the shape. "Leave me now! You will
hear from me. My familiars are everywhere."</p>

<p>Without another word Basil arose and left the chamber.
In the corridor below he met Tristan.</p>

<p>"I know all," he cut short the speech of the new captain
of the guard. "All Rome is full of it. How did it happen?
And where?"</p>

<p>"Attracted by a noise as of slippered feet passing over
marble, I entered the corridor of the Sacred Stairs, when
one of the panels parted. A devilish apparition stood
within, throwing the beam of its lantern into the chapel.
When a chance ray of light disclosed my presence the
shape of darkness hurled a poniard. It missed me, thanks
be to Our Lady, struck the mosaic of the floor and broke
in two."</p>

<p>"You have the pieces?" Basil queried affably and with
much concern.</p>

<p>"I ran to the end of the gallery, shouting to my men,"
Tristan replied. "When we returned the blade had disappeared."</p>

<p>"Where was it?" Basil queried with much concern and
soon they faced the shattered mosaic.</p>

<p>Basil examined the spot minutely.</p>

<p>"From yonder panel, you say?" he turned to Tristan.</p>

<p>"The third from the Capella," came the ready reply.</p>

<p>"Have you searched the premises?"</p>

<p>"From cellar to garret."&mdash;</p>

<p>"And discovered nothing?"</p>

<p>"Nothing."</p>

<p>"What of the panel?"</p>

<p>"It defies our combined efforts."</p>

<p>"Strange, indeed."</p>

<p>Basil strode to the wall and struck the spot indicated by
Tristan with the hilt of his poniard. Then he tested the wall
on either side.</p>

<p>"Can your ear detect any difference in sound?"</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response, and with it a puzzled
look passed into Tristan's eyes.</p>

<p>"Have you seen the Pontiff?"</p>

<p>"We reported the matter to His Holiness."</p>

<p>"And?"</p>

<p>"His Holiness raised his eyes to heaven and said: 'Even
God's Vicar has no jurisdiction in Hell!'"</p>

<p>"Was that all he said?"</p>

<p>"That was all!"</p>

<p>There was a silence during which Basil seemed to commune
with himself.</p>

<p>"It is indeed a matter of grave concern," he said at last.
"Treason stalks everywhere. I will send for my Spanish
Captain, Don Garcia. He may be of assistance to you."</p>

<p>And Basil turned and walked down the corridor.</p>

<p>After a time Tristan walked out upon the terrace looking
toward the C&oelig;lian Hill.</p>

<p>A brilliant light beat upon domes and spires and pinnacles,
and flooded the august ruins of the Cæsars on the distant
Palatine and the thousand temples of the Holy Cross with
scintillating radiance which poured down from the intense
blue of heaven.&mdash;</p>

<p>The long lights of the afternoon were shifting towards the
eventide, giving place to a limpid and colorless light that
silvered the adjacent olive groves.</p>

<p>Tristan roused himself with a start. The sense of moving
like a ghost among a world of ghosts had left him. He was
once more awake and aware. But even now his sorrow, his
fears, his hopes of winning again to some safe harbor in the
storm tossed Odyssey of his life, were numbed. They lay
heavy within him, but without urgency or appeal.</p>

<p>What did it matter after all? Life was a little thing, a
forlorn minstrel that evoked melancholy strains from a pipe
of oaten straw. Life was a little thing, nor death a great one.
For his part he would not be loth to take his poppies and fall
asleep.</p>

<p>At one time or another such moods must come to all of us
and be endured. We must enter into the middle country,
that dull Sahara of the soul, a broad belt of barren land where
no angels seem to walk by our side, nor can the false voices
of demons lure us to our harm.</p>

<p>This is the land where we are imprisoned by the deeds of
others and never by our own. What we do ourselves will
send us to Heaven or to Hell; but not to the middle country
where the plains of disillusion are.</p>

<p>At last the sunset came.</p>

<p>The ashen color of the olive-trees flashed out into silver,
the undulating peaks of the Sabine Mountains became faintly
flushed and phantom fair, as in a tempest of fire the sun sank
to rest. The groves of ilex and arbutus seemed to tremble
with delight, as the long red heralds touched their topmost
boughs.</p>

<p>The whole landscape seemed to smile a farewell to departing
day. The chimes of the Angelus trembled on the purple
dusk.</p>

<p>Night came on apace.</p>

<p>Tristan re-entered the Lateran Basilica, set the watch and
arranged with Don Garcia to spend the night in the sacristy,
while Don Garcia was to guard the approaches to the Pontifical
Chapel to prevent a recurrence of the horrible sacrilege
of the preceding night.</p>

<p>One by one the worshippers left the vast nave of the church.
After a time the sacristans closed the heavy bronze doors and
extinguished the lights, all but the one upon the altar.</p>

<p>When they, too, had departed, and deepest silence filled
the sacred spaces, Tristan emerged from a side chapel and
took his station near the entrance to the sacristy, where, on
the preceding night, he had seen the shadow disappear.</p>

<p>How long he had been there in dread and wonder he did
not know, when two cloaked and hooded figures emerged
slowly out of the gloom. He could not tell whence they came
or whether they had been there all the time. They bent
their steps towards the sacristy and, as they were about to
pass Tristan in his hiding-place, they paused as if conscious
of another presence.</p>

<p>"As we proceed in this matter," whispered the one voice,
"I grow fearful. You know my relations to the Senator&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Your anxiety moves me not," croaked the other voice.
"Deem you to attain your ends by mortal means?"</p>

<p>The voice caused Tristan to shudder as with an ague,
though he saw not him who spoke.</p>

<p>"What of yourself?" whispered the first speaker.</p>

<p>"Have you forgotten," came the hoarse reply, "that either
I am soulless, or else my spirit, damned from its beginning,
will scarce be saved by the grace of Him I dare not name!
You are defiled in the very conversing with me."</p>

<p>The tone in which these words were spoken, either defied
answer, or, if a response was made, it did not reach Tristan's
ears as they slowly, noiselessly, proceeded upon their way.</p>

<p>Tristan vaguely listened for the echo of their retreating
footsteps as, passing behind the altar, they disappeared, as if
the earth had swallowed them.</p>

<p>Now he was seized with a terrible fear. What, if they were
to repeat the sacrilege? He thought he recognized the voice
of the first speaker; but this no doubt was but a trick of his
excited imagination.</p>

<p>Determined to prevent so terrible a crime, he crept cautiously
down the narrow passage through which they had
disappeared. Six steps he counted, then he found himself
in a room which seemed to be part of the sacristy, yet not a
part, for a postern stood open through which gleamed the
misty moonlight.</p>

<p>There was little doubt in Tristan's mind that they had
passed out through this postern which had been left unguarded,
and he found his conjectures confirmed, when his eye, accustoming
itself to the radiance without, saw two misty figures
passing along the road that leads past the C&oelig;lian Hill through
fields of ruins.</p>

<p>Taking care so they would not be attracted by the sound of
his steps, Tristan crept in the shadows of roofless columns,
shattered porticoes and dismantled temples, half hidden amid
the dark foliage that sprang up among the very fanes and
palaces of old. At times he lost sight of his quarry. Again
they would rise up before him like evil spirits wandering
through space.</p>

<p>As Tristan continued in his pursuit, he began to be beset
by dire misgivings.</p>

<p>The twain had vanished as utterly as if the earth had
swallowed them and he paused in his pursuit to gain his
bearings. Had he followed two phantoms or two beings in
the flesh? Had he abandoned his watch for two penitents
who had perchance been locked in the church?</p>

<p>What might not be happening at the Lateran at this very
moment! How would Don Garcia construe his absence?</p>

<p>A tremor passed through his limbs. He started to retrace
his steps, but some unknown agency compelled him onward.</p>

<p>Penetrating the gloomy foliage, Tristan found himself before
a large ruin, grey and roofless, from the interior of which
came, muffled and indistinct, the sound of voices.</p>

<p>Two men were stealthily creeping beneath the shadow of a
wall that extended for some distance from the ruin.</p>

<p>Both wore long monkish garbs and were muffled from head
to toe. Over their faces they wore vizors with slits for eyes
and mouth. One of the twain was spare, yet muscular. His
companion walked with a stooping gait and supported himself
by a staff.</p>

<p>The light which had attracted Tristan, emanated from a
lantern which they had placed on the ground and which they
could shade at will, but which cast its fitful glimmer over the
grass plot, revealing what appeared to be a grave, from which
the mould had been thrown up. At a short distance there
stood a black and stunted yew tree. Before this they paused.</p>

<p>Now, from under his black cassock, the taller produced a
strange object, the nature of which Tristan was unable to
discover by the fitful light of the moon.</p>

<p>No sooner was it revealed to his companion, than the latter
began to chant a weird incantation, in which he who held the
strange object joined.</p>

<p>Louder and more strident grew their voices, and, notwithstanding
the warmth of the summer night, Tristan felt an icy
shudder permeate his whole being while, with a strange
fascination, he watched the twain.</p>

<p>Now he who supported himself by a staff uttered a shrill
inarticulate outcry, and, producing a long, gleaming knife
from under his cassock, stabbed the thing viciously, while his
voice rose in mad, strident screams:</p>

<p>"Emen Hetan! Emen Hetan! Palu! Baalberi! Emen
Hetan!"</p>

<p>The fit of madness seemed to have caught his companion.
Producing a knife similar to that of the other he, too, stabbed
the object he held in his hand, shrieking deliriously:</p>

<p>"Agora! Agora! Patrisa! Agora!"</p>

<p>An hour was to come when Tristan was to learn the terrible
import of the apparently meaningless jumble which struck his
ear with mad discordance.</p>

<p>Suddenly he felt upon himself the insane gleam of two eyes,
peering from the slits of the bent figure's mask.</p>

<p>There was a death-like stillness, as both looked towards the
intruder. Tristan would have fled, but his feet seemed rooted
to the spot. His energies were paralyzed as under the
influence of a terrible spell.</p>

<p>The stooping form raised aloft a small phial. A bluish
vapor floated upward, in thin spiral curls.</p>

<p>The effect was instantaneous. Tristan was seized by a
great drowsiness. His limbs refused to support him.
He no longer felt the ground under his feet. His
hand went to his head and, reeling like a drunken man, he
fell among the tall weeds that grew in riotous profusion around
the ancient masonry.</p>

<p>The setting moon shone out from behind a fleecy cloud,
and in the pallid crimson of her light the ill-famed ruins of
the ancient temple of Isis rose weird and ghostly in the summer
night.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IXb" id="CHAPTER_IXb">CHAPTER IX</a><br />

THE FEAST OF THEODORA</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">A fairy-like radiance pervaded
the great pavilion in the sunken
gardens of Theodora on Mount
Aventine.</p>

<p>It was a vast circular hall,
roofed in by a lofty dome of
richest malachite, from the centre
of which was suspended a
huge globe of fire, flinging blood-red
rays on the amber colored
silken carpets and tapestries that covered floors and walls.
The dome was supported by rows upon rows of tall tapering
crystal columns, clear as translucent water and green as the
grass in spring, and between and beyond these columns were
large oval shaped casements set wide open to the summer
night, through which the gleam of a broad lake, laden with
water lilies, could be seen shimmering in the yellow radiance
of the moon.</p>

<p>The centre of the hall was occupied by a long table in the
form of a horseshoe, upon which glittered vessels of gold,
crystal and silver in the sheen of the revolving globe of fire,
heaped with all the accessories of a sumptuous banquet, such
as might have been spread before the ancient gods of Olympus
in the heyday of their legendary prime.</p>

<p>Strange scents assailed the nostrils: pomegranate and
frankincense, myrrh, spikenard and saffron, cinnamon and
calamus mingled their perfume with the insidious distillations
of the jasmine, and spiral clouds of incense rose from tripods
of bronze to the vaulted ceiling.</p>

<p>Inside the horseshoe, black African slaves, attired in
fantastic liveries of yellow and blue, crimson and white, orange
and green, carried aloft jewelled flagons and goblets, massive
gold dishes and great platters of painted earthenware.</p>

<p>There were wines from Cyprus and Malvasia, from Montepulciano
and the sunny slopes of Hymettus, Chianti and
Lacrymae Christi.</p>

<p>The almost incredible brilliancy of the assembled company,
contrasting with the fantastic background, caught the eye as
with a stab of pain, held the gaze for a single instant of frozen
incredulity, then gripped the throat in a choking sensation by
reason of its wonder.</p>

<p>Lounging on divans of velvet and embroidered satin from
the looms of fabled Cathay, set in the old Roman fashion
round the table, eating, drinking, gossiping and occasionally
bursting into wild snatches of song, were a company of distinguished
looking personages, richly and brilliantly attired,
bent upon enjoying the pleasures offered by the immediate
hour. All who laid claim to any distinction in the seven-hilled
city were there, the lords of the Campagna and of the
adjacent fiefs of the Church. Strangers from all parts of the
inhabited globe were there, steeping their bewildered brain
in the splendors that assailed their eyes on every point; from
Africa and Iceland, from Portugal and India, from Burgundy
and Aquitaine, from Granada and from Greece, from Germania
and Provence, from Persia and the Baltic shores. Their
fantastic and semi-barbaric costumes seemed to enhance the
grotesque splendor of the banquet hall.</p>

<p>The Romans were acquainting their guests with the exalted
rank of the woman who ruled the city as surely as ever had
Marozia from the Emperor's Tomb. And the strangers
listened wide-eyed and with bated breath.</p>

<p>Near the raised dais which Theodora was to occupy, at the
head of the table, there were three couches reserved for
guests who, like the hostess, had not yet arrived.</p>

<p>Below these, by the side of a martial stranger with the air
of one who would fain sweep the board clear of his neighbors
on either hand, devouring his food in fierce silence, sat the
Prefect of Rome, endeavoring to expound the qualities of his
countrymen to the silent guest, interspersing his encomiums
now and then with a rapturous eulogy of Theodora.</p>

<p>"Monstrous times have robbed us Romans of the power
of the sword. But they cannot rob us of the power of the
spirit, which will endure forever."</p>

<p>The stranger replied with a stony stare of contempt.</p>

<p>Beside the Lord Atenulf of Benevento sat a tall girl with
heavy coils of blue black hair, eyes that smouldered with a
sombre light, curved carnation lips set in a perfect, oval face,
and seeming more scarlet than they were, owing to her ivory
pallor, the tint of the furled magnolia bud which is, perhaps,
only seen to perfection in Italy and especially in Rome.</p>

<p>She looked at the grave-faced guest with quickened eyes.</p>

<p>Snatching some vine leaves from a pyramid of grapes, as
purple as the tapestries of Tyre, she arose and laying her
hand on the stranger's arm, said laughingly:</p>

<p>"Oh, what a brow! Dark as a thundercloud in June. Let
me crown you with the leaves of the vine! Perchance the
hour will evoke the mood!"</p>

<p>She twisted the leaves into a wreath and dropped them
lightly on his head. The eyes of the silent guest, set in a
face of sanguine color, leered viciously, with the looks of one
who believes himself, however mistakenly, master of himself.
There was a contemptuous curl about his lips. They were
thick lips and florid.</p>

<p>"Ah!" he turned to the girl in a barbarous jargon, "you
are one of those who go veiled in the streets."</p>

<p>And as he spoke his eyes leered with yet livelier malice.</p>

<p>The girl shrank back.</p>

<p>"Those who go veiled know more than ordinary folk," she
replied, then mingled with the other guests.</p>

<p>A young woman of great beauty, with light hair and blue
eyes, sat beside young Fabio of the Cavalli. Her bare arms,
white as snow, and of exquisite contour, encircled his neck,
while he drank and drank. Now and then she sipped of the
wine, Lacrymae Christi from Viterbo, of the greenish straw
color of the chrysoberyl.</p>

<p>Some one had put red poppy leaves in Roxana's hair, and
as she sat by the side of the youth, she had the air and appearance
of a Corybante.</p>

<p>Now and then she gave a glance at the purple curtain in
the background, and one who watched her closely might have
seen a strange sparkle in the depths of her clear blue eyes.
With a look of disappointment she turned away, as not a
ripple of air stirred the curtain's heavy fold. Then her arms
stole anew round the youth, who drained one goblet after
another, as if each succeeding one yielded up a new secret to
him.</p>

<p>Roxana marked it well.</p>

<p>Her eyes danced to his, whenever Fabio's gaze stole towards
the purple curtain which screened the mysterious garden
beyond, in which the spray of a fountain cast silvery showers
into branch-shadowed thickets, hidden retreats and silent,
leafy alcoves, where flowers swooned in the moonlight and
gave up their perfume for love.</p>

<p>From the immobile sable hangings the youth's eyes wandered
back to Roxana's face, but there lurked something
strange in their depths.</p>

<p>"Am I not more beautiful than Theodora?" whispered the
woman by his side, extending her marble arms before her
lover.</p>

<p>"You are beautiful, my Roxana," he stammered. "But
Theodora is the most beautiful woman on earth."</p>

<p>Roxana turned very white at his words.</p>

<p>"She has challenged me to come to her feast," she said in
a low tone, audible only to Fabio. "Let her look to herself!"</p>

<p>And her eyes were alight with the desire of the meeting.</p>

<p>On an adjoining couch reclined the huge jelly of a man who
looked like Pan, enormously swollen and bloated. His
paunch bellied out over the table like a full blown sail. His
face was stained with many a night of wine. The mulberry
eyes twinkled merrily. The swollen lips babbled incessantly.</p>

<p>It was the Lord Boso of Caprara.</p>

<p>"They say that seven devils were cast out of Magdalene&mdash;"
he turned to Roxana&mdash;</p>

<p>The Lord of Norba interposed.</p>

<p>"De mortuis nil nisi bene! Natura abhorret vacuum!
I drink to the thirst to come!"</p>

<p>And he raised his goblet and tossed it off.</p>

<p>The Lord Atenulf rose to his feet, swaying and supporting
himself with one hand on the table. His great swollen face,
big as a ham, creased itself into merriment.</p>

<p>"Let the wine ferret out the thirst!" he shouted, and
drained off his tankard.</p>

<p>"Argus hath a hundred eyes! A butler ought to have a
hundred hands!" shouted the Lord of Camerino. "Wine,&mdash;slaves!
Wine,&mdash;fill up in the name of Lucifer!"</p>

<p>"My tongue is peeling!"</p>

<p>"Wine! Wine!"</p>

<p>The Africans filled up the empty tankards.</p>

<p>"Privatio praesupponit habitum!" opined the Prefect of
Rome.</p>

<p>"We drink to Life and the fleeting Hour."</p>

<p>"Pereat Mors."</p>

<p>And the goblets clanged.</p>

<p>"Who speaks of Death?" shrieked young Fabio of the
Cavalli, attempting to rise. The wine was taking effect on
his brain.</p>

<p>Roxana drew him back on the couch beside her.</p>

<p>"Fill the goblets! A brimmer of Chianti, red as blood&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Or the poppies in Roxana's hair!"</p>

<p>"Wine from Samos&mdash;sweetened with honey."</p>

<p>"A decoction of Nectar and Ambrosia."</p>

<p>The strangers who crowded the vast hall began to join in
the mirth and jollity of their Roman hosts, their Oriental
apathy or frozen stolidity melting slowly in the fumes of the
wines.</p>

<p>A curtain had parted and a bevy of girls clad in diaphanous
gowns of finest silver gauze made their way into the banquet
hall and took their seats, as choice directed, beside the guests.
Peals of laughter echoed through the vaulted dome, and
excited voices were raised in clamorous disputations and
contentious arguments. The wine began to flow more lavishly.
The assembled guests grew more and more careless
of their utterances. They flung themselves full length upon
their luxurious couches, now pulling out handfuls of flowers
from the tall malachite jars that stood near, and pelting the
dancing girls for idle diversion, now summoning the attendant
slaves to refill their wine cups, while they lay lounging at ease
among the silken cushions.</p>

<p>There was a moment's silence, sudden, unexplained, like
the presage of some dark event.</p>

<p>The slow solemn boom of a bell sounded the hour of midnight.</p>

<p>The voices had ceased.</p>

<p>With one accord, as though drawn by some magnetic spell,
all turned their eyes towards the purple curtain through which
Theodora had just entered, and, rising from their seats, they
broke into boisterous welcome and acclaim. Young Fabio of
the Cavalli whose flushed face had all the wanton, effeminate
beauty of a pictured Dionysos, reeled forward, goblet in hand
and, tossing the wine in the air, so that it splashed down at
his feet, staining his garments, he shouted:</p>

<p>"Vanish dull moon and be ashamed, for a fairer planet
rules the midnight sky! To Theodora&mdash;the Queen of
Love!"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 412px;"><a name="ILLUSTRATION_03" id="ILLUSTRATION_03">
<img src="images/col03.jpg" width="412" height="600" alt="" /></a>
<p class="caption">"Pelting the dancing girls for idle diversion"</p>
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>He staggered a few paces towards her, holding the empty
goblet in his hand. His hair tossed back from his brows and
entangled in a half-crushed wreath of vine-leaves, his garments
disordered, his demeanor that of one possessed of a
delirium of the senses, he stared at the wonderful apparition
when, meeting Theodora's icy glance, he started as if he had
been suddenly stabbed. The goblet fell from his hand and a
shudder ran through his supple frame.</p>

<p>By the side of the Grand Chamberlain, who was garbed in
black from head to toe, Theodora descended the steps that
led from the raised platform into the brilliant hall.</p>

<p>Greeting her guests with her inscrutable smile, she moved
as a queen through a crowd of courtiers, the changing lights
of crimson and green playing about her like living flame, her
head, wreathed with jewelled serpents, rising proudly erect
from her golden mantle, her eyes scintillating with a gleam of
mockery which made them look so lustrous, yet so cold.</p>

<p>Thus she strode towards the dais, draped in carnation-colored
silks and surmounted by an arch of ebony.</p>

<p>For the space of a moment she paused, surveying her guests.
A film seemed to pass over her eyes as her gaze rested upon
one who had slowly arisen and was facing her in white silence.</p>

<p>With a slight bend of the head Roxana acknowledged
Theodora's silent greeting; then, amidst loud shouts of
acclaim she sank languidly upon her couch, trying to soothe
young Fabio, who had raised his fallen goblet and held it out
to a passing slave. The latter refilled it with wine, which he
gulped down thirstily, though the purple liquid brought no
color to his drawn and ashen cheek.</p>

<p>Theodora paid no heed to the youth's discomfiture, but
Roxana's face was white as death, and her lips were set as
the lips of a marble mask as she gazed towards the ebony
arch, upon which the eyes of all present were riveted.</p>

<p>With a rustle as of falling leaves Theodora's gorgeous
mantle had released itself from its jewelled clasps, and had
slowly fallen on the perfumed carpet at her feet.</p>

<p>A sigh quivered audibly through the hall, whether of joy,
hope, desire or despair it was difficult to tell. The pride and
peril of matchless loveliness was revealed in all its fatal
seductiveness and invincible strength. In irresistible perfection
she stood revealed before her guests in a robe of
diaphanous silver gauze, which clung like a pale mist about
the wonderful curves of her form and seemed to float about
her like a summer cloud. Her dazzling white arms were
bare to the shoulders. A silver serpent with a head of
sapphires girdled her waist.</p>

<p>Sinking indolently among the silken cushions of the dais,
where she gleamed in her wonderful whiteness like a glistening
pearl, set in ebony, Theodora motioned to her guests to
resume their places at the board.</p>

<p>She was instantly obeyed.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain took what appeared to be his
accustomed seat at her right, the seat at her left remaining
vacant. For a moment Theodora's gaze rested thereon with
a puzzled air, then she seemed to pay no farther heed.</p>

<p>But a close observer might have noted a shade of displeasure
on the brow of the Grand Chamberlain, which no
attempt at dissimulation could dispel.</p>

<p>A triumphant peal of music, the clash of mingled flutes,
hautboys, tubas and harps rushed through the dome like a
wind sweeping in from tropical seas.</p>

<p>Basil turned to Theodora with a searching glance.</p>

<p>"One couch still awaits its guest."</p>

<p>She nodded languidly.</p>

<p>"Tristan&mdash;the pilgrim. He is late. Know you aught of
him, my lord?"</p>

<p>There was an air of mockery in her tone, not unmingled
with concern.</p>

<p>Basil's thin lips straightened.</p>

<p>"Perchance the holy man hath other sheep in mind.
What is he to you, Lady Theodora? Your concern for him
seems of the suddenest."</p>

<p>"What is it to you, my lord?" she flashed in return. "Am
I accountable to you for the moods that sway my soul?"</p>

<p>A mocking laugh startled both the Grand Chamberlain
and Theodora.</p>

<p>Low as the words between them had been spoken, they
had reached the ear of Roxana. Watchful of every shade of
expression in Theodora's face, she was resolved to take up
the gauntlet her hated rival had thrown to her, to draw her
out of her defences into open conflict, for which she longed
with all the fire of her soul. Determined to wrest the dominion
of Rome from Marozia's beautiful sister, she was resolved
to stake her all, counting upon the effect of her wonderful
beauty and her physical perfection, which was a match for
Theodora's in every point.</p>

<p>This desire on Roxana's part was precipitated by the strange
demeanor of young Fabio of the Cavalli. From the moment
Theodora had entered the banquet hall his fevered gaze had
devoured her wonderful beauty. A feverish restlessness had
taken possession of the youth and he had rudely repelled
Roxana when she tried to soothe his wine-besotten brain.</p>

<p>"Perchance," she turned to Theodora, "remembering how
Circé of old changed her lovers into swine, the sainted pilgrim
no longer worships at Santa Maria of the Aventine."</p>

<p>Theodora started at the sound of her rival's hated voice as
if an asp had stung her.</p>

<p>"Perchance the well-known blandishments of our fair
Roxana might accomplish as much, if report speaks true,"
she replied, returning the smouldering challenge in the other
woman's eyes.</p>

<p>"And why not?" came the purring response. "Am I not
your match in body and soul?"</p>

<p>Every vestige of color had faded from Theodora's cheeks.
For a moment the two women seemed to search each other's
souls, their bosoms heaving, their eyes alight with the desire
for the conflict.</p>

<p>Roxana slowly arose and strode toward the vacant seat at
Theodora's left.</p>

<p>"When you circled the Rosary on yesternight, fairest
Theodora," she purred, "was he not there&mdash;waiting for
you?"</p>

<p>Instead of Theodora, it was Basil who made reply.</p>

<p>"Of whom do you speak?"</p>

<p>Again the silvery ripple of Roxana's laughter floated above
the din.</p>

<p>"Perchance, my Lord Basil, our fair Theodora should be
able to enlighten you on that point&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Of whom do you speak?" Basil turned to the woman.</p>

<p>There was something ominous in his eyes. His face was
pale.</p>

<p>Theodora regarded him contemptuously, her dark slumbrous
eyes turning from him to the woman.</p>

<p>"Beware lest I be tempted to strangle you," she spoke in
a low tone, her white hands opening and closing convulsively.</p>

<p>"Like Persephoné, your Circassian,&mdash;in the Emperor's
Tomb?" came the taunting reply.</p>

<p>Theodora's face was white as lightning.</p>

<p>"I should not leave the work undone!"</p>

<p>"Neither should I," came the purring reply, as Roxana
extended her wonderful hands and arms. "Meanwhile&mdash;will
you not inform your guests of the story of the pilgrim, who
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'wellnigh'">well-nigh</ins> caused Marozia's sister to
enter a nunnery?"</p>


<p>A group of listeners had gathered about.</p>

<p>Basil was swaying to and fro in his seat with suppressed fury.</p>

<p>"One convent at least would be damned from gable to
refectory," he muttered, emptying the tankard which one of
the Africans had just replenished.</p>

<p>Theodora regarded him icily. Her inscrutable countenance
gave no hint of her thoughts. She did not even seem to hear
the questions which fell thick and fast about her, but there
was something in the velvet depths of her eyes that would
have caused even the boldest to tremble in the consciousness
of having incurred her anger.</p>

<p>The Lord of Norba reeled towards the couch, where Roxana
had taken her seat, blinking out of small watery eyes and
flirting with his lordly buskins.</p>

<p>"How came it about?"</p>

<p>"What was he like?"</p>

<p>Theodora turned slowly from the one to the other. Then
with a voice vibrant with contempt she said:</p>

<p>"A man!"</p>

<p>"And you were counting your beads?" shouted the Lord
Atenulf in so amazed a tone, that the guests broke out into
peals of laughter.</p>

<p>"It was then it happened," Roxana related, without relating.</p>

<p>"How mysterious," shivered some one.</p>

<p>"Will you not tell us?" Roxana challenged Theodora anew.</p>

<p>Their eyes met. Roxana turned to her auditors.</p>

<p>"Our fair Theodora had been suddenly touched by the
spirit," she began in her low musical voice. "Withdrawing
from the eyes of man she gave herself up to holy meditations.
In this mood she nightly circled the Penitent's Rosary at
Santa Maria of the Aventine, praying that the saint might
take compassion upon her and deliver unto her keeping
a perfect, saintly man, pure and undefiled. And to add
weight to her own prayers, we, too, circled the Rosary;
Gisla, Adelhita, Pamela and myself. And we prayed very
earnestly."</p>

<p>She paused for a moment and looked about, as if to gauge
the impression her tale was producing on the assembled
guests. Her smiling eyes swept the face of Theodora who
was listening as intently as if the incident about to be related
had happened to another, her sphinx-like face betraying not
a sign of emotion.</p>

<p>"And then?"</p>

<p>It was Basil's voice, hoarse and constrained.</p>

<p>"Then," Roxana continued, "the miracle came to pass
before our very eyes. Behind one of the monolith pillars
there stood one in a pilgrim's garb, young and tall of stature.
His gaze followed our rotations, and each time we circled
about him our fair Theodora offered thanks to the saint for
granting her prayer&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused and again her gaze mockingly swept Theodora's
sphinx-like face.</p>

<p>"And then?" spoke the voice of Basil.</p>

<p>"When our devotions had come to a close," Roxana turned
to the speaker, "Theodora sent Persephoné to conduct the
saintly stranger to her bowers. And then the unlooked for
happened. The saintly stranger fled, like Joseph of old. He
did not even leave his garb."</p>

<p>There was an outburst of uproarious mirth.</p>

<p>"But do these things ever happen?" fluted the Poet Bembo.</p>

<p>"In the realms of fable," shouted the Lord of Norba.</p>

<p>"Now men have become wiser."</p>

<p>"And women more circumspect."</p>

<p>Theodora turned to the speaker.</p>

<p>"Perchance traditions have been merely reversed."</p>

<p>"Some recent events do not seem to support the theory,"
drawled the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>Theodora regarded him with her strange inscrutable smile.</p>

<p>"Who knows,&mdash;if all were told?"</p>

<p>"The fact remains," Roxana persisted in her taunts,
"that our fair Theodora's power has its limits; that there is
one man at least whom she may not drug with the poison
sweetness of her song."</p>

<p>In Theodora's eyes gleamed a smouldering fire, as she met
the insufferable taunts of the other woman.</p>

<p>"Why do you not try your own charms upon him, fairest
Roxana?" she turned to her tormentor. "Charms which,
I grant you, are second not even to mine."</p>

<p>Roxana's bosom heaved. A strange fire smouldered in
her eyes.</p>

<p>"And deem you I could not take him from you, if I choose?"
she replied, the pupils of her eyes strangely dilated.</p>

<p>"Not if I choose to make him mine!" flashed Theodora.</p>

<p>Roxana's contemptuous mirth cut her to the quick.</p>

<p>"You have tried and failed!"</p>

<p>"I have neither tried nor have I failed."</p>

<p>"Then you mean to try again, fairest Theodora?" came
the insidious, purring reply.</p>

<p>"That is as I choose!"</p>

<p>"It shall be as I choose."</p>

<p>"What do you mean, fairest Roxana?"</p>

<p>"I mean to conquer him&mdash;to make him mine&mdash;to steep
his senses in so wild a delirium that he shall forget his God,
his garb, his honor. And, when I have done with him, I shall
send him to the devil&mdash;or to you, fairest Theodora&mdash;to
finish, what I began. This to prove you a vain boaster, who
has failed to make good every claim you have put forth&mdash;"</p>

<p>Theodora was very pale. In her voice there was an unnatural
calm as she turned to the other woman.</p>

<p>"You have boasted, you will make this austere pilgrim
your own, body and soul&mdash;you will cast the tatters of his
soiled virtue at my feet. I did not desire him. But now"&mdash;her
eyes sank into those of the other woman, "I mean to have
him,&mdash;and I shall&mdash;with you, fairest Roxana, and all your
power of seduction against me! I shall have him&mdash;and
when I have done with him, not even you shall desire him&mdash;nor
that other, whom you serve&mdash;"</p>

<p>Both women had risen to their feet and challenged each
other with their eyes.</p>

<p>"By the powers of darkness, you shall not!" Roxana
returned, pale to the lips.</p>

<p>"Take him from me&mdash;if you can!" Theodora flashed.
"I shall conquer you&mdash;and him!"</p>

<p>At this point the Grand Chamberlain interposed.</p>

<p>"Were it not wise," he drawled, looking from the one to
the other, "to acquaint this holy man with the perils that
beset his soul, since the two most beautiful and virtuous
ladies in Rome seem resolved to guide him on his Way of the
Cross?"</p>

<p>There was a moment of silence, then he continued in the
same drawl, which veiled emotions he dared not reveal in
this assembly.</p>

<p>"Deem you, the man who journeyed hundreds of leagues
to obtain absolution for having kissed a woman in wedlock
has aught to fear from such as you?"</p>

<p>Ere Theodora could make reply the tantalizing purring voice
of Roxana struck her ear.</p>

<p>"Surely this is no man&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A man he is, nevertheless," Basil retorted hotly. "One
night I wandered out upon the silent Aventine. Losing myself
among the ruins, I heard voices in the abode of the Monk
of Cluny. Fearing, lest some one should attempt to harm
this holy friar," he continued, with a side glance at Theodora,
"I entered unseen. I overheard his confession."</p>

<p>There was profound silence.</p>

<p>It seemed too monstrously absurd. Absolution for a kiss!</p>

<p>Roxana spoke at last, and her veiled mockery strained her
rival's temper to the breaking point. Her words stung, as
needles would the naked flesh.</p>

<p>"Then," she said with deliberate slowness, "if our fair
Theodora persist in her unholy desire, what else is there for me
to do but to take him from her just to save the poor man's soul?"</p>

<p>Theodora's white hands yearned for the other woman's
throat.</p>

<p>"Deem you, your charms would snare the good pilgrim,
should I will to make him mine?" she flashed.</p>

<p>"Why not?" Roxana purred. "Shall we try? Are you
afraid?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Of you?" Theodora shrilled.</p>

<p>A strange fire burnt in Roxana's eyes.</p>

<p>"Of the ordeal! Once upon a time you took from me the
boy I loved. Now I shall take from you the man you desire!"</p>

<p>"I challenge you!"</p>

<p>"To the death!" Roxana flashed, appraising her rival's
charms against her own. Her further utterance was checked
by the sudden entrance of one of the Africans, who prostrated
himself before Theodora, muttering some incoherent words
at which both the woman and Basil gave a start.</p>

<p>"Have him thrown into the street," Basil turned to Theodora.</p>

<p>"Have him brought in," Theodora commanded.</p>

<p>For the space of a few moments intense silence reigned
throughout the pavilion. Then the curtains at the farther end
parted, admitting two huge Africans, who carried between
them the seemingly lifeless form of a man.</p>

<p>An imperious gesture of Theodora directed them to approach
with their burden, and a cry of surprise and dismay broke
from her lips as she gazed into the white, still features of
Tristan.</p>

<p>He was unconscious, but faintly breathing, and upon his
garb were strange stains, that looked like blood. The
Africans placed their burden on the couch from which Roxana
had arisen, and Theodora summoned the Moorish physician
Bahram from the lower end of the table, where he had indulged
in a learned dispute with a Persian sage. The other
guests thronged about, curious to see and to hear.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain changed color when his gaze first
lighted on the prostrate form and he felt inclined to make
light of the matter hinting at the effect of Italian wines upon
strangers unaccustomed to the vintage. The ashen pallor of
Tristan's cheeks had not remained unremarked by Theodora,
as she turned from the unconscious victim of a villainy to the
man beside her, whom in some way she connected with the
deed.</p>

<p>Basil's comment elicited but a glance of contempt as,
approaching the couch whereon he lay, Theodora eagerly
watched the Moorish physician in his efforts to revive the
unconscious man. Tristan's teeth were so tightly set that it
required the insertion of a steel bar to pry them apart.</p>

<p>Bahram poured some strong wine down the throat of the
still unconscious man, then placed him in a sitting position
and continued his efforts until, with a violent fit of coughing,
Tristan opened his eyes.</p>

<p>It was some time, however, until he regained his faculties
sufficiently to manifest his emotions, and the bewilderment
with which his gaze wandered from one face to the other,
would have been amusing had not the mystery which encompassed
his presence inspired a feeling of awe. The Moorish
physician, upon being questioned by Theodora, stated, some
powerful poison had caused the coma which bound Tristan's
limbs and added, in another hour he would have been beyond
the pale of human aid. More than this he would not reveal
and, his task accomplished, he withdrew among the guests.</p>

<p>From the Grand Chamberlain, whose stony gaze was
riveted upon him, Tristan turned to the woman who reclined
by his side on the divan. His vocal chords seemed paralyzed,
but his other faculties were keenly alive to the strangeness of
his surroundings. Perceiving his inability to reply to her
questions, Theodora soothed him to silence.</p>

<p>Vainly endeavoring to speak, Tristan partook but sparingly
of the refreshments which she offered to him with her own
hands. She was now deliberately endeavoring to enmesh his
senses, and her exotic, wonderful beauty could not but accomplish
with him what it had accomplished with all who came
under its fatal spell. An insidious, sensuous perfume seemed
to float about her, which caused Tristan's brain to reel. Her
bare arms and wonderful hands made him dizzy. Her eyes
held his own by their strange, subtle spell. Unfathomed
mysteries seemed to lurk in their hidden depths. Without
endeavoring to engage him in conversation, much as she
longed to question him on certain points, she tried to soothe
him by passing her cool white hands over his fevered brow.
And all the time she was pondering on the nature of his
infliction and the author thereof, as her gaze pensively swept
the banquet hall.</p>

<p>The guests had, one by one, returned to their seats. Theodora
also had arisen, after having made Tristan comfortable
on the couch assigned to him.</p>

<p>Unseen, the heavy folds of the curtain behind her parted.
A face peered for a moment into her own, that seemed to
possess no human attributes. Theodora gave a hardly perceptible
nod and the face disappeared. The Grand Chamberlain
took his seat by her side and Roxana flinging Theodora
a glittering challenge seated herself beside Tristan.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Xb" id="CHAPTER_Xb">CHAPTER X</a><br />

THE CHALICE OF OBLIVION</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">A delirium of the senses such
as he had never experienced to
this hour began to steal over
Tristan, as he found himself
seated between Theodora, the
fairest sorceress that ever triumphed
over the frail spirit of
man&mdash;and Roxana, who was
whispering strange words into
his bewildered ears.</p>

<p>Across the board the gloomy form of the Grand Chamberlain
in his sombre attire loomed up like a shadow of evil in a
garden of strangely tinted orchids.</p>

<p>How the time passed on, he could not tell. Peals of laughter
resounded now and then through the vaulted dome and
voices were raised in clamorous disputations that just sheered
off the boundary-line of actual quarrel.</p>

<p>Theodora seemed to pay but little heed to Tristan. Roxana
had coiled her white arms about him and, whenever he raised
his goblet, their hands touched and a stream of fire coursed
through his veins. Only now and then Theodora's drowsy
eyes shot forth a fiery gleam from under their heavily fringed
lids.</p>

<p>Roxana smiled into her rival's eyes and, raising a goblet of
wine to her lips, kissed the brim and gave it to Tristan with
an indescribably graceful swaying motion of her whole form
that reminded one of a tall white lily, bowing to the breeze.</p>

<p>Tristan seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and returned
it and, as their hands touched again, he could hardly restrain
himself from giving way to a transport of passion. He was
no longer himself. His brain seemed to reel. He felt as if
he would plunge into the crater of a seething volcano without
heeding the flames.</p>

<p>Even Hellayne's pale image seemed forgotten for the time.</p>

<p>The guests waxed more and more noisy, their merriment
more and more boisterous. Many were now very much the
worse for their frequent libations, and young Fabio particularly
seemed to display a desire to break away from all bonds of
prudent reserve.</p>

<p>He lay full length on his silken divan, singing little snatches
of song to himself and, pulling the vine-wreath from his
tumbled locks, as though he found it too cumbersome, he
flung it on the ground amid the other debris of the feast.
Then, folding his arms lazily behind his head, he stared
straight and fixedly at Theodora, surveying every curve of
her body, every slight motion of her head, every faint smile
that played upon her lips. She was listening with an air of
ill-disguised annoyance to Basil, whose wine-inflamed countenance
and passion-distorted features left little to the surmise
regarding his state of mind.</p>

<p>On the couch adjoining the one of Fabio of the Cavalli
reclined a nobleman from Gades, who, having partaken less
lavishly of the wine than the rest of the guests, was engaged
in a dispute with the burly stranger from the North, whose
temper seemed to have undergone little change for the better
for his having filled his paunch.</p>

<p>In the barbarous jargon of tenth century Latin they commented
upon Theodora, upon the banquet, upon the guests
and upon Rome in general, and the Spaniard expressed surprise
that Marozia's sister had failed to revenge Marozia's
death, contenting herself to spend her life in the desert wastes
of Aventine, among hermits, libertines and fools.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding his besotten mood Fabio had heard and
understood every word the stranger uttered. Before he, to
whom his words was addressed could make reply, he shouted
insolently:</p>

<p>"Ask Theodora why she is content to live in her enchanted
groves instead in the Emperor's Tomb, haunted by the spectre
of strangled Marozia!"</p>

<p>A terrible silence followed this utterance. The eyes of all
present wandered towards the speaker. The Grand Chamberlain
ground his teeth. Every vestige of color had faded
from his face.</p>

<p>"Are you afraid?" shouted Fabio, raising himself upon his
elbows and nodding towards Theodora.</p>

<p>The woman turned her splendid, flashing orbs slowly upon
him. A chill, steely glitter leaped from their velvety depths.</p>

<p>"Pray, Fabio, be heedful of your speech," said she with a
quiver in her voice, curiously like the suppressed snarl of a
tigress. "Most men are fools, like yourself, and by their
utterance shall they be judged!"</p>

<p>Fabio broke out into boisterous mirth.</p>

<p>"And Theodora rules with a rod of iron. Even the Lord
Basil is but a toy in her hands! Behold him,&mdash;yonder."</p>

<p>Basil had arisen, his hand on the hilt of his poniard. Theodora
laid her white hand upon his arm.</p>

<p>"Nay&mdash;" she said sweetly, "this is a matter for myself to
settle."</p>

<p>"A very anchorite," the mocking voice of Fabio rose above
the silence.</p>

<p>A young noble of the Cætani tried to quiet him, but in vain:</p>

<p>"The Lord Basil is no monk."</p>

<p>"Wherefore then his midnight meditations in the devil's
own chapel yonder, in which our fair Theodora officiates as
Priestess of Love?"</p>

<p>"Midnight meditations?" interposed the Spaniard, not
knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.</p>

<p>"Ask Theodora," shouted Fabio, "how many lovers are
worshipping at her midnight shrine!"</p>

<p>The silence of utter consternation prevailed. Glances of
absolute dismay went round the table, and the stillness was as
ominous as the hush before a thunderclap. Fabio, apparently
struck by the sudden silence, gazed lazily from out the tumbled
cushions, a vacant, besotten smile upon his lips.</p>

<p>"What fools you are!" he shouted thickly. "Did you not
hear me? I bade you ask Theodora," and suddenly he sat
bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of passion,
"why the Lord Basil creeps in and out her palace at midnight
like a skulking slave? Ask him why he creeps in disguise
through the underground passage. Ay&mdash;stranger," he
shouted to Tristan, "you are near enough to our lady of
Witcheries. Ask her how many lovers have tasted of the
chalice of oblivion?"</p>

<p>Another death-like silence ensued.</p>

<p>Even the attendants seemed to move with awed tread
among the guests.</p>

<p>Theodora and Roxana had risen almost at the same time,
facing each other in a white silence.</p>

<p>Roxana extended her snow-white arms towards Theodora.</p>

<p>"Why do you not reply to your discarded lover?" she
taunted her rival. "Shall I reply for him? You have
challenged me, and I return your challenge! I am your
match in all things, Lady Theodora. In my veins flows the
blood of kings&mdash;in yours the blood of courtesans. There is
not room on earth for both of us. Does not your coward soul
quail before the issue?"</p>

<p>Theodora turned to Roxana a face, white as marble, her
eyes preternaturally brilliant. "You shall have your wish&mdash;even
to the death. But&mdash;before the dark-winged messenger
enfolds you with his sable wings you shall know Theodora as
you have never known her&mdash;nor ever shall again."</p>

<p>From the woman Theodora turned to the man.</p>

<p>"Fabio," she said in her sweet mock-caressing tone, "I
fear you have grown altogether too wise for this world. It
were a pity you should linger in so narrow and circumscribed
a sphere."</p>

<p>She paused and beckoned to a giant Nubian who stood
behind her chair.</p>

<p>"Refill the goblets!"</p>

<p>Her behest executed she clinked goblets with Roxana.
An undying hate shone in the eyes of the two women as they
raised the crystal goblets to their lips.</p>

<p>Theodora hardly tasted of the purple beverage. Roxana
eagerly drained her cup, then she kissed the brim and offered
the fragrant goblet to Tristan, as her eyes challenged Theodora
anew.</p>

<p>Ere he could raise it to his lips, Theodora dashed the goblet
from Tristan's hands and the purple wine dyed the orange
colored carpet like dark stains of blood.</p>

<p>White as lightning, her eyes ablaze with hidden fires, her
white hands clenched, Roxana straightened herself to her
full height, ready to bound at Theodora's throat, to avenge
the insult and to settle now and here, woman to woman, the
question of supremacy between them, when she reeled as if
struck by a thunderbolt. Her hands went to her heart and
without a moan she fell, a lifeless heap, upon the floor.</p>

<p>Ere Tristan and the other guests could recover from their
consternation, or fathom the import of the terrible scene, a
savage scream from the couch upon which Fabio reclined,
turned the attention of every one in that direction.</p>

<p>Fabio, suddenly sobered, had risen from his couch and
drained his goblet. It rolled upon the carpet from his nerveless
grasp. For a moment his arms wildly beat the air, then
he reeled and fell prone upon the floor. His staring eyes
and his face, livid with purple spots, proclaimed him dead,
even ere the Moorish physician could come to his aid.</p>

<p>Theodora clapped her hands, and at the signal four giant
Nubians appeared and, taking up the lifeless bodies, disappeared
with them in the moonlit garden outside.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain, rising from his seat, informed the
guests that a sudden ailment had befallen the woman and
the man. They were being removed to receive care and
attention.</p>

<p>Though a lingering doubt hovered in the minds of those
who had witnessed the scene, some kept silent through fear,
others whose brains were befuddled by the fumes of the
wine gave utterance to inarticulate sounds, from which the
view they took of the matter, was not entirely clear.</p>

<p>The shock had restored to Tristan the lost faculty of speech.
For a moment he stared horrified at Theodora. Her impassive
calm roused in him a feeling of madness. With an
imprecation upon his lips he rushed upon her, his gleaming
dagger raised aloft.</p>

<p>But ere he could carry out his intent, Theodora's clear,
cold voice smote the silence.</p>

<p>"Disarm him!"</p>

<p>One of the Africans had glided stealthily to his side, and
the steel was wrenched from Tristan's grip.</p>

<p>"Be silent,&mdash;for your life!" some one whispered into his
ear.</p>

<p>Suddenly he grew weak. Theodora's languid eyes met his
own, utterly paralyzing his efforts. A smile parted her lips
as, without a trace of anger, she kissed the ivory bud of a
magnolia and threw it to him.</p>

<p>As one in a trance he caught the flower. Its fragrance
seemed to creep into his brain, rob his manhood of its strength.
Sinking submissively into his seat he gazed up at her in wondering
wistfulness. Was there ever woman so bewilderingly
beautiful? A strange enervating ecstasy took him captive, as
he permitted his eyes to dwell on the fairness of her face, the
ivory pallor of her skin, the supple curves of her form. As
one imprisoned in a jungle exhaling poison miasmas loses all
control over his faculties, feeling a drowsy lassitude stealing
over him, so Tristan gave himself up to the spell that encompassed
him, heedless of the memories of the past.</p>

<p>Now Theodora touched a small bell and suddenly the
marble floor yawned asunder and the banquet table with all
its accessories vanished underground with incredible swiftness.
Then the floor closed again. The broad centre space
of the hall was now clear of obstruction and the guests roused
themselves from their drowsy postures of half-inebriated
languor.</p>

<p>Tristan drank in the scene with eager, dazzled eyes and
heavily beating heart. Love and hate strangely mingled stole
over him more strongly than ever, in the sultry air of this
strange summer night, this night of sweet delirium in which
all that was most dangerous and erring in his nature waked
into his life and mastered his better will.</p>

<p>Outside the water lilies nodded themselves to sleep among
their shrouding leaves. Like a sheet of molten gold spread
the lake over the spot where Roxana and Fabio had found a
common grave.</p>

<p>Surrounding this lake spread a garden, golden with the
sleepy radiance of the late moon, and peacefully fair in the
dreaminess of drooping foliage, moss-covered turf and star-sprinkled
violet sky. In full view, and lighted by the reflected
radiance flung out from within, a miniature waterfall tumbled
headlong into a rocky recess, covered and overgrown with
lotus-lilies and plumy ferns. Here and there golden tents
glimmered through the shadows cast by the great magnolia
trees, whose half-shut buds wafted balmy odors through the
drowsy summer night. The sounds of flutes, of citherns
and cymbals floated from distant bosquets, as though elfin
shepherds were guarding their fairy flocks in some hidden
nook. By degrees the light grew warmer and more mellow
in tint till it resembled the deep hues of an autumn sunset,
flecked through the emerald haze, in the sunken gardens of
Theodora.</p>

<p>Another clash of cymbals, stormily persistent, then the
chimes of bells, such as bring tears to the eyes of many a
wayfarer, who hears the silvery echoes when far away from
home and straightway thinks of his childhood days, those
years of purest happiness.</p>

<p>A curious, stifling sensation began to oppress Tristan as
he listened to those bells. They reminded him of strange
things, things to which he could not give a name, odd suggestions
of fair women who were wont to pray for those they
loved, and who believed that their prayers would be heard in
heaven and would be granted!</p>

<p>With straining eyes he gazed out into the languorous beauty
of the garden that spread its emerald glamour around him,
and a sob broke from his lips as the peals of the chiming bells,
softened by degrees into subdued and tremulous semitones,
the clarion clearness of the cymbals again smote the silent
air.</p>

<p>Ere Tristan, in his state of bewilderment, could realize
what was happening, the great fire globe in the dome was
suddenly extinguished and a firm hand imperiously closed on
his own, drawing him along, he knew not whither.</p>

<p>He glanced about him. In the semi-darkness he was
able to discern the sheen of the lake with its white burden of
water lilies, and the dim, branch-shadowed outlines of the
moonlit garden. Theodora walked beside him, Theodora,
whose lovely face was so perilously near his own, Theodora,
upon whose lips hovered a smile of unutterable meaning.
His heart beat faster; he strove in vain to imagine what fate
was in store for him. He drank in the beauty of the night
that spread her star-embroidered splendors about him, he
was conscious of the vital youth and passion that throbbed in
his veins, endowing him with a keen headstrong rapture
which is said to come but once in a lifetime, and which in
the excess of its folly will bring endless remorse in its
wake.</p>

<p>Suddenly he found himself in an exquisitely adorned
pavilion of painted silk, lighted by a lamp of tenderest rose
lustre and carpeted with softest amber colored pile. It stood
apart from the rest, concealed as it were in a grove of its own,
and surrounded by a thicket of orange-trees in full bloom.
The fragrance of the white waxen flowers hung heavily upon
the air, breathing forth delicate suggestions of languor and
sleep. The measured cadence of the waterfall alone broke
the deep stillness, and now and then the subdued and plaintive
thrill of a nightingale, soothing itself to sleep with its
own song in some deep-shadowed copse.</p>

<p>Here, on a couch, such as might have been prepared for
Titania, Theodora seated herself, while Tristan stood gazing
at her in a sort of mad, fascinated wonderment, and gradually
increasing intensity of passion.</p>

<p>The alluring smile and the quick brightening of the eyes, so
rare a thing with him who, since he had left Avalon, was used
to wear so calm and subdued a mask, changed his aspect in
an extraordinary manner. In an instant he seemed more
alive, more intensely living, pulsing with the joy of the hour.
He felt as if he must let the natural youth in his veins run
riot, as Theodora's beauty and the magic of the night began
to sting his blood.</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes danced to his. She had marked the
symptoms and knew. Her eyes had lost their mocking glitter
and swam in a soft languor, that was strangely bewitching.
Her lips parted in a faint sigh and a glance like are shot from
beneath her black silken lashes.</p>

<p>"Tristan!" she murmured tremulously and waited. Then
again: "Tristan!"</p>

<p>He knelt before her, passion sweeping over him like a
hurricane, and took her unresisting hands in his.</p>

<p>"Theodora!" he said, bending over her, and his voice,
even to his own ears had a strange sound, as if some one else
were speaking. "Theodora! What would you have of me?
Speak! For my heart aches with a burden of dark memories
conjured up by the wizard spell of your eyes!"</p>

<p>She gently drew him down beside her on the couch.</p>

<p>"Foolish dreamer!" she murmured, half mockingly, half
tenderly. "Are love and passion so strange a thing that you
wonder&mdash;as you sit here beside me?"</p>

<p>"Love!" he said. "Is it love indeed?"</p>

<p>He uttered the words as if he spoke to himself, in a hushed,
awe-struck tone. But she had heard, and a flash of triumph
brightened her beautiful face.</p>

<p>"Ah!" and she dropped her head lower and lower, till the
dark perfumed tresses touched his brow. "Then you do
love me?"</p>

<p>He started. A dull pang struck his heart, a chill of vague
uncertainty and dread. He longed to take her in his arms,
forget the past, the present, the future, life and all it held.
But suddenly a vague thought oppressed him. There was
the sense that he was dishonoring that other love. However
unholy it had been, it was yet for him a real and passionate
reality of his past life, and he shrank in shame from suppressing
it. Would it not have been far nobler to have fought
it down as the pilgrim he had meant to be than to drown its
memory in a delirium of the senses?</p>

<p>And&mdash;was this love indeed for the woman by his side?
Was it not mere passion and base desire?</p>

<p>As he remained silent the silken voice of the fairest woman
he had ever seen once more sent its thrill through his bewildered
brain in the fateful question:</p>

<p>"Do you love me, Tristan?"</p>

<p>Softly, insidiously, she entwined him with her wonderful
white arms. Her perfumed breath fanned his cheeks; her
dark tresses touched his brow. Her lips were thirstily ajar.</p>

<p>He put his arms about her. Hungrily, passionately, his
gaze wandered over her matchless form, from the small feet,
encased in golden sandals, to the crowning masses of her
dusky hair. His heart beat with loud, impatient thuds, like
some wild thing struggling in its cage, but though his lips
moved, no utterance came.</p>

<p>Her arms tightened about him.</p>

<p>"You are of the North," she said, "though you have hotter
blood in your veins. Now under our yellow sun, and in our
hot nights, when the moon hangs like an alabaster lamp in
the sky, a beaten shield of gold trembling over our dreams&mdash;forget
the ice in your blood. Gather the roses while you
may! A time will come when their soft petals will have lost
their fragrance! I love you&mdash;be mine!"</p>

<p>And, bending towards him, she kissed him with moist,
hungry lips.</p>

<p>He fevered in her embrace. He kissed her eyes&mdash;her
hair&mdash;her lips&mdash;and a strange dizziness stole over him, a
delirium in which he was no longer master of himself.</p>

<p>"Can you not be happy, Tristan?" she whispered gently.
"Happy as other men when loved as I love you!"</p>

<p>With a cold sinking of the heart he looked into the woman's
perfect face. His upturned gaze rested on the glittering
serpent heads that crowned the dusky hair, and the words of
Fabio of the Cavalli knocked on the gates of his memory.</p>

<p>"Happy as other men when they love&mdash;and are deceived,"
he said, unable to free himself of her entwining arms.</p>

<p>"You shall not be deceived," she returned quickly.
"You shall attain that which your heart desires. Your dearest
hope shall be fulfilled,&mdash;all shall be yours&mdash;all&mdash;if you
will be mine&mdash;to-night."</p>

<p>Tristan met her burning gaze, and as he did so the strange
dread increased.</p>

<p>"What of the Grand Chamberlain?" he queried. "What
of Basil, your lover?"</p>

<p>Her answer came swift and fierce, as the hiss of a snake.</p>

<p>"He shall die&mdash;even as Roxana&mdash;even as Fabio, he who
boasted of my love! You shall be lord of Rome&mdash;and I&mdash;your
wife&mdash;"</p>

<p>Her words leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action
of a burning drug. A red mist swam before his eyes.</p>

<p>"Love!" he cried, as one seized with sudden delirium.
"What have I to do with love&mdash;what have you, Theodora,
who make the lives of men your sport, and their torments
your mockery? I know no name for the fever that consumes
me, when I look upon you&mdash;no name for the ravishment that
draws me to you in mingled bliss and agony. I would perish,
Theodora. Kill me, and I shall pray for you! But love&mdash;love&mdash;it
recalls to my soul a glory I have lost. There
can be no love between you and me!"</p>

<p>He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he
said. The woman's arms had fallen from him. He staggered
to his feet.</p>

<p>A low laugh broke from her lips, which curved in an evil
smile.</p>

<p>"Poor fool!" she said in her low, musical tones, "to cast
away that for which hundreds would give their last life's
blood. Madman! First to desire, then to spurn. Go!
And beware!"</p>

<p>She stood before him in all her white glory and loveliness,
one white arm stretched forth, her bosom heaving, her eyes
aflame. And Tristan, seized with a sudden fear, fled from
the pavilion, down the moonlit path as if pursued by an army
of demons.</p>

<p>A man stepped from a thicket of roses, directly into his
path. Heedless of everything, of every one, Tristan endeavored
to pass him, but the other was equally determined to
bar his way.</p>

<p>"So I have found you at last," said the voice, and Tristan,
starting as if the ground had opened before him, stared into
the face of the stranger at Theodora's board.</p>

<p>"You have found me, my Lord Roger," he said, after
recovering from his first surprise. "Here I may injure no
one&mdash;you, my lord, least of all! Leave me in peace!"</p>

<p>The stranger gave a sardonic laugh.</p>

<p>"That I may perchance, when you have told me the truth&mdash;the
whole truth!"</p>

<p>"Ask, my lord, and I will answer," Tristan replied.</p>

<p>"Where is the Lady Hellayne?"&mdash;</p>

<p>The questioning voice growled like far off thunder.</p>

<p>Tristan recoiled a step, staring into the questioner's face as
if he thought he had gone mad.</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne?" he stammered, white to the lips
and with a dull sinking of the heart. "How am I to know?
I have not seen her since I left Avalon&mdash;months ago. Is
she not with you?"</p>

<p>The Lord Laval's brow was dark as a thunder cloud.</p>

<p>"If she were with me&mdash;would I be wasting my time asking
you concerning her?" he barked.</p>

<p>"Where is she, then?" Tristan gasped.</p>

<p>"That you shall tell me&mdash;or I have forgotten the use of
this knife!"</p>

<p>And he laid his hand on the hilt of a long dagger that protruded
from his belt.</p>

<p>Tristan's eyes met those of the other.</p>

<p>"My lord, this is unworthy of you! I have never committed
a deed I dared not confess&mdash;and I despise your threat
and your accusation as would the Lady Hellayne, were she
here."</p>

<p>Steps were heard approaching from the direction of the
pavilion.</p>

<p>"I am a stranger in Rome. Doubtless you are familiar
with its ways. Some one is coming. Where shall we
meet?"</p>

<p>Tristan pondered.</p>

<p>"At the Arch of the Seven Candles. Every child can
point the way. When shall it be?"</p>

<p>"To-morrow,&mdash;at the second hour of the night. And
take care to speak the truth!"</p>

<p>Ere Tristan could reply the speaker had vanished among
the thickets.</p>

<p>For a moment he paused, amazed, bewildered. Roger de
Laval in Rome! And Hellayne&mdash;where was she? She had
left Avalon&mdash;had left her consort. Had she entered a convent?
Hellayne&mdash;where was Hellayne?</p>

<p>Before this dreadful uncertainty all the events of the night
vanished as if they had never been.</p>

<p>For a long time Tristan remained where Roger de Laval
had left him. The cool air from the lake blew refreshingly
on his heated brow. A thousand odors from orange and
jessamine floated caressingly about him. The night was
very still. There, in the soft sky-gloom, moved the majestic
procession of undiscovered worlds. There, low on the horizon,
the yellow moon swooned languidly down in a bed of
fleecy clouds. The drowsy chirp of a dreaming bird came
softly now and again from branch shadowed thickets, and the
lilies on the surface of the lake nodded mysteriously to each
other, as if they were whispering a secret of another world.</p>

<p>At last the moon sank out of sight and from afar, softened
by the distance, the chimes of convent bells from the remote
regions of the Aventine were wafted through the flower
scented summer night.</p>

<div class='center'>END OF BOOK THE SECOND</div>

<hr class="chap" />
<h2>BOOK THE THIRD</h2>




<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Ic" id="CHAPTER_Ic">CHAPTER I</a><br />

WOLFSBANE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The early summer dawn was
creeping over the silent Campagna
when Tristan reached the
Inn of The Golden Shield.</p>

<p>As one dazed he had traversed
the deserted, echoing
streets in the mysterious half-light
which flooded the Eternal
City; a light in which everything
was sharply defined yet
seemed oddly spectral and ghostlike.</p>

<p>Deep down in his heart two emotions were contending,
appalling in their intensity and appeal. One was an agonized
fear for the woman he loved with a love so unwavering that
his love was actually himself, his whole being, the sacrament
that consecrated his life and ruled his destiny.</p>

<p>She had left Avalon; she had left him to whom she had
plighted her troth. Where was she and why was Roger de
Laval in Rome?</p>

<p>An icy fear gripped his heart at the thought; a nameless
dread and horror of the terrible scene he had witnessed at
the midnight feast of Theodora.</p>

<p>For a time he was as one obsessed, hardly master of himself
and his actions. In an age where scenes such as those he
had witnessed were quickly forgotten the death of Roxana
and young Fabio created but little stir. Rome, just emerging
from under the dark cloud of Marozia's regime, in the throes
of ever-recurring convulsions, without a helmsman to guide
the tottering ship of state, received the grim tidings with a
shrug of apathy; and the cowed burghers discussed in awed
whispers the dread power of one whose vengeance none
dared to brave.</p>

<p>Tristan's unsophisticated mind could not so easily forget.
He had stood at the brink of the abyss, he had looked down
into the murky depths from which there was no escape once
the fumes had conquered the senses and vanquished resistance.
With a shudder he called to mind, how utterly and
completely he had abandoned himself to the lure of the sorceress,
how little short of a miracle had saved him. She had
led him on step by step, and the struggle had but begun.</p>

<p>No one was astir at the inn.</p>

<p>He ascended the stairs leading to his chamber. The chill
of the night was still lingering in the dusky passages. He
lighted the taper of a tiny lamp that burnt before an image of
the Mother of Sorrows in a niche.</p>

<p>Then he sank upon his couch. His vitality seemed to be
ebbing and his mind clouding before the problems that began
to crowd in upon him.</p>

<p>Nothing since he left Avalon, nothing external or merely
human, had stirred him as had his meeting with Theodora.
It had roused in him a dormant, embryonic faculty, active
and vivid. What it called into his senses was not a mere
series of pictures. It created a visual representation of the
horrified creature, roused from the flattering oblivion of
death to memory and shame and dread, nothing really forgotten,
nothing past, the old lie that death ends all pitifully
unmasked.</p>

<p>He shuddered as he thought of the consequences of surrender
from which a silent voice out of the far off past had
saved him&mdash;just in time.</p>

<p>His life lay open before him as a book, every fact recorded,
nothing extenuated.</p>

<p>A calm, relentless voice bade him search his own life, if he
had done aught amiss. He had never taken or desired that
which was another's. Yet his years had been a ceaseless
perturbation. There had been endless and desperate clutchings
at bliss, followed by the swift discovery that the exquisite
light had faded, leaving a chill gloaming that threatened a
lonely night. And if the day had failed in its promise what
would the night do?</p>

<p>His soul cried out for rest, for peace from the enemy;
peace, not this endless striving. He was terrified. In the
ignominious lament there was desertion, as if he were too
small for the fight. He was demanding happiness, and that
his own burden should rest on another's shoulders. How
silent was the universe around him! He stood in tremendous,
eternal isolation.</p>

<p>Pale and colorless as a moonstone at first the ghostly dawn
had quickened to the iridescence of the opal, flaming into a
glory of gold and purple in the awakening east.</p>

<p>And now the wall in the courtyard was no longer grey. A
faint, clear, golden light was beginning to flow and filter into
it, dispelling, one by one, the dark shadows that lurked in
the corners. Somewhere in the distance the dreamer heard
the shrill silver of a lark, and a dull monotonous sound, felt
rather than heard, suggested that sleeping Rome was about
to wake.</p>

<p>And then came the sun. A long golden ray stabbed the
mists and leaped into his chamber like a living thing. The
little sanctuary lamp before the image of the Blessed Virgin
glowed no more.</p>

<p>After a brief rest Tristan arose, noting for the first time
with a degree of chagrin that his dagger had not been restored
to him.</p>

<p>It was day now. The sun was high and hot. The streets
and thoroughfares were thronged. A bright, fierce light beat
down upon dome and spire and pinnacle, flooding the august
ruins of the Cæsars and the thousand temples of the Holy
Cross with brilliant radiance from the cloudless azure of the
heavens. Over the Tiber white wisps of mist were rising.
Beyond, the massive bulk of the Emperor's Tomb was revealed
above the roofs of the houses, and the olive groves of Mount
Janiculum glistened silvery in the rays of the morning sun.</p>

<p>It was only when, refreshed after a brief rest and frugal
refreshments, Tristan quitted the inn, taking the direction of
Castel San Angelo, that the incidents leading up to his arrival
at the feast of Theodora slowly filtered through his mind.</p>

<p>Withal there was a link missing in the chain of events.
From the time he had left the Lateran in pursuit of the two
strangers everything seemed an utter blank. What mysterious
forces had been at work conveying him to his destiny,
he could not even fathom and, in a state of perplexity, such
as he had rarely experienced, he pursued his way, paying little
heed to the life and turmoil that seethed around him.</p>

<p>Upon entering Castel San Angelo he was informed that
the Grand Chamberlain had arrived but a few moments before
and he immediately sought the presence of the man whose
sinister countenance held out little promise of the solution of
the mystery.</p>

<p>In an octagon chamber, the small windows of which,
resembling port-holes, looked out upon the Campagna, Basil
was fretfully perambulating as Tristan entered.</p>

<p>After a greeting which was frosty enough on both sides,
Tristan briefly stated the matter which weighed upon his
mind.</p>

<p>The Grand Chamberlain watched him narrowly, nodding
now and then by way of affirmation, as Tristan related the
experience at the Lateran, referring especially to two mysterious
strangers whom he had followed to a distant part of the
city, believing they might offer some clue to the outrage committed
at the Lateran on the previous night.</p>

<p>Basil regarded the new captain with a mixture of curiosity
and gloom. Perchance he was as much concerned in discovering
what Tristan knew as the latter was in finding a solution
of the two-fold mystery. After having questioned him on his
experience, without offering any suggestion that might clear
up his visitor's mind, Basil touched upon the precarious state
of the city and its hidden dangers.</p>

<p>Tristan listened attentively to the sombre account, little
guessing its purpose.</p>

<p>"Much have I heard of the prevailing lawless state," he
interposed at last, "of dark deeds hidden in the silent bosom
of the night, of feud and rebellion against the Church which
is powerless to defend herself for the want of a master-hand
that would evoke order out of chaos."</p>

<p>The dark-robed figure by his side gave a grim nod.</p>

<p>"Men are closely allied to beasts, giving rein to their
desires and appetites as the tigers and hyenas. It is only
fear that will restrain them, fear of some despotic invisible
force that pervades the universe, whose chiefest attribute is
not so much creative as destructive. It is only through fear
you can rule the filthy rabble that reviles to-day its idol of
yesterday."</p>

<p>There was an undercurrent of scorn in Basil's voice and
Tristan saw, as it were, the lightning of an angry or disdainful
thought flashing through the sombre depths of his eyes.</p>

<p>"What of the Lady Theodora?" Tristan interposed bluntly.</p>

<p>Basil gave a nameless shrug.</p>

<p>"She bends men's hearts to her own desires, taking from
them their will and soul. The hot passion of love is to her a
toy, clasped and unclasped in the pink hollow of her hand."</p>

<p>And, as he spoke, Basil suited the gesture to the word,
closing his fingers in the air and again unclosing them.</p>

<p>"As long as she retains the magic of her beauty so long
will her sway over the Seven Hills endure," he added after a
brief pause.</p>

<p>"What of the woman who paid the penalty of her daring?"
Tristan ventured to inquire.</p>

<p>Basil regarded the questioner quizzically.</p>

<p>"There have been many disturbances of late," he spoke
after a pause. "Roxana's lust for Theodora's power proved
her undoing. Theodora will suffer no rival to threaten her
with Marozia's fate."</p>

<p>"I have heard it whispered she is assembling about her
men who are ready to go to any extreme," Tristan interposed
tentatively, thrown off his guard by Basil's affability of manner.</p>

<p>The latter gave a start, but recovered himself.</p>

<p>"Idle rumors. The Romans must have something to talk
about. Odo of Cluny is thundering his denunciations with
such fervid eloquence that they cannot but linger in the
rabble's mind."</p>

<p>"The hermit of Mount Aventine?" Tristan queried.</p>

<p>"Even he! He has a strange craze, a doctrine of the End
of Time, to be accomplished when the cycle of the sæculum
has run its course. A doctrine he most furiously proclaims
in language seemingly inspired, and which he promulgates to
farther his own dark ends."</p>

<p>"A theory most dark and strange," Tristan replied with a
shudder, for he was far from free of the superstition of the
times.</p>

<p>Basil gave a shrug. His tone was lurid.</p>

<p>"What shall it matter to us, who shall hardly tread this
earth when the fateful moment comes?"</p>

<p>"If it were true nevertheless?" Tristan replied meditatively.</p>

<p>A sombre fire burnt in the eyes of the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>"Then, indeed, should we not pluck the flowers in our
path, defying darkness and death and the fiery chariot of
the All-destroyer that is to sweep us to our doom?"</p>

<p>Tristan shuddered.</p>

<p>Some such words he had indeed heard among the pilgrim
throngs without clearly grasping their import. They had
haunted his memory and had, for the time at least, laid a
restraining hand upon his impulses.</p>

<p>But the mystery of the Monk of Cluny weighed lightly
against the mystery of the woman who held in the hollow of
her hand the destinies of Rome.</p>

<p>Basil seemed to read Tristan's thoughts.</p>

<p>Reclining in his chair, he eyed him narrowly.</p>

<p>"You, too, but narrowly escaped the blandishments of the
Sorceress, blandishments to which many another would have
succumbed. I marvel at your self-restraint, not being bound
by any vow."</p>

<p>The speaker paused and waited, his eyes lying in ambush
under the dark straight brows.</p>

<p>The memory still oppressed Tristan and the mood did not
escape Basil, who stored it up for future reckoning.</p>

<p>"Perchance I, too, might have succumbed to the Lady
Theodora's beauty, had not something interposed at the crucial
moment."</p>

<p>"The memory of some earlier love, perchance?" Basil
queried with a smile.</p>

<p>Tristan gave a sigh. He thought of Hellayne and the
impending meeting with Roger de Laval.</p>

<p>His questioner abandoned the subject. Master in dissimulation
he had read the truth on Tristan's brow.</p>

<p>"Pray then to your guardian saint, if of such a one you
boast," he continued after a pause, "to intervene, should
temptation in its most alluring form face you again," he said
with deliberate slowness. "You witnessed the end of Fabio
of the Cavalli?"&mdash;</p>

<p>Tristan shuddered.</p>

<p>"And yet there was a time when he called all these charms
his own, and his command was obeyed in Theodora's gilded
halls."</p>

<p>"Can love so utterly vanish?" Tristan queried with an
incredulous glance at the speaker.</p>

<p>Basil gave a soundless laugh.</p>

<p>"Love!" he said. "Hearts are but pawns in Theodora's
hands. Her ambition is to rule, and he who can give to her
what her heart desires is the favorite of the hour. Beware of
her! Once the poison of her kisses rankles in your blood
nothing can save you from your doom."</p>

<p>Basil watched the effect of his words upon his listener and
for the nonce he seemed content. Tristan would take heed.</p>

<p>When Tristan had taken his leave a panel in the wall opened
noiselessly and Il Gobbo peered into the chamber.</p>

<p>Basil locked and bolted the door which led into the corridor,
and the sinister, bat-like form stepped out of its dark frame
and approached the inmate of the chamber with a fawning
gesture.</p>

<p>"If your lordship will believe me," he said in a husky
undertone, "I am at last on the trail."</p>

<p>"What now?"</p>

<p>"I may not tell your nobility as yet."</p>

<p>"Do you want another bezant, dog?"</p>

<p>"It is not that, my lord."</p>

<p>"Then, who does he consort with?"</p>

<p>"I have tracked him as a panther tracks its prey&mdash;he
consorts with no one."</p>

<p>"Then continue to follow him and see if he consorts with
any&mdash;woman."</p>

<p>"A woman?"</p>

<p>"Why not, fool?"</p>

<p>"But had your nobility said there was a woman&mdash;"</p>

<p>"There always is."</p>

<p>"Your nobility let him go&mdash;and yet&mdash;one word&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I must know more, before I strike. I knew he would
come. There is more to this than we wot of. Theodora is
infatuated with his austerity. He has jilted her and she
smarts under the blow. She will move heaven and earth to
bring him to her feet. Meanwhile there are weightier matters
to be considered. Perchance I shall pay you an early call in
your noble abode. Prepare fitly and bid the ghosts troop
from their haunted caves. And now be off! Your quarry
has the start!"</p>

<p>Il Gobbo bowed grotesquely and receded backward towards
the panel which closed soundlessly behind him.</p>

<p>Basil remained alone in the octagon cabinet.</p>

<p>He strode slowly towards one of the windows that faced to
southward and gazed long and pensively out upon the undulating
expanse of the Roman Campagna.</p>

<p>"Three messengers, yet none has returned," he muttered
darkly. "Can it be that I have lost my clutch on destiny?"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIc" id="CHAPTER_IIc">CHAPTER II</a><br />

UNDER THE SAFFRON SCARF</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_o.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Once again the pale planets of
night ruled the sky, when Tristan
emerged from his inn and
took the direction of the Palatine.</p>

<p>All memories of his meeting
with the Lord Basil had faded
before the import of the coming
hour, when he was to stand face
to face with him who held in his
hand the fate of two beings destined for each other from the
beginning of time and torn asunder by the ruthless hand of
Fate.</p>

<p>There was not a sound, save the echo of his own footsteps,
as Tristan wound his way through the narrow streets, high
cliffs of ancient houses on either side, down which the white
disk of the moon penetrated but a yard or two.</p>

<p>At the foot of the Palatine Hill, cutting into the moonlight,
the Colosseum rose before him, gaunt, vast, sinister, a silhouette
of enormous blackness, pierced as with innumerable
empty eyes flooded by greenish, ghostly moonlight. Necromancers
and folk practising the occult arts dwelled in ancient
houses built with the honey-colored Travertine, stolen from
the Hill of the Cæsars. It was said that strange sounds
echoed from the arena at night; that the voices of those who
had died for the faith in the olden days could be heard
screaming in agony at certain periods of the moon.</p>

<p>Gigantic masses of gaunt masonry rose around him as,
with fleet steps, he traversed the deserted thoroughfares. In
the greenish moonlight he could discern the tumbled ruins of
arches and temples scattered about the dark waste. His
gaze also encountered the frowning masonry of more recent
buildings. The castellated palace of one of the Frescobaldi
had been reared right across that ancient site, including in its
massive bulk more than one monument of imperial days.</p>

<p>As he approached the region of the Arch of the Seven
Candles, as the Arch of Titus with its carving of the Jewish
Candelabrum borne in triumph was then called, Tristan
walked more warily.</p>

<p>The reputed dangers of the Campo Vaccino knocking at the
gates of his memory, he loosened the sword in his scabbard.</p>

<p>He had, by this time, arrived at the end of the street, that
curves towards the Arch of Titus, which commands the avenue
of lone holm-oaks, leading towards the Appian Way.</p>

<p>Suddenly a man emerged from the shadows. He was
armed with sword and buckler, his body was covered with
hauberk of mail and he wore the conical steel casque in vogue
since Norman arms served as the military model.</p>

<p>Roger and Tristan confronted each other, the former's face
tense, drawn, white; the latter with calm eyes in which there
was the light of a great regret. An expression not easy to
read lay in Laval's eyes, eyes that scanned Tristan from
under half-shut lids.</p>

<p>"So you have come?" the stranger said brutally, after a
brief and painful pause.</p>

<p>"I have never broken my word," Tristan replied.</p>

<p>"Well spoken! I shall be plain and brief, if you will own
the truth."</p>

<p>"I have nothing to conceal, my lord."</p>

<p>Roger's eyes gleamed with yet livelier malice.</p>

<p>"Where is the Lady Hellayne? Where is my wife?"</p>

<p>"As God lives, I know not. Yet&mdash;I would give my life,
to know."</p>

<p>"Indeed! You may be given that chance. You are frank
at least&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I may have wronged you in heart, my lord,&mdash;but never
in deed&mdash;" Tristan replied.</p>

<p>"What I have seen, I have seen," the other snarled
viciously. "Perchance this silent devotion accounts also
for many other things."</p>

<p>"I do not understand, my lord."</p>

<p>"Soon after your flight the Lady Hellayne departed, without
a word."</p>

<p>"So you were pleased to inform me."</p>

<p>"I was not pleased," spat out Laval. "How do you
explain her flight?"</p>

<p>"I do not explain, my lord. I have not seen or heard
from the Lady Hellayne since I left Avalon."</p>

<p>"Then you still aver the lie?"</p>

<p>Tristan raised himself to his full height.</p>

<p>"I am speaking truth, my lord. Why, indeed, should she
have left you without even a word?"</p>

<p>Roger eyed the man before him as a cat eyes a captured
bird at a foot's distance of mock freedom.</p>

<p>"Why, indeed, save for love of you?"</p>

<p>Tristan raised his hands.</p>

<p>"Deep in my heart and soul I worship the Lady Hellayne,"
he said. "For me she had but friendship. Else were I not
here!"</p>

<p>"A sainted pilgrim," sneered the Count, "in the Groves
of Enchantment. And for such a one she left her liege
lord."</p>

<p>His mocking laughter resounded through the ruins.</p>

<p>"You wrong the Lady Hellayne and myself. Of myself I
will not speak. As concerns her&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Of her you shall not speak! Save to tell me her abode."</p>

<p>"Of her I shall speak," Tristan flashed. "You are
insulting your wife&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Take care lest worse befall yourself," snarled Laval,
advancing towards the object of his wrath.</p>

<p>Tristan's look of contempt cut him to the quick.</p>

<p>"You think to bully me as you bully your menials," he
said quietly. "I do not fear you!"</p>

<p>"Why, then, did you leave Avalon, if it was not fear that
drove you?" drawled Laval, his eyes a mere slit in the face,
drawn and white.</p>

<p>The utter baseness and conceit in the speaker's nature
were so plainly revealed in his utterance that Tristan replied
contemptuously:</p>

<p>"It was not fear of you, my lord, but the Lady Hellayne's
expressed desire that brought me to Rome."</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne's desire? Then it was she who
feared for you?"</p>

<p>"It was not fear for my body, but my soul."</p>

<p>"Your soul? Why your soul?"</p>

<p>"Because my love for her was a wrong to you, my lord,&mdash;even
though I loved her but in thought."&mdash;</p>

<p>"On that night in the garden&mdash;you embraced in
thought?"</p>

<p>The leer had deepened on the speaker's face.</p>

<p>"A resistless something impelled&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And you a fair and pleasant-featured youth, beside
Roger de Laval&mdash;her husband. And now you are here
doing penance at the shrines, at the Lady Theodora's
shrine?"</p>

<p>"What I am doing in Rome does not concern you, my lord,"
Tristan interposed firmly. "I did not attend the Lady
Theodora's feast of my own choice&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nor were you in her pavilion of your own choice. Yet a
pinch more of penance will set that right also."</p>

<p>"I take it, my lord, that I have satisfied your anxiety,"
Tristan replied, as he started to pass the other.</p>

<p>Laval caught him roughly by the shoulder.</p>

<p>"Not so fast," he cried. "I shall inform you when I
have done with you&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tristan's face was white, as he peered into the mask of
cunning that leered from the other's countenance. Perchance
he would not have heeded the threat had it not been for his
anxiety on Hellayne's account. He suspected that Laval
knew more than he cared to tell.</p>

<p>"For the last time I ask, where is the Lady Hellayne?"</p>

<p>The Count's form rose towering above him, as he threw
the words in Tristan's face.</p>

<p>"For the last time I tell you, my lord, I know not," Tristan
replied, eye in eye. "Though I would gladly give my life
to know."</p>

<p>"Perchance you may. I have been told the Lady Hellayne
is here in Rome. Wherefore is she here? Can it be the
spirit that prompted the pilgrimage to her lost lover? Will
you take oath, that you have not seen her?"</p>

<p>The speaker's eyes blazed ominously.</p>

<p>Tristan raised his head.</p>

<p>"I will, my lord, upon the Cross!"</p>

<p>Roger's heavy hand smote his cheek.</p>

<p>"Liar!"&mdash;</p>

<p>A woman who at that moment crept in the shadows of the
Arch of Titus saw Tristan, sword in hand, defending himself
against a man apparently much more powerful than himself.
For a moment or two she gazed, bewildered, not knowing
what to do. Tristan at first seemed to stand entirely on the
defensive, but soon his blood grew hot and, in answer to his
adversary's lunge, he lunged again. But the other held a
dagger in his left hand and with it easily parried the blade.
The next pass she saw Tristan reel. She could bear no
more and rushed screaming towards some footmen with
torches who were standing outside a dark and heavily
shuttered building.</p>

<p>Tristan and Roger de Laval rushed at each other with
redoubled fury. Both had heard the cry and their blows
rang out with echoing clatter, filling the desolate spaces with
a sound not seldom heard there in those days. It was a
struggle of sheer strength, in which the odds were all against
Tristan. He began to yield step by step. Soon a yet fiercer
blow of his antagonist must bring him down to his knees, and
he fell back farther, as a veritable rain of blows fell upon him.</p>

<p>Four men followed by a woman rushed to the scene.</p>

<p>"Haste! Haste!" she cried frantically. "There is
murder abroad!"</p>

<p>She fancied she should behold the younger man already
vanquished by his more vigorous enemy. On the contrary,
he seemed to have regained his strength and was now pressing
the other with an agility and vigor that outweighed the
strength of maturity on the part of his adversary.</p>

<p>All was clear in the bright moonlight, as if the sun had been
blazing down upon them, and, as the woman leaped forward,
she beheld Tristan's assailant gain some advantage. He
was pressed back along the Arch towards the spot where she
stood.</p>

<p>What now followed she could not see. It was all the
work of a moment. But the next instant she saw the elder
man raise his arm as if to strike with his dagger. Tristan
staggered and fell, and the other was about to strike him
through when, with a wild, frantic outcry of terror, she rushed
between them, arresting the blow ere it could fall.</p>

<p>"Hellayne!"</p>

<p>A cry in which Tristan's smothered feelings broke through
every restraint winged itself from the mouth of the fallen
man.</p>

<p>"Tristan!" came the hysterical response.</p>

<p>Roger had hurled his wife aside, his eyes flaming like live
coals under their bushy brows.</p>

<p>Those whom Hellayne had summoned to Tristan's aid,
when she first arrived on the scene of the conflict, unacquainted
with the cause of the quarrel and doubtful which side to aid,
stood idly by, since with Tristan's fall there seemed to be no
farther demand for their services, nor did Roger's towering
stature invite interference.</p>

<p>In the heat of the conflict with its attendant turmoil none
of those immediately concerned had remarked a procession
approaching from the distance which now emerged from the
shadow of the great arch into the moonlit thoroughfare.</p>

<p>It was headed by four giant Nubians, carrying a litter on
silver poles, from between the half-shut silken curtains of
which peered the face of a woman. In its wake marched a
score of Ethiopians in fantastic livery, their broad, naked
scimitars glistening ominously in the moonlight.</p>

<p>The litter and its escort arrived but just in time. Ere
Laval's blade could pierce the heart of his prostrate victim,
Theodora had leaped from her litter and thrown her saffron
scarf over the prostrate youth.</p>

<p>With all the outlines of her beautiful form revealed through
the thin robe of spangled gauze she faced the irate aggressor
and her voice cut like steel as she said:</p>

<p>"Dare to touch him beneath this scarf! This man is
mine."</p>

<p>Laval drew back, but his glaring eyes, his parted lips and
his labored breath argued little in favor of the fallen man,
even though the blow was, for the moment, averted.</p>

<p>With foam-flecked lips he turned to Theodora.</p>

<p>"This man is mine! His life is forfeit. Stand back, that
I may wipe this blot from my escutcheon."</p>

<p>Theodora faced the speaker undauntedly.</p>

<p>Ere he could reply, a woman's voice shrieked.</p>

<p>"Save him! Save him! He is innocent! He has done
naught amiss!"</p>

<p>Hellayne, whom the Count had hurled against the masonry
of the arch, bruising her until she was barely able to support
herself, at this moment threw herself between them.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 409px;">
<a name="ILLUSTRATION_04" id="ILLUSTRATION_04">
<img src="images/col04.jpg" width="409" height="600" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">"Thrown her saffron scarf over the prostrate youth"</p>
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"Who is this woman?" Theodora turned to Tristan's
assailant. "Who is this woman?" Hellayne's eyes silently
questioned Tristan.</p>

<p>Laval's sardonic laughter pealed through the silence.</p>

<p>"This lady is my wife, the Countess Hellayne de Laval,
noble Theodora, who has followed her perjured lover to
Rome, so they may do penance in company," he replied
sardonically. "His life is forfeit. His offence is two-fold.
Within the hour he swore he knew naught of her abode.
But&mdash;since you claim him,&mdash;by ties this scarf proclaims&mdash;take
him and welcome! I shall not anticipate the fate you
prepare for your noble lovers!"</p>

<p>The two women faced each other in frozen silence, in the
consciousness of being rivals. Each knew instinctively it
would be a fight between them to the death.</p>

<p>Theodora surveyed Hellayne's wonderful beauty, appraising
her charms against her own, and Hellayne's gaze swept
the face and form of the Roman.</p>

<p>Tristan had scrambled to his feet, his face white with shame
and rage. From Theodora, in whose eyes he read that
which caused him to tremble in his inmost soul, he turned to
Hellayne.</p>

<p>"Oh, why have you done this thing, Hellayne, why?&mdash;oh,
why?"</p>

<p>Roger de Laval laughed viciously.</p>

<p>"It was indeed not to be expected that the Lady Hellayne
would find her recalcitrant lover in the arms of the Lady
Theodora."</p>

<p>With an inarticulate outcry of rage Tristan was about to
hurl himself upon his opponent, had not Theodora placed a
restraining hand upon him, while her dark eyes challenged
Hellayne.</p>

<p>All the revulsion of his nature against this man rose up in
him and rent him. All the love for Hellayne, which in these
days had been floating on the wings of longing, soared anew.</p>

<p>But his efforts at vindication in this strangest of all predicaments
were put to naught by the woman herself.</p>

<p>"Hear me, Hellayne&mdash;it is not true!" he cried, and
paused with a choking sensation.</p>

<p>Hellayne stood as if turned to stone.</p>

<p>Then her eyes swept Tristan with a look of such incredulous
misery that it froze the words that were about to tumble from
his lips.</p>

<p>With a wail of anguish she turned and fled down the moonlit
path like a hunted deer.</p>

<p>"Up and after her!" Laval shouted to the men whom
Hellayne had summoned to the scene and these, eager to
demonstrate their usefulness, started in pursuit, Roger leading,
ere Tristan could even make a move to interfere.</p>

<p>Hellayne had fled into the open portals of a church at the
end of the street. She tottered and fell. Crawling through
the semi-darkness she gasped and leaned against a pillar.
She saw a small side chapel, where, before an image of the
Virgin, guttered a brace of tapers. But ere she reached the
shrine her pursuers were upon her. As, with a shriek of
mortal fear she fell, she gazed into the brutal features of
Roger de Laval. His lips were foam-flecked, revealing his
wolfish teeth.</p>

<p>It was then her strength forsook her. She fell fainting
upon the hard stone floor of the church.&mdash;</p>

<p>For a pace Tristan and Theodora faced each other in silence.</p>

<p>It was the woman who spoke.</p>

<p>Her voice was cold as steel.</p>

<p>"I have saved your life, Tristan! The weapon which my
slaves have taken from you awaits the call of its rightful
claimant."</p>

<p>She reentered her litter while Tristan stood by, utterly
dazed. But, when the slaves raised the silver poles, she gave
him a parting glance from within the curtains that seemed to
electrify his whole being.</p>

<p>After the litter-bearers and their retinue had trooped off,
Tristan remained for a time in the shadow of the Arch of the
Seven Candles.</p>

<p>He knew not where to turn in his misery, nor what to do.</p>

<p>In the same hour he had found and lost his love anew.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIIc" id="CHAPTER_IIIc">CHAPTER III</a><br />

DARK PLOTTINGS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was past the hour of midnight.</p>

<p>In a dimly lighted turret
chamber in the house of
Hormazd the Persian there sat
two personages whose very
presence seemed to enhance
the sinister gloom that brooded
over the circular vault.</p>

<p>The countenance of the Grand
Chamberlain was paler than
usual and there was a slight gathering of the eyebrows, not to
say a frown, which in an ordinary mortal might have signified
little, but in one who had so habitual a command of his
emotions, would indicate to those who knew him well an
unusual degree of restlessness. His voice was calm however,
and now and then a bland smile belied the shadows on his
brow.</p>

<p>At times his gaze stole towards a dimly lighted alcove
wherein moved a dark cowled figure, its grotesque shadow
reflected in distorted outlines upon the floor.</p>

<p>"The Moor tarries over long," Basil spoke at last.</p>

<p>"So do the ends of destiny," replied a voice that seemed
to come from the bowels of the earth.</p>

<p>"He is fleeter than a deer and more ferocious than a
tiger," the Grand Chamberlain interposed. "Nothing has
ever daunted him, nor lives the man who would thwart him
and live. Can you tell me where he is now?"</p>

<p>"Patience!" came the sepulchral reply. "The magic disk
reveals all things! Anon you shall know."</p>

<p>Informed by daily gossip and the reports of his innumerable
spies, Basil was aware of a growing belief among the people
that the power he wielded was not altogether human, and he
would have viewed it with satisfaction even had he not shared
it. Seeing in it an additional force helpful to the realization
of his ambition, he had thrown himself blindly into the vortex
of black magic which was to give to him that which his soul
desired.</p>

<p>In this chamber, filled with strange narcotic scents and the
mysterious rustling of unseen presences, by which he believed
it to be peopled, with the aid of one who seemed the personified
Principle of Evil, Basil assembled about him the forces that
would ultimately launch him at the goal of his ambition.</p>

<p>This devil's kitchen was the portal to the Unseen, the shrine
of the Unknown, the observatory of the Past and the Future,
and the laboratory of the Forbidden. There were dim and
mysterious mirrors, before which stood brazen tripods whose
fumes, as they wreathed upward, gleamed with dusky fires.
It was in these mirrors that the wizard could summon the
dead and the distant to appear darkly, in scarcely definable
glimpses. But he could also produce apparitions more vivid,
more startling and more beautiful. Once, in the dark depths
of the chamber, Basil had seen a woman's phantom apparition
suddenly become strangely luminous, her garments glowing
like flames of many colors, that shifted and blent and alternated
in ceaseless dance and play, waving and trembling in
unearthly glory, till she seemed to be of the very flame herself.
The reflection of the world of shadows was upon her;
its splendors were wrapping her round like a mantle. He
watched her with bated breath, not daring to speak. And
brighter, ever brighter, dazzling, ever more dazzling, had
grown the flaming phantom, till the wondrous transfiguration
reached the height of its beauty and its terror. Then the
phantom of murdered Marozia, evoked at his expressed
desire from the land of shadows, had faded, dying slowly
away in the mysterious depths of the mirror, as the fires that
produced it sank and died in white ashes.</p>

<p>There could be no doubt. It was the emissary of Darkness
himself who held forth in this dim, demon-haunted chamber
where he had so often listened to the record of his awful
visions. He had made him see in his dreadful ravings the
great vaults of wrath, where dwelt the dread power of Evil.
He had made him see the King of the Hopeless Throngs on
his black basaltic throne in the terrific glare-illumined caves,
where Michael had cast him and where Pain's roar rises
eternally night and day. He had made him see the great
Lord of the Doomed Shadows, receiving the homage of those
dreadful slaves, those terror-spreading angels of woe whose
hand flings destruction over the earth and sea and air, while
flames were fawning and licking his feet with countless
tongues.</p>

<p>And then he had shown to him a spirit mightier and more
subtle than any of those great wild destroyers who rush
blindly through nature, a spirit who starts in silence on her
errand, whom none behold as, creeping through the gloom,
she undermines, unties and loosens all the pillars of creation,
with no more sign nor sound than a black snake in the tangled
grass, till with a thunder that stuns the world the house of
God comes crashing down&mdash;dread Hekaté herself.</p>

<p>Was there any crime he had left undone?</p>

<p>His subterranean prisons in which limbs unlearned to bend
and eyes to see concealed things whose screams would make
the flesh of a ghost creep, if flesh one had.</p>

<p>But now there was a darker light in Basil's eyes, a something
more ominous of evil in his manner. The wizard's
revelation had possessed his soul and his whole terrible being
seemed intensified. With the patience of one conscious of
a superhuman destiny he waited the summons that was to
come to him, even though his soul was consumed by devouring
flames.</p>

<p>For he had come yet upon another matter; an inner voice,
whose appeal he dared not ignore, had informed him long
ago of his waning power with Theodora. From the man
wont to command he had fallen to the level of the whimpering
slave, content to pick up such morsels as the woman saw fit
to throw at his feet. Only on the morning of this day, which
had gone down the never returning tide of time, a terrible
scene had passed between them. And he knew he had lost.</p>

<p>Basil had been an unseen witness of Theodora's and Tristan's
meeting in the sunken gardens on the Aventine. Every
moment he had hoped to see the man succumb to charms
which no mortal had yet withstood upon whom she had
chosen to exert them, and on the point of his poniard sat
Death, ready to step in and finish the game. From the fate
he had decreed him some unknown power had saved Tristan.
But Basil, knowing that Theodora, once she was jilted by
the object of her desire, would leave nothing undone to
conquer and subdue, was resolved to remove from his path
one who must, sooner or later, become a successful rival.
By some miraculous interposition of Providence Tristan had
escaped the fate he had prepared for him on the night when
he had tracked the two strangers from the Lateran. He had
had him conveyed for dead to the porch of Theodora's palace.
But Fate had made him her mock.</p>

<p>Never had Basil met Theodora in a mood so fierce and
destructive as on the morning after she had destroyed Roxana
and her lover, and had, in turn, been jilted by Tristan. And,
verily, Basil could not have chosen a more inopportune time
to press his suit or to voice his resentment and disapprobation.
Theodora had driven every one from her presence and the
unwelcome suitor shared the fate of her menials. Her dark
hints had driven the former favorite to madness, for his
passion-inflamed brain could not bear the thought that the
love he craved, the body he had possessed, should be another's,
while he was drifting into the silent ranks of the discarded.
He knew for a surety that Theodora was not confiding in him
as of old. Had she somehow guessed the dread mystery of
the crypts in the Emperor's Tomb, or had some demon of
Hell whispered it into her ear during the dark watches of the
night?</p>

<p>A flash of lightning followed by a terrific peal of thunder
roused him from his reveries. The storm which had threatened
during the early hours of the evening now roared and
shrieked round the tower and the very elements seemed in
accord with the dark plottings in Hormazd's chamber.</p>

<p>"How much longer must I wait ere the fiends will reveal their
secrets?" Basil at last turned to the exponent of the black arts.</p>

<p>The wizard paused before the questioner.</p>

<p>"To what investigation shall we first proceed?"</p>

<p>"You must already have divined my thoughts."</p>

<p>"I knew the instant you arrived. But there is an incompleteness
which makes my perceptions less exact than usual."</p>

<p>"Where are my messengers? To the number of three
have I sped. None has returned."</p>

<p>The Oriental touched a knob and the lamps were suddenly
extinguished, leaving the room illumined by the red glow
of the oven. Then he bade his visitor fix his eyes on the
surface of the disk.</p>

<p>"Upon this you will presently behold two scenes."</p>

<p>He poured a few drops of something resembling black oil
upon the disk, which at once spread in a mirror-like surface.
Then he began to mutter some words in an Oriental tongue,
and lighted a few grains of a chemical preparation which
emitted an odor of bitter aloë. This, when the flames had
subsided, he threw upon the oil which at the contact became
iridescent.</p>

<p>Basil looked and waited in vain.</p>

<p>The conjurer exhausted all the selections which he thought
appropriate. The oil gradually lost the changing aspect it had
acquired from the burning substance, and returned to its dull
murky tints, and the interest which had appeared on Basil's
features gave place to a contemptuous sneer.</p>

<p>"Are you, after all, but a trickster who would impose his
art upon the unwary?"</p>

<p>The magician did not reply to this insult, nor did it seem to
affect him visibly.</p>

<p>"We must try a mightier spell," he said, "for hostile
forces are in conjunction against us."</p>

<p>By a small tongs he raised from the fire the metallic plate
that had been lying upon it. Its surface presented the appearance
of oxidized silver with a deep glow of heat.</p>

<p>Upon this he claimed to be able to produce the picture of
past or future events, and many scenes had been reflected
upon the magic shield.</p>

<p>He now poured upon it a spoonful of liquid which spread
simmering and became quickly dissipated in light vapors.
Then he busied himself with scattering over the plate some
grains that looked like salt which the heated metal instantly
consumed.</p>

<p>At the end of a few moments he experienced what resembled
an electric or magnetic shock. His frame quivered, his lips
ceased to repeat the muttered incantations, his hand firmly
grasped the tongs by which he raised the metal aloft, now
made brighter by the drugs just consumed, and upon which
appeared a white spot, which enlarged till it filled the lower
half of the plate.</p>

<p>What it represented it was difficult to say. It might have
been a sheet or a snow drift. Basil felt an indefinable dread,
as above it shimmered forth the vague resemblance of a man
on horseback, apparently riding at breakneck speed.</p>

<p>Slowly his contour became more distinct. Now the horseman
appeared to have reached a ford. Spurring his steed, he
plunged into the stream whose waters seemed for a time to
carry horse and rider along with the swift current. But he
gained the opposite shore, and the apparition faded slowly
from sight.</p>

<p>"It is the Moor!" cried Basil in a paroxysm of excitement.
"He has forded the rapids of the Garigliano. Now be kind
to me O Fate&mdash;let this thing come to pass!"</p>

<p>He gave a gasp of relief, wiping the beads from his brow.</p>

<p>The cowled figure now walked up to the central brazier,
muttering words in a language his visitor could not understand.
Then he bade Basil walk round and round it, fixing
his eyes steadily upon the small blue flame which danced on
the surface of the burning charcoal.</p>

<p>When giddiness prevented his continuing his perambulation
he made him kneel beside the brazier with his eyes
riveted upon it.</p>

<p>Its fumes enveloped him and dulled his brain.</p>

<p>The wizard crooned a slow, monotonous chant. Basil felt
his senses keep pace with it, and presently he felt himself
going round and round in an interminable descent. The
glare of the brazier shrank and diminished, invaded from
outside by an overpowering blackness. Slowly it became
but a single point of fire, a dark star, which at length flamed
into a torch. Beside him, with white and leering face, stood
the dark cowled figure, and below him there seemed to stretch
intricate galleries, strangled, interminable caves.</p>

<p>"Where am I?" shrieked the Grand Chamberlain, overpowered
by the fumes and the fear that was upon him.</p>

<p>"Unless you reach the pit," came the dark reply, "farewell
forever to your schemes. You will never see a crown
upon your head."</p>

<p>"What of Theodora?" Basil turned to his companion,
choking and blinded.</p>

<p>"If the bat-winged fiends will carry you safely across the
abyss you shall see," came the reply.</p>

<p>A rush as of wings resounded through the room, as of
monstrous bats.</p>

<p>"Gehenna's flame shall smoothe her brow," the wizard
spoke again. "When Death brings her here, she shall stand
upon the highest steps, in her dark magnificence she shall
command&mdash;a shadow among shadows. Are you content?"</p>

<p>There was a pause.</p>

<p>The storm howled with redoubled fury, flinging great hailstones
against the time-worn masonry of the wizard's tower.</p>

<p>"Then," Basil spoke at last, his hands gripping his throat
with a choking sensation, "give me back the love for which
my soul thirsts and wither the bones of him who dares to
aspire to Theodora's hand."</p>

<p>The wizard regarded him with an inscrutable glance.</p>

<p>"The dark and silent angels, once divine, now lost, who
do my errands, shall ever circle round your path. Everlasting
ties bind us, the one to the other. Keep but the pact
and that which seems but a wild dream shall be fulfilled anon.
They shall guide you through the dark galleries of fear, till
you reach the goal."</p>

<p>"Your words are dark as the decrees of Fate," Basil
replied, as the fumes of the brazier slowly cleared in his
brain and he seemed to emerge once more from the endless
caverns of night, staring about him with dazed senses.</p>

<p>"You heed but what your passion prompts," the cowled
figure interposed sternly, "oblivious of that greater destiny
that awaits you! It is a perilous love born in the depths of
Hell. Will you wreck your life for that which, at best, is but
a fleeting passion&mdash;a one day's dream?"</p>

<p>"Well may you counsel who have never known the hell of
love!" Basil cried fiercely. "The fiery torrent that rushes
through my veins defies cold reason."</p>

<p>The cowled figure nodded.</p>

<p>"Many a ruler in whose shadow men have cowered, has
obeyed a woman's whim and tamely borne her yoke. Are
you of those, my lord?"</p>

<p>"I have set my soul upon this thing and Fate shall give to
me that which I crave!" Basil cried fiercely.</p>

<p>The wizard nodded.</p>

<p>"Fate cannot long delay the last great throw."</p>

<p>"What would you counsel?" the Grand Chamberlain
queried eagerly, peering into the cowled and muffled face,
from which two eyes sent their insane gleam into his own.</p>

<p>"Send her soul into the dark caverns of fear&mdash;surround
her with unceasing dread&mdash;let the ghosts of those you have
sent butchered to their doom surround her nightly pillow,
whispering strange tales into her ears,&mdash;then, when fear
grips the maddened brain and there seems no rescue but the
grave&mdash;then peals the hour."</p>

<p>Basil gazed thoughtfully into the wizard's cowled face.</p>

<p>"When may that be?"</p>

<p>"I will gaze into the silent pools of my forbidden knowledge
with the dark spirits that keep me company. I have mysterious
rules for finding day and hour."</p>

<p>"I cannot expel the passion that rankles in my blood,"
Basil interposed darkly. "But I will tear out my heart
strings ere I shirk the call. An emperor's crown were worth
a tenfold price, and ere I, too, descend to the dread shadows,
I mean to see it won."</p>

<p>"These thoughts are idle," said the wizard. "Only the
weak plumb the depths of their own soul. The strong man's
bark sails lightly on victorious tides. Your soul is pledged
to the Powers of Darkness."</p>

<p>"And by the fiends that sit at Hell's dark gate, I mean to
do their bidding," Basil replied fiercely. "Else were I
indeed the mock of destiny. Tell me but this&mdash;how did
you obtain a knowledge at which the fiend himself would
pale?"</p>

<p>The wizard regarded him for a moment in silence.</p>

<p>"You who have peered behind the curtain that screens
the dreadful boundaries&mdash;you who have seen the pale
phantom of Marozia, whom you have sent to her doom,&mdash;how
dare you ask?"</p>

<p>Basil had raised both hands as if to ward off an evil spirit.</p>

<p>"This, too, then is known to you? Tell me! Was what
I saw a dream?"</p>

<p>"What you have seen&mdash;you have seen," the cowled form
replied enigmatically. "The cocks are crowing&mdash;and the
pale dawn glimmers in the East."</p>

<p>Throwing his mantle about him, Basil left the turret chamber
and, after creeping down a narrow winding stair, he made
for his villa on the Pincian Hill.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IVc" id="CHAPTER_IVc">CHAPTER IV</a><br />

FACE TO FACE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_r.png" width="100" height="94" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Roger de Laval had chosen
for his abode in Rome a sombre
and frowning building not far
from the grim ways of the Campo
Marzo, half palace half fortalice,
constructed about a huge square
tower with massive doors. Like
all palace fortresses of the time
which might at any moment have
to stand a siege, either at the
hands of a city mob or at those of some rapacious noble, it
contained in its vaulted halls and tower chambers all the
requisites for protracted resistance as well as aggression. On
the walls between flaunting banners hung the many quartered
shields and the dark coats of chain, the tabards of the heralds
and the leathern jerkins of the bowmen. On the shelves
between the arches stood long rows of hauberks and shining
steel caps. Dark tapestries covered the walls and the bright
light of the Roman day fell muted through the narrow slits in
the sombre masonry which served as windows.</p>

<p>It was not to seek his wife that Roger had come to Rome,
and his meeting with Tristan in the gardens of Theodora had
been purely accidental. While his vanity and selfishness had
received a severe shock in Hellayne's departure, without even
a farewell, he had not allowed an incident in itself so trifling
to disturb the even tenor of his ways. He had loved to display
her at his feasts as one displays some exceeding handsome
plaything that gives pleasure to the senses; otherwise
he and the countess had no common bond of interest. Hellayne
was the only child of one of the most powerful barons of
Provence, and had been given in marriage to the older man
before she even realized what the bonds implied. Only after
meeting Tristan had the awakening come, and youth sought
youth.</p>

<p>That which brought every one to Rome in an age when Rome
was still by common consent the centre of the universe, such
as the Saxon Chronicles of the Millennium pronounce it, had
also caused Roger de Laval to seek the Holy Shrines, not in
quest of spiritual benefit, but of temporal aggrandizement,
in the character of an investiture from the Vicar of Christ
himself. His disappointment at finding the head of Christendom
a prisoner in his own palace was perhaps only mitigated
by the disclosure that he should have to rely upon his own
fertility of mind for the realization of a long-fostered ambition.</p>

<p>On one of his visits to the Lateran, hoping to obtain an
interview with the Pontiff, he had met Basil as representative
of the Roman government, in the absence of Alberic, and a
sinister attraction had sprung up between them in the consciousness
that each had something to give the other lacked.
This bond was even strengthened by Basil's promise to aid
the stranger in the attainment of his desires, and at last
Roger had confided in Basil the story of the shadow that had
spread its gloomy pinions over the castle of Avalon. Basil
had listened and suggested that the Lord Laval drown his
sorrows at the board of Theodora. Therein the latter had
acquiesced, with the result that he met Tristan on that night.</p>

<p>Hellayne was sitting alone by the window in a long silent
gallery. She could not take her eyes off the restless outline
of the clouds where head on head and face on face continued
taking shape. In vain her teased brain tried to see but clouds.
Two nights ago had not a horrid face grinned at her from out
of these same clouds? The face of a wolf it had seemed.
And it had taken human shape and changed to the face of the
man who had brought her to this abode from the sanctuary
where she had fallen by the shrine.</p>

<p>And yet, as she looked at the sun, whose beams were fast
dwindling on the bar of the horizon, how she yearned to keep
the light a little longer, if only a few short minutes. She
could have cried out to the sun not to leave her so soon,
again to wage her lonely war with the Twilight and with Fear.
For during the hours of day her lord was away. Business of
state he termed what took him from her side. With a leer
he left and with a leer he was wont to return. And with him
the memory of his meeting with Tristan!</p>

<p>She had found him again, the man she loved! Found him&mdash;but
how? And Hellayne covered her burning eyes with
her white hands.</p>

<p>This other woman who had stepped in between her and
Tristan, who had laid a detaining hand upon his arm and had
silently challenged her for his possession&mdash;what was she to
him?</p>

<p>For three days and three nights the thought had tormented
her even to the verge of madness. Had she sacrificed everything
but to find him she loved in the arms of another?
Silently she had borne the taunts of her lord, his insults, his
vile insinuations. He did not understand. He never understood.
What of it? In the great balance what mattered it
after all?</p>

<p>She must see Tristan. She must hear the truth from his
own lips. In vain she puzzled her brain how to reach him.
She remembered his last outcry of protest. There was a
mystery she must solve. Come what might, she was once
more the woman who loved. And she was going to claim
the payment of love!</p>

<p>As regarded that other, to whom she had bound herself,
her conscience had long absolved her of an obligation that
had been forced upon her. Had fate and fact not proved the
thing impossible? Had fate not cast them again and again
into each other's arms and made mock of their conscience?
Nature had made them lovers, let it be the will of God or the
devil.</p>

<p>And lovers till death should they be henceforth. He
belonged to her. Away with faith&mdash;away with fear of this
world, or the next. Away with all but the dear present, in
which the brutality of others had set her free. For a moment
her thoughts turned almost pagan.</p>

<p>Was she to return to the old, loveless life in that far corner
of the earth, while he whom she loved took up a new existence
in the centre of the world, loving another to whose ambition
he might owe a great career? She needed indeed to sit in
silence, she who had done daring things without a misgiving,
as if impelled by a power not her own. She had done them,
marvelling at her own courage, at her own faith in him she
loved, and she had not faltered.</p>

<p>The torturing dusk was drowning every living thing in
pallid waves of shadow. One by one, through the wan
gallery in which she was locked, the motley spectres of night
would pass in all their horrors, and begin their crazy, soundless
nods and becks.</p>

<p>Suddenly she cowered back, shuddering, with her eyes
fixed on the darkening depths of the gallery and her day
dreams died, like pale ashes crumbling on the hearth.</p>

<p>Roger de Laval had entered and was regarding her with a
malignant leer that almost froze the blood in her veins.
She knew not what business had taken him abroad. Nevertheless
was assured that some dark deed was slumbering
in the depths of his soul.</p>

<p>"Are you thinking of your fine lover?" he said as he slowly
advanced towards her. "You are grieved to have your
thoughts broken into by your husband? No doubt you wish
me dead&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Spare me this torture, my lord," she entreated. "I
have answered a thousand times&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then answer again&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I swear before God and the Saints he is guiltless. He
knew not I was in Rome."</p>

<p>"Swear what you will! A woman's oath is but a wind
upon one's cheek on a warm summer day&mdash;gone ere you
have felt it. The oath of a woman who has followed her
lover&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I have not done so!"</p>

<p>"You have done your best to make the world believe it."</p>

<p>"What of yourself?" There was a ring of scorn in her
voice.</p>

<p>"You have brought me to shame!"</p>

<p>"What of the women you have shared with me?"</p>

<p>Hellayne's eyes met those of her tormentor.</p>

<p>"It is a man's part!"</p>

<p>"And you are a man!"</p>

<p>"One at least shall have cause to think so."</p>

<p>"Perchance you will have him murdered. Why not kill
me, too? That, too, is a man's part."</p>

<p>He gave a great roar.</p>

<p>"And who says that I shall not?"</p>

<p>An icy fear, not for herself, but for Tristan, gripped her
heart. She tried to hide it under a mantle of indifference.</p>

<p>"What have you ever done to make yourself beloved?"</p>

<p>"By Beelzebub&mdash;you&mdash;the runaway mistress of a fop&mdash;dares
to question me&mdash;her rightful lord?"</p>

<p>"Who made the laws that bound me to your keeping?
They are man-made, and God knows as little of them as he
knows of you. It was your measureless conceit, your boundless
egotism, that whispered to you that any woman should
feel honored, should deem it the height of glory, to be your
wife."</p>

<p>"And is it not?"</p>

<p>She shuddered.</p>

<p>"You never dreamed there might be something in the
depths of my soul that cried out for more than the mere comforts
and exigencies of existence! Something that craved
love, companionship, and, above all, friendship. What have
you done to waken this little slumbering voice which died in
the shadow of your tremendous egotism?"</p>

<p>He stared at her.</p>

<p>"He has taught you this speech, by God!"</p>

<p>"He has awakened my true self! What was I to you but
part of your magnificence, a thing to make your fellows
envious&mdash;"</p>

<p>He roared. She continued:</p>

<p>"The one decent woman of your life&mdash;your world&mdash;"</p>

<p>His eyes glared.</p>

<p>"So then, this low-born churl is a better man than I?"</p>

<p>"At least he knew I had a soul of my own."</p>

<p>"Skillfully cultivated to his own sweet ends."</p>

<p>"His ends were innocent, else had he not fled."</p>

<p>"Knowing that you would follow him."</p>

<p>"He knew naught."</p>

<p>"That remains to be seen."</p>

<p>"It was you who brought us together!" she said with quiet
scorn. "You were so sure in your pride and your power and
of my own timidity that you thought it impossible that something
might defy them. And you could not understand that
another might be so much closer to my nature, or that I had
a nature of my own. In those days I well remember, ere my
heart had strayed too far, I tried to waken you to the great
danger. I tried to speak of mine. But you would not be
apprised of aught that would seem a concession to your pride.
So we are come to this!"</p>

<p>Her eyes filled with tears.</p>

<p>"Come to what?" he thundered.</p>

<p>"My ruin&mdash;and your disgrace!"</p>

<p>His breast heaved.</p>

<p>"Of you I know nothing. As for myself&mdash;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."</p>

<p>He stepped closer, his breath fanning her pale cheeks.
She looked almost like a ghost in the grey twilight.</p>

<p>"And now&mdash;" he continued, licking his sensuous lips,
"you are found&mdash;you are found&mdash;my beautiful wife&mdash;you
are found&mdash;and&mdash;to the eyes of the world at least&mdash;unstained.
One alone whose lips are sealed, knows."</p>

<p>Hellayne's lips tightened.</p>

<p>"And a woman."</p>

<p>A strange expression came into his face.</p>

<p>"Have you spied upon me, too?"</p>

<p>"You forget the meeting at the Arch."</p>

<p>"No woman will spread the story of a rival's claims!"</p>

<p>There was a pause, then he continued, with deliberate
slowness:</p>

<p>"You shall come back with me&mdash;my beautiful Hellayne&mdash;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&mdash;smile&mdash;and appear happy&mdash;my wife
henceforth in name only. And you shall smile no less at
what henceforth your lord's pleasure may be with other women&mdash;fair
as yourself&mdash;and you shall grow old and grey, and
the thing you call your soul shall die and wither up your
beauty&mdash;and never a word shall pass your lips anent this
chastisement. And at last you shall die&mdash;and be laid by&mdash;and
not a soul shall ever be the wiser for your shame."</p>

<p>Hellayne covered her face with her hands.</p>

<p>"And if I should refuse to accept this fate?"</p>

<p>"Then you shall be flung into a nunnery."</p>

<p>"And if I refuse to become a nun?"</p>

<p>"Then your lover shall pay the price&mdash;with his blood
instead of yours. Know you the woman he so madly loves?"</p>

<p>"It is a lie!" she shrieked.</p>

<p>There was a moment's silence.</p>

<p>"Her name is Theodora. Saw you ever fairer creature?"</p>

<p>"God!"</p>

<p>"I want your answer!" leered the man.</p>

<p>"I do not refuse!"</p>

<p>An evil smile curved his lips.</p>

<p>"I knew you would be reasonable&mdash;my fair Hellayne!"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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&mdash;even through death's
doors&mdash;she would not shrink. She felt, if she remained,
she would go mad.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Vc" id="CHAPTER_Vc">CHAPTER V</a><br />

THE CRESSETS OF DOOM</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_n.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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&mdash;days now gone forever.</p>

<p>Why had she followed him? What was she doing here?
Was the old fight to be renewed? And withal happiness
mingled with the pain.</p>

<p>In the midst of these thoughts came others.</p>

<p>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?</p>

<p>And now where was she? Hardly found had he lost her?
And see her he must&mdash;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?</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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&mdash;Rome alone&mdash;denied the
melancholy story of disaster, utter and complete, the work of
Goth and Hun and of malarial terror.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"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."</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny looked into Tristan's weary face.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;one dares not
even whisper. The Lord Alberic chose an evil hour for his
pilgrimage to Monte Gargano. Have you no tidings?"</p>

<p>"No tidings," reechoed Tristan gloomily.</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny nodded pensively.</p>

<p>"It seems passing strange. I know not why&mdash;" his voice
sank to a whisper. "I mistrust the Grand Chamberlain.
Whom can we trust? A poison wind is blowing over these
hills&mdash;withering&mdash;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&mdash;powers defying human ken&mdash;devils in human shape,
doomed to burn to a crisp in the eternal fires."</p>

<p>"Meanwhile&mdash;what can we do?"</p>

<p>"Have you seen the Lord Basil?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"He was much concerned, examined the place in person,
but found no clue."</p>

<p>"Are your men trustworthy?"</p>

<p>"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&mdash;some Calabrians&mdash;no
Romans."</p>

<p>"Therein lies your salvation," interposed the Benedictine.
"How many guard this tomb?"</p>

<p>"Some four score men&mdash;why do you ask?"</p>

<p>"I hardly know&mdash;save that there lurks some dark mystery
behind the curtain. Let no man&mdash;nor woman&mdash;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."</p>

<p>"Your words are dark, Father, and fill me with misgivings."</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tristan colored under the monk's scrutiny.</p>

<p>"I was present at her feast. Yet I know not how I got
there!"</p>

<p>The monk looked puzzled.</p>

<p>"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?"</p>

<p>"What is the import of these strange words so strangely
uttered?" Tristan turned to the monk with a puzzled air.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;how much longer? The Millennium
draws nigh. The End of Time is near."</p>

<p>There was a pause. Tristan tried to speak, but the words
would not come from his lips.</p>

<p>At last with an effort he stammered:</p>

<p>"At the risk of incurring your censure, Father&mdash;even to
the palace of Theodora must I wend my steps to recover that
which is my own."</p>

<p>And he informed the Monk of Cluny how he had lost his
poniard and his scarf of blue Samite.</p>

<p>"Why not send one you trust to fetch them back?" protested
the monk. "It is not well to brave the peril twice."</p>

<p>"Myself must I go, Father. For once and all time I mean
to break her spell."</p>

<p>"Deem you to accomplish that which no man hath&mdash;and
live?"</p>

<p>"There is that which shall keep my honor inviolate,"
Tristan replied.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"Look yonder, Father&mdash;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."</p>

<p>"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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>It was deserted.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"By all the saints,&mdash;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!"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"Thus we administer justice in Rome," said the one
speaker, in whom Tristan recognized the voice of the Grand
Chamberlain.</p>

<p>"Somewhat like in our own feudal chateaux," came back
the surly reply.</p>

<p>Tristan started as the voice reached his ear. How came
Roger de Laval here in that company?</p>

<p>"You approve?" said the silken voice.</p>

<p>"There is nothing like night and thirst to make the flesh
pliable."</p>

<p>"Then why not profit thereby?&mdash;But are you still
resolved upon this thing?"&mdash;</p>

<p>There was a pause. The voice barked reply:</p>

<p>"It is a fair exchange."</p>

<p>Their talk died to a vague murmur till presently the harsher
voice rose above the silence.</p>

<p>"Well, then, my Lord Basil, if these matters be as you say,&mdash;if
you will use your good offices with the Lady Theodora&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Can you doubt my sincerity&mdash;my desire to promote your
interests&mdash;even to the detriment of my own?"</p>

<p>His companion spat viciously.</p>

<p>"He who sups with the devil must needs have a long
spoon. What is to be your share?"</p>

<p>"Your meaning is not quite clear, my lord."</p>

<p>"Naught for naught!" Roger snarled viciously. "Shall
we say&mdash;the price of your services?"</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>"How know you she is beautiful?" came the snarling reply.</p>

<p>"I, too, was an unseen witness of your meeting at the Arch
of the Seven Candles," Basil replied suavely.</p>

<p>"Was all Rome abroad to gaze upon my shame?" growled
Basil's companion. "Though&mdash;in a manner&mdash;I am revenged,"
he continued, through his clenched teeth. "Instead
of giving her her freedom, I shall use her shrinking
body for my plaything&mdash;I shall use her so that no other lover
shall desire her. As for that low-born churl&mdash;"</p>

<p>With a low cry Tristan, sword in hand, made a forward
lunge. The monk's grip restrained him.</p>

<p>"Madman!" Odo whispered in his ear. "Would you
court certain death?"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"But you will come&mdash;my lord&mdash;and you will bring your
beautiful Countess? Remember, her presence in Rome is no
longer a secret. And&mdash;whatever the cause which prompted
her&mdash;pilgrimage, would you have the Roman mob point
sneering fingers at Roger de Laval?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"By God, they shall not!"</p>

<p>"Then the wisdom of my counsel speaks for itself," Basil
interposed soothingly. "It is the one reward I crave."</p>

<p>There was a pause. Whatever of evil brooded in that
brief space of time only these two knew.</p>

<p>"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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>Odo shot a questioning glance at the speaker.</p>

<p>"The wife of the Count Laval?" he returned sharply.</p>

<p>"Father&mdash;you know why I am here&mdash;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&mdash;for
where is it all to lead? For, after all, she is his wife&mdash;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&mdash;I promise&mdash;that
shall be all&mdash;if you will but consent and find her&mdash;for I
know not her abode."</p>

<p>"You promise&mdash;" 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&mdash;and Death stands behind you, waiting the last throw."</p>

<p>"Even if our souls should be forever stamped with their
dark errors I must see her. I must know why she came
hither&mdash;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."</p>

<p>"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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIc" id="CHAPTER_VIc">CHAPTER VI</a><br />

A MEETING OF GHOSTS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>His first glance was intuitively directed to the cavity that
opened beneath him.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Thus he remained for a time, fearful of advancing or
retracing his steps, looking fixedly into the trackless gloom
and listening to the strange sounds which, alternately rising
and falling, still floated around him. The fitful light of his
lantern suddenly fell upon a shape that seemed to creep
through one of the stone galleries. In the unsteady gleam
it appeared from the distance like a gnome wandering
through the bowels of the earth, or a forsaken spirit
from purgatory.</p>

<p>Had it been but a trick of his imagination, or had his mortal
eyes seen a denizen of the beyond? At last he aroused himself,
trimmed with careful hand his guiding wick and set
forth to penetrate the great rift.</p>

<p>He moved on in an oblique direction for several feet, now
creeping over the tops of the foundation arches, now skirting
the extremities of the protrusions in the ruined brickwork,
now descending into dark, slimy, rubbish-choked chasms,
until the rift suddenly diminished in all directions.</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan paused and considered. He was
almost tempted to retrace his steps, abandoning the purpose
upon which he had come. Before him stretched interminable
gloom, brooding, he knew not over what caverns and caves,
inhabited by denizens of night.</p>

<p>He moved onward, with less caution than he had formerly
employed, when suddenly and without warning a considerable
portion of brickwork fell with lightning suddenness from
above. It missed him, else he should never had known
what happened. But some stray bricks hurled him prostrate
on the foundation arch, dislocating his right shoulder, and
shattering his lantern into atoms. A groan of anguish rose
to his lips. He was left in impenetrable darkness.</p>

<p>For a short time Tristan lay as one stunned in his dark
solitude. Then, trying to raise himself, he began to experience
in all their severity the fierce spasms, the dull gnawings
that were the miserable consequences of the injury he had
sustained. His arm lay numbed by his side, and for the
space of some moments he had neither the strength nor the
will to even move the sound limbs of his body.</p>

<p>But gradually the anguish of his body awakened a wilder
and strange distemper in his mind, and then the two agonies,
physical and mental, rioted over him in fierce rivalry, divesting
him of all thoughts, save such as were aroused by their own
agency. At length, however, the pangs seemed to grow less
frequent. He hardly knew now from what part of his body
they proceeded. Insensibly his faculties of thinking and
feeling grew blank; he remained for a time in a mysterious,
unrefreshing repose of body and mind, and at last his disordered
senses, left unguided and unrestrained, became the
victims of a sudden and terrible illusion.</p>

<p>The black darkness about him appeared, after an interval,
to be dawning into a dull, misty light, like the reflection on
clouds which threaten a thunderstorm at the close of day.
Soon this atmosphere seemed to be crossed and streaked
with a fantastic trellis work of white, seething vapor. Then
the mass of brickwork which had fallen in, grew visible,
enlarged to an enormous bulk and endowed with the power
of locomotion, by which it mysteriously swelled and shrank,
raised and depressed itself, without quitting for a moment its
position near him. And then, from its dark and toiling surface,
there rose a long array of dusky shapes, which twined
themselves about the misty trellis work above and took the
palpable forms of human countenances.</p>

<p>There were infantile faces wreathed with grave worms that
hung round them like locks of slimy hair; aged faces dabbled
with gore and slashed with wounds; youthful faces, seamed
with livid channels along which ran unceasing tears; lovely
faces distorted into the fixed coma of despairing gloom. Not
one of these countenances exactly resembled the other. Each
was stigmatized by a revolting character of its own. Yet,
however deformed their other features, the eyes of all were
preserved unimpaired. Speechless and bodiless they floated
in unceasing myriads up to the fantastic trellis work, which
seemed to swell its wild proportions to receive them. There
they clustered in their goblin amphitheatre, and fixedly and
silently they glared down, without exception, on the intruder's
face.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the walls at the side began to gleam out with a
light of their own, making jaded boundaries to the midway
scenes of phantom faces. Then the rifts in their surface
widened, and disgorged misshapen figures of priests and
idols of the olden time, which came forth in every hideous
deformity of aspect, mocking at the faces of the trellis work,
while behind and over the whole soared shapes of gigantic
darkness. From this ghastly assemblage there came not the
slightest sound. The stillness of a dead and ruined world
was about him, possessed of appalling mysteries, veiled in
quivering vapors and glooming shadows.</p>

<p>Days, years, centuries seemed to pass, as Tristan lay
gazing up in a trance of horror into this realm of peopled and
ghostly darkness.</p>

<p>At last he staggered to his feet. He must find an egress
or go mad. Slowly raising himself upon his uninjured arm,
he looked vainly about for the faintest glimmer of light. Not
a single object was discernible about him. Darkness hemmed
him in, in rayless and triumphant obscurity.</p>

<p>The first agony of the pain having resolved itself into a
dull changeless sensation, the vision that had possessed his
senses was now, in a vast and shadowy form, present only to
his memory, filling the darkness with fearful recollections and
urging him on, in a restless, headlong yearning, to effect his
escape from this lonely and unhallowed sepulchre.</p>

<p>"I must pass into light. I must breathe the air of the sky,
or I shall perish in this vault," he muttered in a hoarse voice,
which the fitful echoes mocked by throwing his words as it
were, to each other, even to the faintest whisper of its last
recipient.</p>

<p>Gradually and painfully he commenced his meditated
retreat.</p>

<p>Tristan's brain still whirled with the emotion that had so
entirely overwhelmed his mind, as, staggering through the
interminable gloom, he set forth on his toilsome, perilous
journey.</p>

<p>Suddenly however he paused, bewildered, in the darkness.
He had no doubt mistaken the direction, and a gleam of
light, streaming through the fissure of the rock, informed him
that there were others in this abode of darkness, beside himself.</p>

<p>Had he come upon the object of his quest?</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan's heart stood still, then, with all the
caution which the darkness, the danger of secret pitfalls and
the risk of discovery suggested, he crept toward the crevice
until the glow gradually increased. From the bowels of the
earth, as it were, voices were now audible; they seemed to
issue from the depths of a cavern directly below where Tristan
stood. Groping his way carefully along the wall of rock,
he at last reached the spot whence the light issued and presently
started at finding himself before an aperture just wide
enough to admit the body of a single man. A sort of perpendicular
ladder was formed in the wall of narrow juttings of
stone, and below these was the rock chamber from which the
voices proceeded.</p>

<p>It was some time ere the confusion of his ideas and the
darkness allowed Tristan to form any notion of the character
of the locality, when it suddenly dawned upon him that he had
strayed into a place regarding which he had heard and wondered
much: the Catacombs of St. Calixtus.</p>

<p>This revelation was by no means reassuring, although the
presence of others held out hope that he would discover an
exit from this shadowy labyrinth.</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan remained as one transfixed, as he
gazed from his lofty pinnacle into the shadowy vault below.</p>

<p>He saw a stone table, lighted with a single taper, in the
centre of which lay an unsheathed dagger, and an object the
exact character of which he could not determine in the half
gloom, also a brazen bowl. About a dozen men in cloaks
with black vizors stood around, and one, taller than the rest,
the gleam of whose eyes shone through the slits of his mask,
appeared to be concluding an address to his companions.</p>

<p>The words were indistinguishable to Tristan but, when the
speaker had concluded, a dark murmur arose which subsided
anon. Then those present crowded around the stone table.
The taper was momentarily obscured by the intervening
throng, and Tristan could not see the ceremony, though he
could hear the muttered formula of an oath they seemed to
be taking. What he did see caused the chill of death to run
through his veins.</p>

<p>The group again receding, the man bared his left arm,
raised the dagger on high and let it descend. Tristan saw
the blood weltering slowly from the self-inflicted wound,
trickling drop by drop into the brazen bowl, which another
muffled figure was holding. Then each one present repeated
the ceremony, he who was presenting the bowl being the last
to mingle his blood with that of the rest.</p>

<p>Then another stepped forth and, raising the bloody knife
on high, stabbed the object that lay upon the table. Some
mysterious signs passed between them, meaningless words
that struck Tristan's ear with the vague memory of a dimly
remembered dream. Then he who seemed to be the speaker
raised the object on high and, walking to a niche, concealed
in the shadows, placed it in, what seemed to Tristan, a fissure
in the rock.</p>

<p>Like ghosts returning to the bowels of the earth, they
glided away, silently, soundlessly, and soon the silence of
death hovered once again in the rock caverns of the Catacombs
of St. Calixtus.</p>

<p>In breathless suspense, utterly oblivious of the injury he
had sustained, Tristan gazed into the deserted rock chamber
where the dim light of the taper still flickered in a faint breath
of air wafted from without.</p>

<p>Hardly did the hearts of the Magi when the vision of the
Star in the East first dawned upon their eyes experience a
transport more vivid than that which animated Tristan when
he found his terrible stress relieved.</p>

<p>But almost immediately a reaction set in and a dire misgiving
extinguished the quick ray of hope that had lighted his
heart, luring him on to escape from these caverns of Death.</p>

<p>By a strange mischance they had neglected to extinguish
the taper. They might return at any moment and, his presence
discovered, the doom in store for the intruder on their
secret rites was not a matter of surmise. Composing himself
to patience, Tristan waited, glaring as a caged tiger at the
gates whose opening or closing might spell freedom or doom.
At last, after a considerable lapse of time, moments that
seemed eternity, he resolved to hazard the descent.</p>

<p>Slowly and painfully moving, with the pace and perseverance
of a turtle, he writhed downward upon his unguided
course until he reached the bottom of the cavern. Breathless
with exhaustion after his breakneck descent, he waited in
the shadow of a projecting rock. When the deep sepulchral
silence remained undisturbed, he advanced toward the fissure
in the rock where one of the muffled company had placed the
mysterious object.</p>

<p>Tristan's quest was not at once rewarded. The shelving
in the rock cavern, being irregular and almost indistinguishable,
offered no clue to the mystery. A great fear was upon
him, but he was determined, to discover the meaning of it all.</p>

<p>Suddenly he paused. A small cabinet of sandal wood,
concealed behind the jutting stone, had caught his eye. It
was painted to resemble the rock and the untrained eye would
not linger upon it. A small keyhole was revealed, but the
key had been taken away.</p>

<p>Tristan stood irresolute, with straining eyes and listening
ear. Not a sound was audible. Even the piping of the night
wind in the rock fissures seemed to have died to silence.
With quick resolution he inserted one of the sharp-edged
flints and gave a wrench.</p>

<p>When the top receded he could not repress an outcry. A
chill coursed coldly through his veins. His breath came and
went in sobs, as from one half drowned.</p>

<p>He only glanced at what was before him for the fraction of
a second. But he knew what had made the very soul within
him shudder and his bones grind, as if in mortal agony.</p>

<p>It was as though Hell itself had opened the gates. He
staggered back in a paroxysm of horror.&mdash;</p>

<p>With a grim, set face Tristan closed the top of the cabinet
and replaced it on the rocky ledge. Thus he stood, his face
buried in his hands. Could the All-seeing God permit such
an outrage and let the perpetrators live?</p>

<p>But there was no time for reflection. At any moment one
of the muffled phantoms might return, and indeed he thought
he heard steps approaching through one of the rock galleries.
He crouched in breathless, agonized suspense, for it did not
suffer him longer in these caverns of crime and death.</p>

<p>He dimly remembered the direction in which the nocturnal
company had departed and, after some research, he discovered
a narrow corridor that seemed to slope upward through the
gloom. His lantern having been broken to atoms, the taper
held out little promise of life beyond a brief space of time
during which he must find the entrance of the cavern, if he
did not wish to meet a fate even worse than death in the
event of discovery.</p>

<p>Grimly resolved Tristan raised the flickering taper and
entered the gallery on his left. The Stygian gloom almost
extinguished the feeble light, though he noted every object he
passed, every turn in the tortuous ascent.</p>

<p>After some time which seemed eternity he at last perceived
a dim glow at the extremity of the gallery, and soon found
himself before the outer cavity of the stone wall, in a region
of the city that seemed miles removed from the place where
he had entered.</p>

<p>It was near daybreak. The moon shone faintly in the
grey heavens and a vaporous mist was sinking from shapeless
clouds that hovered over the course of the Tiber.</p>

<p>Tristan looked about his solitary lurking place, but beheld
no human being in its lonely recesses. Then his eyes fixed
themselves with a shudder upon the glooming vault from
which he had made his escape.</p>

<p>He was on the track of a terrible mystery, a mystery which
shunned the light of day and of heaven. He must fathom it,
whatever the risk. A strange new energy possessed him.
His life at last seemed to have a purpose. He was no longer
a rolling stone. There was work ahead. His future course
stood out clearly defined, as Tristan turned his back upon
the Catacombs of St. Calixtus and took the direction of the
Aventine. To Odo, the Monk of Cluny, he must confide the
terrible discovery he had made in the mephitic caverns of the
Catacombs. To him he must turn for counsel, of which he
stood sorely in need. And in some way which he could not
account for to himself, Tristan felt as if the fate of Hellayne
was bound up in these dreadful mysteries. At first the
thought seemed absurd, but somehow it gained upon him
and began to add new weight to his burden. Could he but
see her! Could he but have speech with her. A great dread
seized him at the thought of what might be her fate at the
present hour. What would she think of him who seemed to
have abandoned her in the hour of dire distress, when she
needed him above all men on earth?</p>

<p>Did her intuition, did her heart inform her that he had
roamed the city for days in the hope of finding her? Had
her heart informed her that, like a spirit judged and condemned,
he found neither rest nor peace in his vain endeavors
to discover her abode? Was she sinking under her loneliness,
perishing from uncertainty of her fate, doubts of his
allegiance? To what perils and miseries had he exposed her,
and to what end? He groaned in despair, as his mind
reverted from the dark present to the happy past. A past,
forever gone!&mdash;</p>

<p>A faint streak of light crept across the East, permeating
the grey dawn with roseate hues as Tristan re-entered the
Emperor's Tomb to partake of an hour or two of much needed
rest, ere the business of the new-born day claimed him its own.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIc" id="CHAPTER_VIIc">CHAPTER VII</a><br />

A BOWER OF EDEN</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">After some hours of much
needed rest Tristan started out
to find the Monk of Cluny. The
task he had set himself was not
one easy of execution, since the
Benedictine friar was wont to
visit the Roman sanctuaries
following the promptings of the
spirit without adhering to a
definite routine. Thus the
greater part of the day was consumed in a futile quest of him
of whose counsel he stood sorely in need.</p>

<p>At the hour of sunset Tristan set anew upon his quest.
His feet carried him to a remote region of the city, and when
he regained his bearings he found himself before the convent
of Santa Maria del Priorata with its environing groves of
oleander and almond trees.</p>

<p>The moon was floating like a huge pearl of silver through
vast seas of blue. The sleeping flowers were closed, like
half-extinguished censers, breathing faint incense on the
night's pale brow. From some dark bough a nightingale
was shaking down a flood of song. The fountains from their
stone basins leaped moonward in the passion of their love
and seemed to fall sobbing back to earth. The night air
breathed hot and languorous across the gardens of the Pincian
Mount. Lutes tinkled here and there. And the magic
of the night thrilled Tristan's soul. As in a trance his gaze
followed the white figure that was moving noiselessly down a
moss grown path. A thick hedge of laurel concealed her now.
Then she paused as if she, too, were enraptured by the magic
of the night.</p>

<p>The moon illumined the central lawn and the whispering
fountains. Tall cypresses seemed to intensify the shade.
In the distance he could faintly discern the white balustrade,
crowning a terrace where green alleys wound obscurely
beneath the canopy of darkest oak, and moss and violet made
their softest bed. In the very centre of it was a small domed
temple, a shrine to Love.</p>

<p>Tristan's senses began to swoon. Was it a hallucination&mdash;was
it reality? A moon maiden she seemed, made mortal
for a night, to teach all comers love in the sacred grove.</p>

<p>"Hellayne! Hellayne!"</p>

<p>His voice sounded strange to his own ears.</p>

<p>As in a dream he saw her come towards him. She came
so silent and so pale in the spectral light that he feared lest
it was the spectre of his mind that came to meet him. And
once more the voice cried "Hellayne!" and then they lay
in each other's arms. All her reluctance, all her doubts seemed
to have flown at the sound of her name from his lips.</p>

<p>"Hellayne! Hellayne!" he whispered deliriously, kissing
her eyes, her hair, her sweet lips, and folding her so close to
him, as if he would never again part from her he loved better
than life. "At last I have found you! How came you here?
Speak! Is it indeed yourself, or is it some mocking spirit
that has borrowed your form?"</p>

<p>And again he kissed her and their eyes held silent commune.</p>

<p>"It is I who have just refound you!" she whispered, as he
looked enraptured into the sweet girlish face, the face that
had not changed since he had left Avalon, though she seemed
to have become more womanly, and in her eyes lay a pathetic
sorrow.</p>

<p>What a rapture there was in that clear tone. But she
trembled as she spoke. Would he understand? Would he
believe?</p>

<p>"But&mdash;why&mdash;why&mdash;are you here?" he stammered.</p>

<p>"I have sought you long."</p>

<p>"You have followed me? You are not then a nun?"</p>

<p>"You see I am not."</p>

<p>"But why&mdash;oh why,&mdash;have you done this thing?"</p>

<p>She made no answer.</p>

<p>"You are here in Rome&mdash;and he is here. And you did
not know?"</p>

<p>"I knew!" she replied with a little nod, like a questioned
child.</p>

<p>"You knew! And he believes that I knew!"</p>

<p>"That is a small matter, dear. For he knows, that you
knew not."</p>

<p>The endearment startled him. It seemed to cast her faith
upon him.</p>

<p>"What are you doing here?" he said.</p>

<p>"I came because I had to come! I had no choice&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"No choice! Then why did you send me away?"</p>

<p>She gave a little shrug.</p>

<p>"I knew not how much I loved you."</p>

<p>"And yet, dearest, you cannot remain here. You know
his moods better than any one else&mdash;and you know if he
finds us&mdash;for your own sake, dearest, you cannot remain."</p>

<p>In the warmth of his entreaty he had used as endearing
words as she. They were precious to her ears.</p>

<p>"Let him come!" she said, nestling close to him. "Let
him come and kill me!"</p>

<p>She glanced about. He pointed to the castellated building
that rose darkly beyond the holm-oaks.</p>

<p>"Yonder&mdash;is yonder your abode?" he stammered.</p>

<p>Suddenly the woman in her gained the mastery.</p>

<p>"Oh no! No! No! Let us hide! Wretch that I am, to
risk your life with mine."</p>

<p>She had flung herself upon him. Around them rioted
roses in wild profusion. To him it seemed like a bosquet of
Eden. Upon his breast she sobbed. But no consideration of
past or present could restrain his hand from gently soothing
her silken hair.</p>

<p>"Oh, why did you leave me?" she cried. "Why could we
not have loved without all this? Surely two souls can love&mdash;if
love they must&mdash;without doing wrong to any one."</p>

<p>His arms stole about her.</p>

<p>"Speak to me! Speak to me!" she whispered with
upturned face.</p>

<p>"Had I known that this would happen, I should have
known that I did foolishly," he replied. "You should have
known, dearest. You thought to kill our love by cutting it
to earth. You have but made its roots grow deeper down
into the present and the future!"</p>

<p>She nodded dreamily.</p>

<p>"Perchance you speak truth!" she said. "You see me
here by your side, having crossed leagues and leagues to seek
your soul, my home&mdash;my only home forever. And as surely
as the bee goes back to its one hallowed oak have I refound
you. And as surely as the ocean knows that every breath of
vapor lifted from its face shall some day come back to its breast,
so surely did you know that your love must return to you."</p>

<p>"Unless," he said, "it sinks into the unseen springs that
are so deep that they are lost from sight forever."</p>

<p>"Lost&mdash;nothing is lost. The deepest water shall break
out some day and reach the lake&mdash;the river. Then, why
not now? I am one who cannot wait for eternity."</p>

<p>"And yet, eternity I fear, is waiting for us!"</p>

<p>There was a deep silence, lasting apace.</p>

<p>"Ah, I know," she said at last. "I know I ought to think
as you do. I should be conscience stricken now, as I was then.
I should be glad that you left me. But I am not&mdash;I am not.
I am here, dearest, to ask you if you love me still?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Love you?" he replied in a transport, holding her close,
while he covered her eyes and her upturned face with kisses.
"I love you as never woman was loved&mdash;as the night loves
the dew in the cups of the upturned flowers&mdash;as the nightingale
loves the dream that weaves its phantom webs
about her bowers. I love you above everything in heaven
or on earth. You knew the answer, dearest. Why did you
ask?"</p>

<p>"I see it in your eyes. You love me still," she crooned,
her beautiful white arms about his neck, "notwithstanding&mdash;"</p>

<p>He started. And yet, after the scene she had witnessed on
that night, her doubts were but too well-founded. Yet she
had not queried before.</p>

<p>"Strange fortunes crossed my path since I came here,"
he said. "Ambition lured&mdash;I followed, as one who lost his
way. Would you have had me do otherwise?"</p>

<p>In his eyes she read the truth. Yet the shadow of that
other woman had come between them as a phantom.</p>

<p>"Oh, no,&mdash;although I never thought that you were made
for statecraft."</p>

<p>"I am in the service of the Senator. And the Senator of
Rome is her foe."</p>

<p>"And you?"</p>

<p>"I am his servant."</p>

<p>She laughed nervously.</p>

<p>"I never thought you would come to this, my love."</p>

<p>"Nor ever should I have thought so. But fate is strange.
The Holy Father is imprisoned in the Lateran. To him I
wended my way. But the only service I did him was to
prevent his escape&mdash;unwittingly. I visited the sanctuaries.
But though prayers hovered on my lips, repentance was not
in my heart. And then it came to pass. And I feel like one
borne in a bark that has neither sail nor rudder. And if,
instead of being far-floated to these Roman shores, I am
headed for a port where all is security and peace, can I prevent
it? I am borne on! I close my eyes and try to think that
Fate has intended it for my good."</p>

<p>"For your good!" she said bitterly.</p>

<p>"For yours no less, perchance."</p>

<p>"How so, dearest? What good can come to me from
your soul's security? To me, who believe our love is rightful?"</p>

<p>"And yet you sent me from you&mdash;into darkness&mdash;loneliness&mdash;despair?"</p>

<p>She stroked his hair.</p>

<p>"It was fear as well as conscience that prompted. You
once said that all things are right, that may not be escaped.
You said, that if God was at the back of all things, all things
were pure&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I know I said it! But, what I meant, I know not now. I
saw things strangely then."</p>

<p>"There were days when I, too, lost my vision," she said
softly, "when I said to myself: there is truth and truth&mdash;the
higher and the lower. It was the higher, if you like to
call it so, Tristan, that prompted the deed. Since then I have
come down to earth, and the lower truth, more fit for beings
of clay, proclaims my presence here&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What will you do?" he queried anxiously.</p>

<p>"I know not&mdash;I know not! I came here to be with you&mdash;without
ever a thought of meeting him again whom I have
wronged&mdash;if wronged indeed I have. He has vowed to kill
you! Oh, to what a pass have I brought you&mdash;my love&mdash;my
love! Let us fly from Rome! Let us leave this city.
He will never know. And as for me&mdash;he but loves me
because I am fair to look upon, and lovable in the eyes of
another. What I have suffered in the silence, in the darkness,
you will never know. You shall take me with you&mdash;anywhere
will I go&mdash;so we shake the dust of this city from our
feet."</p>

<p>She leapt at him again and flung her arms about his neck,
her face upturned. He had neither will nor power to release
himself. He scarcely had the strength to speak the words
which he knew would stab her to the heart.</p>

<p>Even ere he spoke she fell away from him as if she had
read his mind.</p>

<p>"So you persuaded him of your repentance," she cried.
"You are friends over the body of your murdered love! And
I&mdash;who gave all&mdash;am left alone,&mdash;the foe of either. It
was nobly done."</p>

<p>He stared at her as if he thought she had gone mad.</p>

<p>"Listen, Hellayne," he urged, taking her hands in his, in
the endeavor to soothe her. "What spirit of evil has whispered
this madness into your ears? Even just now you
said, he has sworn to kill me. How could there be reconciliation
between Roger de Laval and myself&mdash;who love his
wife?"</p>

<p>"Then what is it?" she queried, her eyes upon his lips as
if she were waiting sentence to be pronounced upon her.</p>

<p>"I am the Senator's man!"</p>

<p>The words fell upon her ears like the knell of doom.</p>

<p>"He will release you! I will go to him&mdash;if your pride is
greater, than your love."</p>

<p>She was all woman now, deaf to reason and entreaty,
thinking of nothing but her great love of him.</p>

<p>He drew her down beside him on the marble seat.</p>

<p>"Listen, Hellayne! You do not understand&mdash;you wrong
me cruelly. Naught is there in this world that I would not
do to make you happy&mdash;you, whose love and happiness are
my one concern while life endures. But this thing may not
be. The Senator of Rome is away on a pilgrimage. He has
chosen me to watch over this city till his return. Danger
lurks about me in every guise. Its nature I know not. But
I do know that there is some dark power at work plotting evil.
There is one I do not trust&mdash;the Lord Basil."</p>

<p>Hellayne gave a start.</p>

<p>"The bosom friend, so it would seem, of the Count Laval."</p>

<p>The color had left Tristan's face.</p>

<p>"You have met?"</p>

<p>"He appears to have taken a great liking to my lord.
Almost daily does he call, and they seem to have some secret
matter between them."</p>

<p>Tristan gripped Hellayne's hand so fiercely that she hardly
suppressed an outcry.</p>

<p>"Have you surprised any utterance?"</p>

<p>"Only a name. They thought I was out of earshot."</p>

<p>"What name?"</p>

<p>"Theodora!"</p>

<p>She watched him narrowly as she spoke the word.</p>

<p>He gave a start.</p>

<p>"Theodora," Hellayne repeated slowly. "She who saved
your life when my poor efforts failed."</p>

<p>There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone which did not
escape Tristan's ear. Ere he could make reply, she followed
it up with the question:</p>

<p>"What is there between you and her?"</p>

<p>"For aught I know it is some strange whim of the woman,
call it infatuation if you will," he replied, "which, though I
have repelled her, still maintains. It was at her feast I first
met the Lord Roger face to face."</p>

<p>"How came you there?" she questioned with pained voice.</p>

<p>Tristan recounted the circumstances, concealing nothing
from the time of his arrival in Rome to the present hour.
Hellayne listened wearily, but the account he gave seemed
rather to irritate than to reconcile her to him, who thus laid
bare his heart before her.</p>

<p>"And so soon was I forgot?" she crooned.</p>

<p>"Never for a moment were you forgot, my Hellayne," he
replied with all the fervor of persuasion at his command.
"At all times have I loved you, at all times was your image
enshrined in my heart. Theodora is all-powerful in Rome,
as was Marozia before her. The magistrates, the officers of
the Senator's court, are her creatures,&mdash;Basil no less than
the rest. Would that the Lord Alberic returned, for the
burden he has placed upon my shoulders is exceeding heavy.
But you, my Hellayne, what will you do? I cannot bear the
thought of knowing you with him who has wrecked your life,
your happiness."</p>

<p>In Hellayne's blue eyes there was a great pain.</p>

<p>"Why mind such trifles since you but think of yourself?"</p>

<p>"You do not understand!" he protested. "Can I with
honor abandon the trust which the Senator has imposed?
What if the dreadful thing should happen? What if sudden
sedition should sweep his power into the night of oblivion?
Could I stand face to face with him, should he ask: 'How
have you kept your trust?'"</p>

<p>Steps were approaching on the greensward.</p>

<p>Hellayne turned pale and Tristan's arm closed about her,
determined to defend her to the death against whosoever
should dare intrude.</p>

<p>Then it was as if some impalpable barrier had arisen
between the man and the woman. It seemed the last hard
malice of Fate to have brought them so near to what was not
to be.</p>

<p>Hardly had Tristan drawn her throbbing bosom to his
embrace when a dark shadow fell athwart their path and,
looking up, he became aware of a forbidding form that stood
hard by, wrapped in a black mantle that reached to his heels.
From under a hood which was drawn over his face two beady
eyes gleamed with smouldering fire, while the hooked nose
gave the face the semblance of a bird of prey, which illusion
the cruel mouth did little to dispel.</p>

<p>Hellayne, too, had seen this phantom of ill omen and was
about to release herself from Tristan's arms, her face white
as her robe, when the speech of the intruder arrested her
movement.</p>

<p>"A message from the Lady Theodora."</p>

<p>A hot flush passed over Tristan's face, giving way to a
deadly pallor as, hesitating to take the proffered tablet, he
replied with ill-concealed vexation:</p>

<p>"Whom does the Lady Theodora honor by sending so ill-favored
a messenger?"</p>

<p>The cowled figure fixed his piercing eyes first upon Tristan
then upon Hellayne.</p>

<p>"The Lord Tristan will do well to pay heed to the summons,
if he values that which lies nearest his heart."</p>

<p>But ere he, for whom the message was intended, could take
it, Hellayne had snatched it from the messenger, had broken
the seal and devoured its contents by the light of the moon
which made the night as bright as day.</p>

<p>Then, with a shrill laugh, she cast it at Tristan's feet and,
ere the latter could recover himself, both the woman and the
messenger had gone and he stood alone in the bosquet of
roses, vainly calling the name of her who had left him without
a word to his misery and despair.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIc" id="CHAPTER_VIIIc">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />

AN ITALIAN NIGHT</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The palace of Theodora on
Mount Aventine was aglow with
life and movement for the festivities
of the evening. The
lights of countless cressets were
reflected from the marble floor
of the great reception hall and
shone on the rich panelling, and
the many-hued tapestries which
decked the walls.</p>

<p>In the shadow of the little marble kiosk which rose, a relic
of a happier age, among oleander and myrtles, shadowed by
tall cypresses, silent guardians of the past, Theodora and Basil
faced each other. The white, livid face of the man gave testimony
to the passions that consumed him, as his burning gaze
swept the woman before him.</p>

<p>"I have spoken, my Lord Basil! Should some unforeseen
mischance befall him I have summoned hither, look to it
that I require not his blood at your hands."</p>

<p>Theodora's tone silenced all further questioning. After a
pause she continued: "And if you desire farther proof that
this man shall not stand against my enchantments, pass into
yonder kiosk and through its carven windows shall you be
able to witness all that passes between us."</p>

<p>She ceased with quivering lips, the while Basil regarded
her from under half-shut lids, filled with sudden brooding,
and for a space there was silence. At last he said in a low,
unsteady voice:</p>

<p>"So I did not err when my hatred rose against this puppet
of the Senator's, who came to Rome to do penance for a kiss.
You love him, your foe, while I, your utter slave, must stand
by and, with aching heart, see your mad desire bring all our
schemes to naught."</p>

<p>His hand closed on his dagger hilt, but Theodora's eyes
flashed like bared swords as with set face she said:</p>

<p>"Fool!&mdash;to see but that which lies in your path, not the
intricate nets which are spread in the darkness. I mean to
make this man my very own! His fevered lips shall close on
mine, and in my embrace he shall climb to the heaven of the
Gods. He shall be mine! He shall do my bidding utterly.
He shall open for me the gates of the Emperor's Tomb. He
shall stand beside me when I am proclaimed mistress of
Rome! For my love he shall defy the world that is&mdash;and
the world that is not."</p>

<p>"And what of the woman he loves?" Basil snarled venomously,
and the pallor of Theodora's face informed him that
the arrow he had sped had hit the mark.</p>

<p>She held out her wonderful statuesque arms, then, raising
herself to her full height, she said:</p>

<p>"Is the pale woman from his native land a match for me?
What rare sport it shall be to make of this Hellayne a mock,
and of her name a memory, and put Theodora's in its high
place. Do you doubt my power to do as I say?"</p>

<p>"Verily I do believe that you love this pilgrim," Basil said
sullenly. "And while I am preparing the quake that shall
tumble Alberic's dominion into dust and oblivion, you are
making him the happiest of mortals. And deem you I will
stand by and see yon dotard reap the fruits of my endeavors
and revel where I, your slave, am starving for a look?"</p>

<p>"Well have you chosen the word, my lord&mdash;my slave!
For then were Theodora indeed the puppet of a lust-bitten
subject did she heed his mad ravings and his idle plaints.
Know, my lord, that my love is his to whom I choose to give
it, his who gives to me that in return which I desire. And
though I have drunk deep of the goblet of passion, never has
my heart beat one jot the faster, nor has the fire in my soul
been kindled until I met him whom this night I have summoned."</p>

<p>"And deem you, fairest Theodora, that the sainted pilgrim
will come?" Basil interposed with an evil leer.</p>

<p>An inscrutable smile curved Theodora's crimson lips.</p>

<p>"Let that be my affair, my lord, but&mdash;that everything may
be clear between us&mdash;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&mdash;but
now&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But now?" came the echo from Basil's lips.</p>

<p>"Who says I shall not?" Theodora replied with her inscrutable
smile. "Who shall gainsay me? You&mdash;my lord?"</p>

<p>There was a strange light in Basil's eyes, kindled by her
mockery.</p>

<p>"And when he kneels at your feet, drunk with passion&mdash;laying
bare his soul in his mad infatuation&mdash;who shall prevent
this dagger from drinking his heart's blood, even as he
peers into the portals of bliss?"</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes flashed lightnings.</p>

<p>"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.&mdash;Else
I shall demand of you such a reckoning as none who
may hear of it in after days shall dare thwart Theodora&mdash;either
in love or in hate."</p>

<p>Basil's writhing form swayed to and fro; passion-tossed he
tried in vain to speak when she raised her hand.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>A hand stole into his and drew him resistlessly into the
shadows.</p>

<p>"Why do you linger here? Behold where the moonlight
calls."</p>

<p>"Where is your mistress?" Tristan turned to the Circassian.</p>

<p>A strange smile played on Persephoné's lips.</p>

<p>"She awaits you in yonder kiosk," she replied, edging
close to him. "Take care you do not thwart her though&mdash;for
to-day she strikes to kill."</p>

<p>"It is well," Tristan replied. "It must come, and will be
no more torture now than any other time."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Pointing to it with white outstretched arm she gave him a
mock bow and returned to the palace.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.&mdash;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.</p>

<p>At the entrance of the marble kiosk, there stood the immobile
form of a woman, half hidden behind a cluster of blooming
orchids.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"Welcome, my Lord Tristan."</p>

<p>He bowed low, barely touching the soft white fingers.</p>

<p>"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."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"Presently will I reveal this matter to you, my Lord Tristan,"
she said at last. "Meanwhile sit you here beside me&mdash;for
the night is hot, and I have waited long for your coming."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"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."</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"Strange, indeed, my words may sound in your ears,
Tristan&mdash;and yet&mdash;can it be that you are blind as well as
deaf to the call of the Goddess of Love, who rules us all?"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"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?"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"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."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"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?"</p>

<p>As she spoke she turned slowly towards Hellayne whose
face was pale as death.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>"In all things will I do your bidding, Lady Theodora,&mdash;for
who can withstand your beauty and your enchantment?"
said a voice that seemed not part of himself.</p>

<p>Theodora turned to Hellayne.</p>

<p>"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?"</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>To Tristan she did not even vouchsafe a glance.</p>

<p>"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."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>"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&mdash;love me! And I shall give you such love in
return as mortals have never known. I am as one in a trance&mdash;I
cannot see&mdash;I cannot think! I, the woman born to
command&mdash;am begging&mdash;imploring&mdash;I care not what you
do with me&mdash;what becomes of me. Take me!&mdash;I am
yours&mdash;body and soul!"</p>

<p>Her face was lighted up by the pale rays of the moon.
But, though his senses were steeped in a delirium that almost
took from him his manhood, the gloom but deepened on
Tristan's brow, while with moist hungry lips she kissed him,
again and again.</p>

<p>At last, seemingly on the verge of merging his whole being
into her own, he succeeded in extricating himself from the
steely coils of those white arms.</p>

<p>"Lady Theodora," he said in cold and constrained tones,
"I am too poor to return even in part such priceless favors of
the Lady Theodora's love!"</p>

<p>Stung in her innermost soul by his words, trembling from
head to foot with the violence of her emotions, she panted in
a passion of anger and shame.</p>

<p>"You dare? This to me? Since then you will not love
me&mdash;take this&mdash;"</p>

<p>Above him, in her hand, gleamed his own unsheathed
dagger.</p>

<p>Tristan with a supple movement caught the white wrist and
wrenched the weapon from her.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora is always true to herself," he said
with cutting irony, retreating from her in the direction of the
lake.</p>

<p>She threw out her arms.</p>

<p>"Tristan&mdash;Tristan&mdash;forgive me! Come back&mdash;I am
not myself."</p>

<p>He paused.</p>

<p>"And were you Aphrodite, I should spurn your love,&mdash;I
should refuse to kiss the lips, which a slave, a churl has
defiled."</p>

<p>"You spurn me," she laughed deliriously. "Perchance,
you are right. And yet," she added in a sadder tone, "how
often does fate but grant us the dream and destroy the
reality. Go&mdash;ere I forget, and do what I may repent of.
Go! My brain is on fire. I know not what I am saying.
Go!"</p>

<p>As Tristan turned without response, a gleam of deadly
hatred shone from her eyes. For a long time she stood
motionless by the kiosk, staring as one in a trance down the
long cypress avenue, whose shadows had swallowed up
Tristan's retreating form.</p>

<p>The spectral rays of the moon broke here and there
through the dense, leafy canopy, and dream-like the distant
sounds of harps and flutes were wafted through the stillness
of the starlit southern night.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IXc" id="CHAPTER_IXc">CHAPTER IX</a><br />

THE NET OF THE FOWLER</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The appearance of Basil who
had emerged from the kiosk
and regarded Theodora with a
look in his pale, passion distorted
features that seemed to
light up recesses in his own
heart and soul which he himself
had never fathomed, caused the
woman to turn. But she looked
at the man with an almost unknowing
stare. Notwithstanding a self-control which she
rarely lost, she had not found herself. The incredible had
happened. When she seemed absolutely sure of the man,
he had denied her. Her ruse had been her undoing. For
Hellayne's presence had been neither accidental, nor had
Hellayne herself brought it about. The messenger who had
summoned Tristan had skillfully absolved both commissions.
He was to have brought the woman to the tryst, that she might,
with her own eyes, witness her rival's triumph. In her flight
she had vanquished Theodora.</p>

<p>Stealthily as a snake moves in the grass, Basil came nearer
and nearer. When he had reached Theodora's side he took
the white hand and raised it, unresisting, to his lips. His eyes
sought those of the woman, but a moment or two elapsed ere
she seemed even to note his presence.</p>

<p>He bent low. There was love, passion, adoration in his
eyes and there was more. Theodora had over-acted her
part. He had seen the fire in her eyes and he knew. It was
more than the determination to make Tristan pliable to her
desires in the great hour when she was to enter Castel San
Angelo as mistress of Rome. He saw the abyss that yawned
at his own feet, and in that moment two resolves had shaped
themselves in Basil's mind, shadowy, but gaining definite
shape with each passing moment, and, while his fevered lips
touched Theodora's hand, all the evil passions in his nature
leaped into his brain.</p>

<p>Suddenly Theodora, glancing down at him, as if she for the
first time noted his presence, spoke.</p>

<p>"Acknowledge, my lord, that I have attained my ends!
For, had it not been for the appearance of that woman, I
should have conquered&mdash;ay&mdash;conquered beyond a doubt."</p>

<p>But when she looked at him she hardly recognized in him
the man she knew, so terribly had rage and jealousy distorted
his countenance.</p>

<p>"How can I gainsay that you have conquered, fairest Theodora,"
he said, "when I heard the soft accents of your endearments
and your panting breath, as you drowned his soul in
fiery kisses? 'Tis but another poor fool swallowed up in the
unsatisfied whirlpool of your desires, another victim marked
for the holocaust that is to be. But why did the Lady Theodora
cry out and bring the tender love scene to a close all
unfinished?"</p>

<p>"By pale Hekaté, I had almost forgot the woman! Why
did I permit her to go without strangling her on the spot?"
she cried, the growing anger which the man's speech had
aroused, brought to white heat in the reminder.</p>

<p>"The honor of being strangled by the fair hands of the
Lady Theodora may be great," sneered Basil. "Yet I question
if the Lady Hellayne would submit without a struggle
even to so fair an opponent."</p>

<p>"Why do you taunt me?" Theodora flashed.</p>

<p>"Why?" he cried. "Because I witnessed another reaping
the fruit of the deeds I have sown&mdash;another stealing from me
the love of the woman I have possessed,&mdash;one, too, held in
silken bondage by another's wife. Rather would I plunge
this knife into my own heart and&mdash;"</p>

<p>Theodora's bosom heaved convulsively.</p>

<p>"Put up your dagger, my lord," she said, with a wave of
her hand. "For, ere long, it shall drink its fill. Strange it is
that I&mdash;the like of whose beauty, as they tell me, is not on
earth&mdash;should be conquered by a woman from the North&mdash;that
the fires of the South should be quenched by Northern
ice. I could almost wish that matters had run differently
between her and myself, for she is brave, else had she not
faced me as she did."</p>

<p>"What else can you look for, Lady Theodora, from one
sprung from such a race?" replied the man sullenly. "I
tell you, Lady Theodora, if you do not ward yourself against
her, she will vanquish you utterly, body and soul."</p>

<p>"The future shall decide between us. I am still Theodora,
and it will go hard with you, if you interpret my will according
to your own desires. I foresee that we shall have need of all
our resources when the hour tolls that shall see Theodora set
upon the throne that is her own, and then&mdash;let deeds speak,
not words."</p>

<p>"Since when have you found occasion to doubt the sureness
of my blade, Lady Theodora?" answered Basil, a dark
look in his furtive eyes.</p>

<p>"Peace, my lord!" interposed Theodora. "Why do you
raise up the ghost of that which has been between us? Bury
the past, for the last throw that is in the hands of destiny
ends the game which has been played round this city of Rome
these many weary days."</p>

<p>"And had you, Theodora, of a truth won over this Tristan,"
came the dark reply, "so that one hour's delight in your arms
would have caused him to forget the world about him&mdash;what
of me who has given to you the love, the devotion of a slave?"</p>

<p>At the words Theodora flung wide her shimmering arms
and cried:</p>

<p>"I tell you, my lord, that as I hold you and every man
captive on whom my charms have fallen, so shall I hold in
chains the soul of this Tristan, even though he resist&mdash;to
the last."</p>

<p>"Full well do I know the potency of your spell," answered
Basil with lowering eyes, "and, I doubt me, if such is the case.
Nevertheless, I warn you, Lady Theodora, not to place too
great a share of this desperate venture on the shoulders of
one you have never proved."</p>

<p>A contemptuous smile curved Theodora's lips as she rose
from her seat. With a single sweep her draperies fell from
her like mist from a snow-clad peak, and for the space of a
moment there was silence, broken only by Basil's panting
breath. At last Theodora spoke.</p>

<p>"Man's honor is so much chaff for the burning, when the
darts of love pierce his brain. With beauty's weapons I have
fought before, and once again the victory shall be mine!"</p>

<p>There was an ominous light in Basil's eyes.</p>

<p>"Beware, lest the victory be not purchased with the blood
of one whom your fickleness has chosen to sit in the empty
seat of the discarded. At the bidding of a mad passion have
you been defeated."</p>

<p>A flood of words surged irresistibly to Basil's lips, but at
the sight of Theodora's set face the words froze in the utterance.
But when the woman stared into space, her face
showing no sign that she had even heard his speech, he continued:</p>

<p>"And when you are stretched out on a bed of torment and
call for death to ease your pain, let the bitterest pang be that,
had you enlisted my blade and cherished the devotion I bore
you, this night's work would have set the seal of victory on
our perilous venture."</p>

<p>"Blinded I have been," said Theodora, a strange light
leaping to her eyes, "to all the devotion which now I begin to
fathom more clearly. Answer me then, my lord! Is it only
to slake the pangs of mad jealousy that you taunt me with
words which no man has dared to speak&mdash;and live?"</p>

<p>The sheen of a drawn dagger flashed above his head.
Basil faced the death that lurked in Theodora's uplifted arm
and he replied in an unmoved voice:</p>

<p>"Lady Theodora, if you harbor one single doubt in your
mind of him who has worked your will on those you consigned
to their doom and laid their proud heads low in the dust of
the grave, let your blade descend and quit me according to
what I have deserved. Nay&mdash;Lady Theodora," he continued,
as her white arm still hovered tense above him, "it is
quite evident your love I never had, your trust I have lost!
Therefore send my soul to the dim realms of the underworld,
for I have no longer any desire for life."</p>

<p>He was gazing up at her with eyes full of passionate devotion,
when of a sudden the blade dropped from her grasp,
tinkling on the stone beneath, and, burying her face in her
hands, Theodora burst into an agony of tears that shook her
form with piteous sobbing.</p>

<p>"By all the saints, dear lady, weep not," Basil pleaded,
placing gentle hands upon her shoulders. "Rather let your
dagger do its work and drink my blood, than that grief should
thus undo you."</p>

<p>"Truly had some evil spirit entered into me," she spoke
at length in broken accents, "else had I not so madly suspected
one whose devotion to me has never wavered. Can
you forgive me, my lord, most trusted and doubted of my
friends?"</p>

<p>With a fierce outcry the man cast himself at her feet, and,
bending low, kissed her hands, while, in tones, hoarse with
passion, he stammered:</p>

<p>"Let me then prove my love, Lady Theodora, most beautiful
of all women on earth! Set the task! Show me how to
win back that which I have lost! Let me become your utter
slave."</p>

<p>And, so saying, he swept the unresisting woman into his
grasp, and as her body lay motionless against his breast the
sight of her lips so close to his own sent the hot blood hurtling
through his fevered brain.</p>

<p>Theodora shuddered in his embrace.</p>

<p>He kissed her, again and again, and her wet lips roused in
him all the demoniacal passions of his nature.</p>

<p>"Speak," he stammered, "what must I do to prove to you
the love which is in my heart&mdash;the passion that burns my
soul to crisp, as the fires of hell the souls of the damned?"</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes were closed, as if she hesitated to speak
the words that her lips had framed. He, Tristan, had brought
her to this pass. He had denied, insulted her, he had made
a mock of her in the eyes of this man, who was kneeling at
her feet, bond slave of his passions. By his side no task
would have seemed too great of accomplishment. And whatever
the fruits of her plotting he was to have shared them.
How she hated him; and how she hated that woman who had
come between them. As for him whose stammering words
of love tumbled from his drunken lips, Theodora could have
driven her poniard through his heart without wincing in the
act.</p>

<p>"If you love me then, as you say," she whispered at last,
"revenge me on him who has put this slight upon me!"</p>

<p>A baleful light shone in Basil's eyes.</p>

<p>"He dies this very night."</p>

<p>She raised her hands with a shudder.</p>

<p>"No&mdash;no! Not a quick death! He would die as another
changes his garment&mdash;with a smile.&mdash;No! Not a quick
death! Let him live, but wish he were dead a thousand
times. Strike him through his honor. Strike him through
the woman he loves."</p>

<p>For a pace Basil was silent. Could Theodora have read his
thoughts at this moment the weapon would not have dropped
from her nerveless grasp.</p>

<p>"Ah!" he said, and a film seemed to pass over his eyes in
the utterance. "There is nothing that shall be left undone&mdash;through
his honor&mdash;through the woman he loves."</p>

<p>She utterly abandoned herself to him now, suffering his
endearments and kisses like a thing of stone and thereby
rousing his passions to their highest pitch. She could have
strangled him like a poisonous reptile that defiled her body,
but, after having suffered his embrace for a time, she suddenly
shook herself free of him.</p>

<p>"My lord&mdash;what of our plans? How much longer must
I wait ere the clarions announce to Rome that the Emperor's
Tomb harbors a new mistress? What of Alberic? What of
Hassan Abdullah, the Saracen?"</p>

<p>Basil was regarding her with a mixture of savage passion,
doubt, incredulity and something like fear.</p>

<p>"The death-hounds are on Alberic's scent," he said at
last, with an effort to steady his voice, and hold in leash his
feelings, which threatened to master him, as his eyes devoured
the woman's beauty.&mdash;"Hassan Abdullah is even now in
Rome."</p>

<p>"Can we rely upon him and his Saracens when the hour
tolls that shall see Theodora mistress of Rome?"</p>

<p>"Weighing a sack of gold against the infidel's treachery,
it is safe to predict that the scales will tip in favor of the bribe&mdash;so
it be large enough."</p>

<p>"Be lavish with him, and if his heart be set on other matters&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused, regarding the man with an inscrutable look.
Shrewd as he was, he caught not its meaning.</p>

<p>"Why not entrust to his care the Lady Hellayne?"</p>

<p>The devilish suggestion seemed to find not as enthusiastic
a reception as she had anticipated.</p>

<p>"After having seen the Lady Theodora," Basil said, his
eyes avoiding those of the woman, "I fear the Lady Hellayne
will appear poor in Hassan Abdullah's eyes."</p>

<p>Theodora had grown pensive.</p>

<p>"I do not think so. To me she seemed like a snow-capped
volcano. All ice without, all fire within. Perchance I should
bow to your better judgment, my lord, and perchance to
Hassan Abdullah's, whose good taste in preferring the Lady
Theodora cannot be gainsaid. But, our guests are becoming
impatient. Take me to the palace."</p>

<p>Basil barred the woman's way.</p>

<p>"And when you have reached the summit of your desire,
will you remember certain nuptials consummated in a certain
chamber in the Emperor's Tomb, between two placed as we
are and mated as we?"</p>

<p>Theodora's lips curved in one of those rare smiles which
brought him to whom she gave it to her feet, her abject slave.</p>

<p>"I shall remember, my lord," she said, and, linking her
arm in his, they strode towards the palace.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Xc" id="CHAPTER_Xc">CHAPTER X</a><br />

DEVIL WORSHIP</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The dawn of the following day
brought in its wake consternation
and terror. From the
churches of the two Egyptian
Martyrs, Sts. Cosmas and
Damian, the Holy Host had
been taken during the preceding
night. Frightened beyond
measure, the ministering priests
had suffered the terrible secret
to leak out, and this circumstance, coupled with the unexplained
absence of the Senator, the tardiness of the Prefect
to start his investigations, and the captivity of the Pontiff,
threw the Romans into a panic. It was impossible to guard
every church in Rome against a similar outrage, as the guards
of the Senator were inadequate in number, and, consisting
chiefly of foreign elements, could not be relied upon.</p>

<p>The early hours of the morning found Tristan in the hermitage
of Odo of Cluny. To him he confided the incidents
of the night and his adventure in the Catacombs. To him he
also imparted the terrible discovery he had made.</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny listened in silence, his face betraying no sign
of the emotion he felt. When Tristan had concluded his
account he regarded him long and earnestly.</p>

<p>"I, too, have long known that all is not well, that there is
something brewing in this witches' cauldron which may not
stand the light of day.&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But what is it?" cried Tristan. "Tell me, Father, for a
great fear as of some horrible danger is upon me; a fear I
cannot define and which yet will not leave me."</p>

<p>Odo's face was calm and grave. The Benedictine monk
had been listening intently, but with a detached interest, as
to some tale which, even if it concerned himself, could not
in the least disturb his equanimity. With his supernormal
quickness of perception he knew at once the powers with
which he had to cope. Tristan had told him of the devilish
face in the panel during the night of his first watch at the
Lateran.</p>

<p>"The powers of Evil at work are so great that only a miracle
from heaven can save us," he said at last. "Listen well,
and lose not a word of what I am about to say. Have you
ever heard of one Mani, who lived in Babylonia some seven
hundred years ago and founded a religion in which he professed
to blend the teachings of Christ with the cult of the
old Persian Magi?"</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response. Tristan's face was
tense with anxiety. Odo continued:</p>

<p>"According to his teachings there exist two kingdoms:
the kingdom of Light and the kingdom of Darkness. Light
represents the beneficent primal spirit: God. Darkness is
likewise a spiritual kingdom: Satan and his demons were
born from the kingdom of Darkness. These two kingdoms
have stood opposed to each other from all eternity&mdash;touching
each other's boundaries, yet remaining unmingled. At last
Satan began to rage and made an incursion into the kingdom
of Light. Now, the God of Light begat the primal man and
sent him, equipped with the five pure elements, to fight against
Satan. But the latter proved himself the stronger, and the
primal man was, for the time, vanquished. In time the cult
of the Manichæans spread. The seat of the Manichæan
pope was for centuries at Samarkand. From there, defying
persecutions, the sect spread, and obtained a foothold in
northern Africa at the time of St. Augustine. Thence it slowly
invaded Italy."</p>

<p>Tristan listened with deep attention.</p>

<p>"The original creed had meanwhile been split up into
numerous sects," Odo of Cluny continued. "The followers
of Mani believed there were two Gods,&mdash;the one of Light,
the other of Darkness, both equally powerful in their separate
kingdoms. But lately one by the name of Bogumil proclaims
that God never created the world, that Christ had not an
actual body, that he neither could have been born, nor that
he died, that our bodies are evil, a foul excrescence, as it
were, of the evil principle. Maintaining that God had two
sons&mdash;Satan the older and Christ the younger&mdash;they refuse
homage to the latter, Regent of the Celestial World, and worship
Lucifer. And they hold meetings and perform diabolical
ceremonies, in which they make wafers of ashes and drink
the blood of a goat, which their devil-priests administer to
them in communion."</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny paused and took a long breath, fixing Tristan
with his dark eyes. And when Tristan, stark with horror,
dared not trust himself to speak, Odo concluded:</p>

<p>"This is the peril that confronts us! And Holy Church
is without a head, and the cardinals cannot cope with the terrible
scourge. It is this you saw, my son, and, had your presence
been discovered, you would never again have greeted
the light of day."</p>

<p>At last Tristan found his tongue.</p>

<p>"God forbid that there should be such a thing, that men
should worship the Fiend."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless they do," Odo replied, "and other things
too awful for mortal mind to credit."</p>

<p>The perspiration came out on Tristan's brow. Although
he was prepared for matters of infinite moment and knew
that this interview might well be one of the decisive moments
of his life, he yet possessed the detached attitude of mind
which was curious of strange learning and information, even
in a crisis.</p>

<p>"And you have known this, Father?" he said at last, "and
you have done nothing to check the evil?"</p>

<p>"We are living in evil times, my son," Odo replied. "I
have long known of the existence of this black heresy, which
has slowly spread its baleful cult, until it has reached our very
shores. But that they would dare to establish themselves in
the city of the Apostle, this I was not prepared to accept, until
the terrible crime at the Lateran removed the last doubt.
And now I know that the foul thing has obtained a footing
here, and more than that, I know that some high in power
are affiliated with this society of Satan, that would establish
the reign of Lucifer among the Seven Hills. Did you not
tell me, my son, of one, terrible of aspect, who peered through
the panel in the Capella Palatina on the night of that first
and most horrible outrage?"</p>

<p>"One who looked as the Fiend might look, did he assume
human guise," Tristan confirmed with a nod.</p>

<p>"The high priest of Satan," Odo returned, "a familiar of
black magic&mdash;the most terrible of all heinous crimes against
Holy Church. A wave of crime is rolling its crimson tide
over the Eternal City such as the annals of the Church have
never recorded. It started in the reign of Marozia, and
Theodora is leagued with the fiend, as was her sister before
her."</p>

<p>Odo paused for a moment, breathing deep, while Tristan
listened spellbound.</p>

<p>"Have you ever pondered," he continued with slow emphasis,
"why the Lord Alberic entrusted to you, a stranger, so
important a post as the command of the Emperor's Tomb?
That there may be one he does not trust and who that one
may be?"</p>

<p>Tristan gave a start.</p>

<p>"There is one I do not trust&mdash;one who seems to wrap
himself in a poison mist of evil&mdash;the Lord Basil."</p>

<p>"Be wary and circumspect. Has he of late come to the
Tomb?"</p>

<p>"Three days ago&mdash;in company with a stranger from the
North&mdash;one I may not meet and again look upon heaven."</p>

<p>"The woman's husband?" Odo queried with a penetrating
glance.</p>

<p>Tristan colored.</p>

<p>"How these two met I cannot fathom."</p>

<p>"Remember one thing, my son, their alliance portends evil
to some one. What did they in the crypts?"</p>

<p>"The Lord Basil seems to have taken a fancy to exploring
the cells," Tristan replied. "Those who have followed him
report that he holds strange converse with the ghost of some
mad monk whom he starved into eternity."</p>

<p>"And this converse&mdash;what is its subject?" Odo queried
with awakening interest.</p>

<p>"A prophecy and a woman," Tristan replied. "Though
those who heard them were so terror stricken at their infectious
madness that they fled&mdash;not daring to tarry longer lest
they would find themselves in the clutches of the fiend."</p>

<p>"A prophecy and a woman," Odo repeated pensively.
"The Lord Alberic has confided much in me&mdash;his fears&mdash;his
doubts! For even he knows not, how his mother came to
her untimely end."</p>

<p>"The Lady Marozia?"</p>

<p>"The tale is known to you?"</p>

<p>"Rumors&mdash;flimsy&mdash;intangible&mdash;"</p>

<p>"One night she was mysteriously strangled. The Lord
Alberic was almost beside himself. But the mystery remained
unsolved."</p>

<p>After a pause Odo continued:</p>

<p>"I, too, have not been idle. We must lull them in security!
We must appear utterly paralyzed. Our terror will increase
their boldness. Their ultimate object is still hidden. We
must be wary. The Lord Alberic must be informed. We
must spike the bait."</p>

<p>"I have despatched a trusty messenger in the guise of a
peasant to the shrine of the Archangel," Tristan interposed.</p>

<p>"God grant that he arrive not too late," Odo replied.
"And now, my son, listen to my words. A great soul and a
stout heart must he have who sets himself to such a task as
is before you! We are surrounded by the very fiends of
Hell in human guise. Speak to no one of what you have
seen. If you are in need of counsel, come to me!"</p>

<p>Odo raised his hands, pronouncing a silent blessing over
the kneeling visitor and Tristan departed, dazed and trembling,
wide-eyed and with pallid lips.</p>

<p>As he passed Mount Aventine the dark-robed form of a
hunchback suddenly rose like a ghost from the ground beside
him and, approaching Tristan, muttered some words in an
unintelligible jargon. Believing he was dealing with a beggar,
Tristan was about to dismiss the ill-favored gnome with a
gift, which the latter refused, motioning to Tristan to incline
his ear.</p>

<p>With an ill-concealed gesture of impatience Tristan complied,
but his strange interlocutor had hardly delivered himself
of his message when Tristan recoiled as if he had seen a snake
in the grass before him, every vestige of color fading from his
face.</p>

<p>"At the Lateran?" he chokingly replied to the whispered
confidence of the hunchback.</p>

<p>The latter nodded.</p>

<p>"At the Lateran."</p>

<p>Ere Tristan could recover from his surprise, his informant
had disappeared among the ruins.</p>

<p>For some time he stood as if rooted to the spot.</p>

<p>It was too monstrous&mdash;too unbelievable and yet&mdash;what
could prompt his informant to invent so terrible a tale?</p>

<p>At midnight, two nights hence, the consecrated wafer was
to be taken from the tabernacle in the Lateran!</p>

<p>Perchance he had spoken even to one of the sect who had,
at the last moment, repented of his share in the contemplated
outrage.</p>

<p>If it were granted to him to deliver Rome and the world from
this terror! A strange fire gleamed in his eyes as he returned
to Castel San Angelo.</p>

<p>Himself, he would keep the watch at the Lateran and foil
the plot.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIc" id="CHAPTER_XIc">CHAPTER XI</a><br />

BY LETHE'S SHORES</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_b.png" width="100" height="94" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Basil the Grand Chamberlain
was giving one of his renowned
feasts in his villa on the Pincian
Mount. But on this evening he
had limited the number of his
guests to two score. On his
right sat Roger de Laval, the
guest of honor, on his left the
Lady Hellayne. Over the company
stretched a canopy of cloth
of gold. The chairs were of gilt bronze, their arms were
carved in elaborate arabesques. The dishes were of gold;
the cups inlaid with jewels. There was gayety and laughter.
Far into the night they caroused.</p>

<p>Hellayne's face was the only apprehensive one at the board.
She was pale and worn, and her countenance betrayed her
reluctance to be present at a feast into the spirit of which she
could not enter. She was dimly conscious of the fact that
Basil devoured her with his eyes and her lord seemed to find
more suited entertainment with the other women who were
present than with his own wife. Only by threats and coercion
had he prevailed upon her to attend the Grand Chamberlain's
banquet. With a brutality that was part of his coarse nature
he now left her to shift for herself, and she tolerated Basil's
unmistakable insinuations only from a sense of utter helplessness.</p>

<p>Her beauty had indeed aroused the host's passion to a
point where he threw caution to the winds. The exquisite
face, framed in a wealth of golden hair, the deep blue eyes,
the marble whiteness of the skin, the faultless contours of
her form&mdash;an ensemble utterly opposed to the darker Roman
type&mdash;had aroused in him desires which soon swept away
the thin veneer of dissimulation and filled Hellayne with a
secret dread which she endeavored to control. Her thoughts
were with the man by whom she believed herself betrayed,
and while life seemed to hold nothing that would repay her
for enduring any longer the secret agonies that overwhelmed
her, it was to guard her honor that her wits were sharpened
and, believing in the adage that danger, when bravely faced,
disappears, she entered, though with a heavy heart, into the
vagaries of Basil, but, like a premonition of evil, her dread
increased with every moment.</p>

<p>And now the host announced to his guests his intention of
leaving Rome on the morrow for his estate in the Rocca,
where an overpunctilious overseer demanded his presence.</p>

<p>Raising his goblet he pledged the beautiful wife of the
Count de Laval. It was a toast that was eagerly received and
responded to, and even Hellayne was forced to appear joyous,
for all that her heart was on the point of breaking.</p>

<p>She raised her goblet, a beautiful chased cup of gold, in
acknowledgment. But she did not see the ill-omened smile
that flitted over the thin lips of Basil, and she wished for
Tristan as she had never wished for him before.</p>

<p>After a time the guests quitted the banquet hall for the
moonlit garden, and Basil's attentions became more and
more insistent. It was in vain Hellayne's eyes strained for
her lord. He was not to be found.&mdash;</p>

<p>It was on the following morning when the horrible news
aroused the Romans that the young wife of the strange lord
from Provence had, during the night, suddenly died at the
banquet of the Grand Chamberlain. From a friar whom he
chanced to pass on his way to the Lateran Tristan received
the first news.</p>

<p>Fra Geronimo's face was white as death, and his limbs
shook as with a palsy. He had been the confessor of the
Lady Hellayne, the only visitor allowed to come near her.</p>

<p>"Have you heard the tidings?" he cried in a quavering
voice, on beholding Tristan.</p>

<p>"What tidings?" Tristan returned, struck by the horror in
the friar's face.</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne is dead!" he said with a sob.</p>

<p>Tristan stared at him as if a thunderbolt had cleft the
ground beside him. For a moment he seemed bereft of
understanding.</p>

<p>"Dead?" he gasped with a choking sensation. "What
is it you say?"</p>

<p>"Well may you doubt your ears," the friar sobbed. "But
Mater Sanctissima, it is the truth! Madonna Hellayne is
dead. They found her dead&mdash;early this morning&mdash;in the
vineyard of the Lord Basil."</p>

<p>"In the vineyard of the Lord Basil?" came back the echo
from Tristan's lips.</p>

<p>"There was a feast, lasting well into the night. The Lady
Hellayne took suddenly ill. They fetched a mediciner. When
he arrived it was all over."</p>

<p>"God of Heaven! Where is she now?"</p>

<p>"They conveyed her to the palace of the Lord Laval, to
prepare her for interment."</p>

<p>Without a word Tristan started to break away from the
friar, his head in a whirl, his senses benumbed. The latter
caught him betime.</p>

<p>"What would you do?"</p>

<p>Tristan stared at him as one suddenly gone mad.</p>

<p>"I will see her."</p>

<p>"It is impossible!" the friar replied. "You cannot see
her."</p>

<p>From Tristan's eyes came a glare that would have daunted
many a one of greater physical prowess than his informant.</p>

<p>"Cannot? Who is to prevent me?"</p>

<p>"The man whom fate gave her for mate," replied the friar.</p>

<p>"That dog&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A brawl in the presence of death? Would you thus dishonor
her memory? Would she wish it so?"</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan stared at the man before him as if
he heard some message from afar, the meaning of which he
but faintly guessed.</p>

<p>Then a blinding rush of tears came to his eyes. He
shook with the agony of his grief regardless of those who
passed and paused and wondered, while the friar's words of
comfort and solace fell on unmindful ears.</p>

<p>At last, heedless of his companion, heedless of his surroundings,
heedless of everything, he rushed away to seek
solitude, where he would not see a human face, not hear a
human voice.</p>

<p>He must be alone with his grief, alone with his Maker. It
seemed to him he was going mad. It was all too monstrous,
too terrible, too unbelievable.</p>

<p>How was it possible that one so young, so strong, so beautiful,
should die?</p>

<p>Friar Geronimo knew not. But his gaze had caused Tristan
to shiver as in an ague.</p>

<p>He remembered the discourse of Basil and his companion
in the galleries of the Emperor's Tomb.</p>

<p>Twice was he on the point of warning Hellayne not to
attend Basil's banquet.</p>

<p>Each time something had intervened. The warning had
remained unspoken.</p>

<p>Would she have heeded it?</p>

<p>He gave a groan of anguish.</p>

<p>Hellayne was dead! That was the one all absorbing fact
which had taken possession of him, blotting out every other
thought, every other consideration.</p>

<p>She was dead&mdash;dead&mdash;dead! The hideous phrase
boomed again and again through his distracted mind. Compared
with that overwhelming catastrophe what signified the
Hour, the Why and the When. She was dead&mdash;dead&mdash;dead!</p>

<p>For hours he sat alone in the solitudes of Mount Aventine,
where no prying eyes would witness his grief. And the
storm which had arisen and swept the Seven Hilled City with
the vehemence of a tropical hurricane seemed but a feeble
echo of the tempest that raged within his soul.</p>

<p>She was dead&mdash;dead&mdash;dead. The waves of the Tiber
seemed to shout it as they leapt up and dashed their foam
against the rocky declivities of the Mount of Cloisters. The
wind seemed now to moan it piteously, now to shriek it
fiercely, as it scudded by, wrapping its invisible coils about
him and seeming intent on tearing him from his resting place.</p>

<p>Towards evening he rose and, skirting the heights, descended
into the city, dishevelled and bedraggled, yet caring
nothing what spectacle he might afford. And presently a
grim procession overtook the solitary rambler, and at the
sight of the black, cowled and visored forms that advanced
in the lurid light of the waxen tapers, Tristan knelt in the
street with head bowed till her body had been borne past.
No one heeded him. They carried her to the church of Santa
Maria in Cosmedin, and thither he followed presently, and,
in the shadow of one of the pillars of the aisle, he crouched,
while the monks chanted the funeral psalms.</p>

<p>The singing ended the friars departed, and those who had
formed the cortege began to leave the church. In an hour
he was alone, alone with the beloved dead, and there on his
knees he remained, and no one knew whether, during that
horrid hour, he prayed or blasphemed.</p>

<p>It may have been toward the third hour of the night when
Tristan staggered up, stiff and cramped, from the cold stone.
Slowly, in a half-dazed condition, he walked down the aisle
and gained the door of the church. He tried to open it, but
it resisted his efforts, and he realized it was locked for the
night.</p>

<p>The appreciation of his position afforded him not the
slightest dismay. On the contrary, his feelings were rather
of relief. At least there was none other to share his grief!
He had not known whither he should repair, so distracted was
his mind, and now chance or fate had settled the matter for
him by decreeing that he should remain.</p>

<p>Tristan turned and slowly paced back, until he stood
beside the great, black catafalque, at each corner of which a
tall wax taper was burning. His steps rang with a hollow
sound through the vast, gloomy spaces of the cold and empty
church. But these were not matters to occupy his mind in
such a season, no more than the damp, chill air which permeated
every nook and corner. Of all of these he remained
unconscious in the absorbing anguish that possessed his soul.</p>

<p>Near the foot of the bier there was a bench, and there he
took his seat and, resting his elbows on his knees, took his
dishevelled head between his trembling hands. His thoughts
were all of her whose poor, murdered clay lay encased above
him. In turn he reviewed each scene of his life where it had
touched upon her own. He evoked every word she had
spoken to him since they had again met on that memorable
night.</p>

<p>Thus he sat, clenching his hands and torturing his dull inert
brain while the night wore slowly on. Later a still more
frenzied mood obsessed him, a burning desire to look once
more upon the sweet face he had loved so well. What was
there to prevent him? Who was there to gainsay him?</p>

<p>He arose and uttered aloud the challenge in his madness.
His voice echoed mournfully along the aisles and the sound
of the echoes chilled him, though his purpose gathered
strength.</p>

<p>Tristan advanced, and, after a moment's pause, with the
silver embroidered hem of the pall in his hands, suddenly
swept off that mantle of black cloth, setting up such a gust of
wind as all but quenched the tapers. He caught up the
bench upon which he had been sitting and, dragging it forward,
mounted it and stood, his chest on a level with the
coffin lid. His trembling hands fumbled along its surface.
He found it unfastened. Without thought or care how he
went about the thing, he raised it and let it crash to the
ground. It fell on the stone flags with a noise like thunder,
booming and reverberating through the gloomy vaults.</p>

<p>A form all in purest white lay there beneath his gaze, the
face covered by a white veil. With deepest reverence, and
a prayer to her departed soul to forgive the desecration of his
loving hands, he tremblingly drew the veil aside.</p>

<p>How beautiful she was in the calm peace of death! She
lay there like one gently sleeping, the faintest smile upon her
lips, and, as he gazed, it was hard to believe that she was
truly dead. Her lips had lost nothing of their natural color.
They were as red as he had ever seen them in life.</p>

<p>How could this be?</p>

<p>The lips of the dead are wont to assume a livid hue.</p>

<p>Tristan stared for a moment, his awe and grief almost
effaced by the intensity of his wonder. This face, so ivory
pale, wore not the ashen aspect of one that would never wake
again. There was a warmth about that pallor. And then he
bit his nether lip until it bled, and it seemed a miracle that he
did not scream, seeing how overwrought were his senses.</p>

<p>For it had seemed to him that the draperies on her bosom
had slightly moved, in a gentle, almost imperceptible heave,
as if she breathed. He looked&mdash;and there it came again!</p>

<p>God! What madness had seized upon him, that his eyes
should so deceive him! It was the draught that stirred the
air about the church, and blew great shrouds of wax down
the taper's yellow sides. He manned himself to a more sober
mood and looked again.</p>

<p>And now his doubts were all dispelled. He knew that he
had mastered any errant fancy, and that his eyes were grown
wise and discriminating, and he knew, too, that she lived!
Her bosom slowly rose and fell; the color of her lips, the hue
of her cheek, confirmed the assurance that she breathed!</p>

<p>He paused a second to ponder. That morning her appearance
had been such that the mediciner had been deceived by
it and had pronounced her dead. Yet now there were signs
of life! What could it portend, but that the effects of a
poison were passing off and that she was recovering?</p>

<p>In the first wild excess of joy, that sent the blood tingling
and beating through his brain, his first impulse was to run
for help. Then Tristan bethought himself of the closed doors
and he realized that, no matter how loudly he shouted, no one
would hear him. He must succour her himself as best he
could, and meanwhile she must be protected from the chill
night air of the church, cold as the air of a tomb. He had his
cloak, a heavy serviceable garment, and, if more were needed,
there was the pall which he had removed, and which lay in a
heap about the legs of the bench.</p>

<p>Leaning forward Tristan slowly passed his hand under her
head and gently raised it. Then, slipping it downward, he
thrust his arm after it, until he had her round the waist in a
firm grip. Thus he raised her from the coffin, and the warmth
of her body on his arms, the ready bending of her limbs,
were so many added proofs that she lived.</p>

<p>Gently and reverently Tristan raised the supple form in
his arms, an intoxication of almost divine joy pervading him
as the prayers fell faster from his lips than they had ever
since he had recited them on his mother's knee. He laid her
on the bench, while he divested himself of the cloak.</p>

<p>Suddenly he paused and stood listening with bated breath.</p>

<p>Steps were approaching from without.</p>

<p>Tristan's first impulse was to rush towards the door,
shouting his tidings and imploring assistance. Then, a
sudden, almost instinctive dread caught and chilled him.
Who was it that came at such an hour? What would any
one seek in the church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin at dead
of night? Was the church indeed their goal, or were they
but chance passers-by?</p>

<p>That last question remained not long unanswered. The
steps came nearer. They paused before the door. Something
heavy was hurled against it. Then some one spoke.</p>

<p>"It is locked, Tebaldo! Get out your tools and force it!"</p>

<p>Tristan's wits were working at fever pace. It may have
been that he was swift of thought beyond any ordinary man,
or it may have been a flash of inspiration, or a conclusion to
which he leapt by instinct. But in that moment the whole
problematical plot was revealed to him. Poisoned forsooth
she had been, but by a drug that but produced for a time the
outward appearance of death, so truly simulated as even to
deceive the most learned of doctors. Tristan had heard of
such poisons, and here, in very truth, was one of them at
work. Some one, no doubt, intended secretly to bear her
off. And to-morrow, when men found a broken church door
and a violated bier, they would set the sacrilege down to
some wizard who had need of the body for his dark practices.</p>

<p>Tristan cursed himself in that dark hour. Had he but
peered earlier into her coffin while yet there might have been
time to save her. And now? The sweat stood out in beads
upon his brow. At that door there were, to judge by the
sound of their footsteps and voices, some five or six men.
For a weapon he had only his dagger. What could he do to
defend her? Basil's plans would suffer no defeat through his
discovery when to-morrow the sacrilege was revealed. His
own body, lying cold and stark beside the desolated bier,
would be but an incident in the work of profanation they
would find; an item that in no wise could modify the conclusion
at which they would naturally arrive.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIIc" id="CHAPTER_XIIc">CHAPTER XII</a><br />

THE DEATH WATCH</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">A strange and mysterious
thing is the working of terror
on the human mind. Some it
renders incapable of thought or
action, paralyzing their limbs
and stagnating the blood in
their veins; such creatures die
in anticipating death. Others,
under the stress of that grim
emotion have their wits preternaturally
sharpened. The instinct of self-preservation
assumes command and urges them to swift and feverish
action.</p>

<p>After a moment of terrible suspense Tristan's hands fell
limply beside him. At the next he was himself again. His
cheeks were livid, his lips bloodless. But his hands were
steady and his wits under control.</p>

<p>Concealment&mdash;concealment for Hellayne and himself&mdash;was
the thing that now imported, and no sooner was the
thought conceived than the means were devised. Slender
means they were, yet since they were the best the place
afforded, he must trust to them without demurring, and pray
to God that the intruders might lack the wit to search. And
with that fresh hope it came to him that he must find a way
as to make them believe that to search would be a waste of
effort.</p>

<p>The odds against him lay in the little time at his disposal.
Yet a little time there was. The door was stout, and those
outside might not resort to violent means to break it open
lest the noise arouse the street.</p>

<p>With what tools the sbirri were at work he could not guess,
but surely they must be such as to leave him but a few
moments. Already they had begun. He could distinguish
a crunching sound as of steel biting into wood.</p>

<p>Swiftly and silently Tristan set to work. Like a ghost he
glided round the coffin's side, where the lid was lying. He
raised it and, after he had deposited Hellayne on the ground,
mounted the bench and replaced it. Next he gathered up
the cumbrous pall and, mounting the bench once more, spread
it over the coffin. This way and that he pulled it, until it
appeared undisturbed as when he had entered.</p>

<p>What time he toiled, the half of his mind intent upon his
task, the other half was as intent upon the progress of the
workers at the door.</p>

<p>At last it was done. Tristan replaced the bench at the
foot of the catafalque and, gathering up the woman in his
arms, as though her weight had been that of a feather, he
bore her swiftly out of the radius of the four tapers into the
black, impenetrable gloom beyond. On he sped towards the
high altar, flying now as men fly in evil dreams, with the
sensation of an enemy upon them, and their progress a mere
stand still.</p>

<p>Thus he gained the chancel, stumbling against the railing
as he passed, and pausing for an instant, wondering whether
those outside had heard. But the grinding sound continued
and he breathed more freely. He mounted the altar stairs,
the distant light behind him feebly guiding him on, then he
ran round to the right and heaved a great sigh of relief upon
finding his hopes realized. The altar stood a pace or so
from the wall, and behind it there was just such a concealment
as he had hoped to find.</p>

<p>Tristan paused at the mouth of that black well, and even
as he paused something that gave out a metallic sound,
dropped at the far end of the church. Intuition informed
him that it was the lock which the miscreants had cut from
the door. He waited no longer, but like a deer scudding to
cover, plunged into the dark abyss.</p>

<p>Hellayne, wrapped in his cloak, as she was, he placed on
the ground, then crept forward on hands and knees and
thrust out his head, trusting to the darkness to conceal him.</p>

<p>He waited thus for a time, his heart beating almost audibly
in the intermittent silence, his head and face on fire with the
fever of sudden reaction.</p>

<p>From his point of vantage it was impossible for Tristan to
see the door that was hidden in the black gloom. Away in
the centre of the church, an island of light in that vast well
of blackness, stood the catafalque with its four waxen tapers.
Something creaked, and almost immediately he saw the
flames of those tapers bend toward him, beaten over by the
gust that smote them from the door. Thus he surmised that
Tebaldo and his men had entered. Their soft foot-fall, for
they were treading lightly now, succeeded, and at last they
took shape, shadowy at first, then clearly defined, as they
emerged within the circle of the light.</p>

<p>For a moment they stood in half whispered conversation,
their voices a mere boom of sound in which no words were
to be distinguished. Then Tristan saw Tebaldo step forward,
and by his side another he knew by his great height&mdash;Gamba,
the deposed captain. Tebaldo dragged away, even as Tristan
had done, the pall that hid the coffin. Next he seized
the bench and gave a brisk order to his men.</p>

<p>"Spread a cloth!"</p>

<p>In obedience to his command, the four who were with him
spread a cloak among them, each holding one of its corners.
Apparently they intended to carry away the dead body in
this manner.</p>

<p>The sbirro now mounted the bench and started to remove
the coffin lid, when a blasphemous cry of rage broke from
his lips that defied utterly the sanctity of the place.</p>

<p>"By the body of Christ! The coffin is empty!"&mdash;</p>

<p>It was the roar of an enraged beast and was succeeded by
a heavy crash, as he let fall the coffin lid. A second later a
second crash waked the midnight echoes of that silent place.</p>

<p>In a burst of maniacal fury he had hurled the coffin from
its trestles.</p>

<p>Then he leaped down from the bench and flung all caution
to the winds in the rage that possessed him.</p>

<p>"It is a trick of the devil," he shouted. "They have laid
a trap for us, and you have never even informed yourselves."</p>

<p>There was foam about the corners of his mouth, the veins
had swollen on his forehead, and from the mad bulging of
his eyes spoke fury and abject terror. Bully as Tebaldo was,
he could, on occasion, become a coward.</p>

<p>"Away!" he shouted to his men. "Look to your weapons!
Away!"</p>

<p>Gamba muttered something under his breath, words the
listener's ear could not catch. If it were a suggestion that
the church should be searched, ere they abandoned it! But
Tebaldo's answer speedily relieved his fears.</p>

<p>"I'll take no chances," he barked. "Let us go separately.
Myself first and do you follow and get clear of this quarter as
best you may."</p>

<p>Scarcely had the echoes of his footsteps died away, ere
the others followed in a rush, fearful of being caught in
some trap that was here laid for them, and restrained from
flying on the instant but by their still greater fear of their
master.</p>

<p>Thanking Heaven for this miraculous deliverance, and for
his own foresight in so arranging matters as to utterly mislead
the ravishers, Tristan now devoted his whole attention to
Hellayne. Her breathing had become deeper and more
regular, so that in all respects she resembled one sunk into
healthful slumber. He hoped she would waken before the
elapse of many moments, for to try to bear her away in his
arms would have been sheer madness. And now it occurred
to him that he should have restoratives ready for the time of
her regaining consciousness. Inspiration suggested to him
the wine that should be stored in the sacristy for altar
purposes. It was unconsecrated, and there could be no sacrilege
in using it.</p>

<p>He crept round to the front of the altar. At the angle a
candle branch protruded at the height of his head. It held
some three or four tapers and was so placed as to enable the
priest to read his missal at early Mass on dark winter mornings.
Tristan plucked one of the candles from its socket and,
hastening down the church, lighted it from one of the burning
tapers of the bier. Screening it with his hand he retraced
his steps and regained the chancel. Then, turning to the
left, he made for a door which gave access to the sacristy.
It yielded and he passed down a short, stone flagged passage
and entered a spacious chamber beyond.</p>

<p>An oak settle was placed against one wall, and above it
hung an enormous, rudely carved crucifix. On a bench in a
corner stood a basin and ewer of metal, while a few vestments,
suspended beside these, completed the appointments of the
austere and white-washed chamber. Placing his candle on
a cupboard, he opened one of the drawers. It was full of
garments of different kinds, among which he noticed several
monks' habits. Tristan rummaged to the bottom, only to
find therein some odd pairs of sandals.</p>

<p>Disappointed, Tristan closed the drawer and tried another,
with no better fortune. Here were undervests of fine linen,
newly washed and fragrant with rosemary. He abandoned
the chest and gave his attention to the cupboard. It was
locked, but the key was there. Tristan's candle reflected a
blaze of gold and silver vessels, consecrated chalices, and
several richly carved ciboria of solid gold, set with precious
stones. But in a corner he discovered a dark brown, gourd-shaped
object. It was a skin of wine and, with a half-suppressed
cry of joy, he seized upon it.</p>

<p>At that moment a piercing scream rang through the stillness
of the church and startled him so that for some moments he
stood frozen with terror, a hundred wild conjectures leaping
into his brain.</p>

<p>Had the ruffians remained hidden in the church? Had
they returned? Did the screams imply that Hellayne had
been awakened by their hands?</p>

<p>A second time it came, and now it seemed to break the
hideous spell that its first utterance had cast over him.
Dropping the leathern bottle he sped back, down the stone
passage to the door that abutted on the church.</p>

<p>There, by the high altar, Tristan saw a form that seemed
at first but a phantom, in which he presently recognized
Hellayne, the dim rays of the distant tapers searching out
the white robe with which her limbs were draped. She was
alone, and he knew at once that it was but the natural fear
consequent upon awakening in such a place, that had evoked
the cry he had heard.</p>

<p>"Hellayne!" he called, advancing swiftly to reassure her.
"Hellayne!"</p>

<p>There was a gasp, a moment's silence.</p>

<p>"Tristan?" she cried questioningly. "What has
happened? Why am I here?"</p>

<p>He was beside her now and found her trembling like an
aspen.</p>

<p>"Something horrible has happened, my Hellayne," he
replied. "But it is over now, and the evil is averted."</p>

<p>"What is it?" she insisted, pale as death. "Why am I
here?"</p>

<p>"You shall learn presently."</p>

<p>He stooped, to gather up the cloak, which had slipped from
her shoulders.</p>

<p>"Do you wrap this about you," he urged, assisting her with
his own hands. "Are you faint, Hellayne?"</p>

<p>"I scarce know," she answered, in a frightened voice.
"There is a black horror upon me. Tell me," she implored
again, "Why am I here? What does it all mean?"</p>

<p>He drew her away now, promising to tell her everything
once she were out of these forbidding surroundings. He
assisted her to the sacristy and, seating her upon a settle,
produced the wine skin. At first she babbled like a child, of
not being thirsty, but he insisted.</p>

<p>"It is not a matter of quenching your thirst, dearest Hellayne.
The wine will warm and revive you! Come, dearest&mdash;drink!"</p>

<p>She obeyed him now, and having got the first gulp down
her throat, she took a long draught, which soon produced a
healthier color, driving the ashen pallor from her cheeks.</p>

<p>"I am cold, Tristan," she shuddered.</p>

<p>He turned to the drawer in which he had espied the monks'
habits and pulling one out, held it for her to put on. She sat
there now in that garment of coarse black cloth, the cowl
flung back upon her shoulder, the fairest postulant that ever
entered upon a novitiate.</p>

<p>"You are good to me, Tristan," she murmured plaintively,
"and I have used you very ill! You do not love that other
woman?" She paused, passing her hand across her brow.</p>

<p>"Only you, dearest&mdash;only you!"</p>

<p>"What is the hour?" she turned to him suddenly.</p>

<p>It was a matter he left unheeded. He bade her brace
herself, and take courage to listen to what he was about to
tell. He assured her that the horror of it all was passed and
that she had naught to fear.</p>

<p>"But&mdash;how came I here?" she cried. "I must have lain
in a swoon, for I remember nothing."</p>

<p>And then her quick mind, leaping to a reasonable conclusion,
and assisted perhaps by the memory of the shattered
catafalque which she had seen, her eyes dilating with a
curious affright as they were turned upon his own, she asked
of a sudden:</p>

<p>"Did you believe that I was dead?"</p>

<p>"Yes," he replied with an unnatural calm in his voice.
"Every one believed you were dead, Hellayne."</p>

<p>And with this he told her the entire story of what had
befallen, saving only his own part therein, nor did he try to
explain his own opportune presence in the church. When he
spoke of the coming of Tebaldo and his men she shuddered
and closed her eyes. Only after he had concluded his tale
did she turn them full upon him. Their brightness seemed
to increase, and now he saw that she was weeping.</p>

<p>"And you were there to save me, Tristan?" she murmured
brokenly. "Oh, Tristan, it seems that you are ever at hand
when I have need of you! You are, indeed, my one true
friend&mdash;the one true friend that never fails me!"</p>

<p>"Are you feeling stronger, Hellayne?" he asked abruptly.</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;I am stronger!"</p>

<p>She rose as if to test her strength.</p>

<p>"Indeed little ails me save the horror of this thing. The
thought of it seems to turn me sick and dizzy."</p>

<p>"Sit then and rest!" he enjoined. "Presently, when you
feel equal to it, we shall start out!"</p>

<p>"Whither shall we go?" she asked.</p>

<p>"Why&mdash;to the abode of your liege lord."</p>

<p>"Why&mdash;yes&mdash;" she answered at length, as though it had
been the last suggestion she had expected. "And when he
returns," she added, after a pause, "he will owe you no small
thanks for your solicitude on my behalf."</p>

<p>There was a pause. A hundred thoughts thronged Tristan's
mind.</p>

<p>Presently she spoke again.</p>

<p>"Tristan," she inquired very gently, "what was it that
brought you to the church?"</p>

<p>"I came with the others, Hellayne," he replied, and,
fearing such questions as might follow&mdash;questions he had
been dreading ever since he brought her to the sacristy, he
said:</p>

<p>"If you are recovered, we had better set out."</p>

<p>"I am not yet sufficiently recovered," she replied. "And,
before we go, there are a few points in this strange adventure
that I would have you make clear to me! Meanwhile we
are very well here! If the good fathers do come upon us,
what shall it signify?"&mdash;</p>

<p>Tristan groaned inwardly and grew more afraid than when
Basil's men had broken into the church an hour ago.</p>

<p>"What detained you after all had gone?"</p>

<p>"I remained to pray," he answered, with a sense of irritation
at her persistence. "What else was there to do in a
church?"</p>

<p>"To pray for me?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly."</p>

<p>"Dear, faithful heart," she murmured. "And I have used
you so cruelly. But you merited my cruelty&mdash;Tristan!
Say that you did, else must I perish of remorse."</p>

<p>"Perchance I deserved it," he replied. "But perchance
not so much as you bestowed, had you understood my motives,"
he said unguardedly.</p>

<p>"If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Ay&mdash;there
is much I do not understand! Even in this night's
business there are not wanting things that remain mysterious,
despite the elucidations you have supplied. Tell me, Tristan&mdash;what
was it that caused you to believe, that I still lived?"</p>

<p>"I did not believe it," he blundered like a fool, never
seeing whither her question led.</p>

<p>"You did not?" she cried, with deep surprise, and now,
when it was too late, he understood. "What was it then
that induced you, to lift the coffin lid?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"You ask me more than I can tell you," he answered
almost roughly, for fear lest the monks would come at any
moment.</p>

<p>She looked at him with eyes that were singularly luminous.</p>

<p>"But I must know," she insisted. "Have I not the
right? Tell me now! Was it that you wished to see my
face once more before they gave me over to the grave?"</p>

<p>"Perchance it was, Hellayne," he answered. Then he
suggested their going, but she never heeded his anxiety.</p>

<p>"Do you love me then so much, dearest Tristan?"</p>

<p>He swung round to her now, and he knew that his face was
white, whiter than the woman's had been when he had seen
her in the coffin. His eyes seemed to burn in their sockets.
A madness seized upon him and completely mastered him.
He had undergone so much that day of grief, and that night
the victim of a hundred emotions, that he no longer
controlled himself. As it was, her words robbed him of the last
lingering restraint.</p>

<p>"Love you?" he replied, in a voice that was unlike his
own. "You are dearer to me than all I have, all I am, all I
ever hope to be! You are the guardian angel of my existence,
the saint to whom I have turned mornings and evenings
in my prayers! I love you more than life!"</p>

<p>He paused, staggered by his own climax. The thought of
what he had said and what the consequences must be, rushed
suddenly upon him. He shivered as a man may shiver in
waking from a trance. He dropped upon his knees before
her.</p>

<p>"Forgive," he entreated. "Forgive&mdash;and forget!"</p>

<p>"Neither forgive nor forget will I," came her voice,
charged with an ineffable sweetness, such as he had never
before heard from her lips, and her hands lay softly on his
bowed head as if she would bless and soothe him. "I am
conscious of no offence that craves forgiveness, and what
you have said to me I would not forget if I could. Whence
springs this fear of yours, dear Tristan? Has not he to
whom I once bound myself in a thoughtless moment, he
who never understood, or cared to understand my nature,
he whose cruelty and neglect have made me what I am to-day,
lost every right, human or divine? Am I more than a woman
and are you less than a man that you should tremble for the
confession which, in a wild moment, I have dragged from
you? For that wild moment I shall be thankful to my life's
end, for your words have been the sweetest that my poor
ears have ever listened to. I count you the truest friend and
the noblest lover the world has ever known. Need it surprise
you then, that I love you, and that mine would be a
happy life if I might spend it in growing worthy of this noble
love of yours?"</p>

<p>There was a choking sensation in his throat and tears in
his eyes. Transport the blackest soul from among the
damned in Hell, wash it white of its sins and seat it upon
one of the glorious thrones of Heaven,&mdash;such were the
emotions that surged through his soul. At last he found his
tongue.</p>

<p>"Dearest," he said, "bethink yourself of what you say!
You are still his wife&mdash;and the Church grants no severance
of the bonds that have united two for better or worse."</p>

<p>"Then shall we see the Holy Father. He is just and he
will be merciful. Will you take me, Tristan, no matter to
what odd shifts a cruel Fortune may drive us? Will you take
me?"</p>

<p>She held his face between her palms and forced his eyes
to meet her eyes.</p>

<p>"Will you take me, Tristan?" she said again.</p>

<p>"Hellayne&mdash;"</p>

<p>It was all he could say.</p>

<p>Then a great sadness overwhelmed him, a tide that swept
the frail bark of happiness high and dry upon the shores of
black despair.</p>

<p>"To-morrow, Hellayne, you will be what you were yesterday."</p>

<p>"I have thought of that," she said, a slight flutter in her
tone. "But&mdash;Hellayne is dead.&mdash;We must so dispose that
they will let her rest in peace."&mdash;</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIIIc" id="CHAPTER_XIIIc">CHAPTER XIII</a><br />

THE CONVENT IN TRASTEVERE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_h.png" width="100" height="94" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">He stared at her speechless, so
taken was he with the immensity
of the thing she had suggested.
Fear, wonder, joy
seemed to contend for the
mastery.</p>

<p>"Why do you look at me so,
Tristan?" she said at last.
"What is it that daunts you?"</p>

<p>"But how is this thing possible?" he stammered, still in a state
of bewilderment.</p>

<p>"What difficulty does it present?" she returned. "The
Lord Basil himself has rendered very possible what I suggest.
We may look on him to-morrow as our best friend&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But Tebaldo knows," he interposed.</p>

<p>"True! Deem you, he will dare to tell the world what he
knows? He might be asked to tell how he came by his
knowledge. And that might prove a difficult question to
answer. Tell me, Tristan," she continued, "if he had
succeeded in carrying me away, what deem you would have
been said to-morrow in Rome when the coffin was found
empty?"&mdash;</p>

<p>"They would naturally assume that your body had been
stolen by some wizard or some daring doctor of anatomy."</p>

<p>"Ah! And if we were quietly to quit the church and be
clear of Rome before morning&mdash;would not the same be
said?"</p>

<p>He pondered a while, staggered by the immensity of the
risk, when suddenly a memory flashed through his mind that
left his limbs numb as if they had been paralyzed by a thunderbolt.</p>

<p>It was the night on which the terrible crime at the Lateran
was to be committed. Even now it could not be far from the
midnight hour. Did he dare, even for the consideration of
the greatest happiness which the world and life had to give,
to forego his duty towards the Church and the Senator of
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Rome?' with mismatched quote">Rome?</ins></p>

<p>Hellayne noted his hesitancy.</p>

<p>"Why do you waste precious moments, Tristan?" she
queried. "Is it that you do not love me enough?"</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response, and his eyes told her
more than words could have expressed.</p>

<p>At last he spoke.</p>

<p>"If I hesitate," he said, trying to avoid the real issue,
instead of stating it without circumlocution, "it is because I
would not have you do now of what, hereafter, you might
repent. I would not have you be misled by the impulse of a
moment into an act whose consequences must endure while
life endures."</p>

<p>"Is that the reasoning of love?" she said very quietly.
"Is this cold argument, this weighing of issues consistent
with the hot passion you professed so lately?"</p>

<p>"It is," he replied. "It is because I love you more than
I love myself, that I would have you ponder, ere you adventure
your life upon a broken raft such as mine. You are still
the wife of another."</p>

<p>"No!" she replied, her eyes preternaturally brilliant in the
intensity of her emotion. "Hellayne, the wife of Roger de
Laval, is dead&mdash;as dead to him, as if she in reality were
bedded in the coffin. Where is he? Where is the man who
should have been where you are, Tristan? I venture to say
his grief did not overburden him. He will find ready consolation
in the arms of another for the wife who was to him
but the plaything of his idle hours. He never loved me! He
even threatened to shut me up within convent walls for the
rest of my days if I did not return with him&mdash;his mistress,&mdash;his
wife but in a name, a thing to submit to his loathsome
kisses and caresses, while her soul is another's. He himself
and death, which perchance he himself decreed, have
severed bonds no persuasion would have tempted me to
break. Tristan, I am yours&mdash;take me."</p>

<p>She held out her beautiful arms.</p>

<p>He was in mortal torment.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, Hellayne, to-night of all nights it may not
be&mdash;" he stammered. "Listen, dearest&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Enough!" she silenced him, as she rose. She swept
towards him and, before he knew it, her hands were on his
shoulders, her face upturned, her blue eyes holding his own,
depriving him of will and resistance.</p>

<p>"Tristan," she said, and there was an intensity almost
fierce in her tones, "moments are fleeting, and you stand
there reasoning with me and bidding me weigh what already
is weighed for all time. Will you wait until escape is rendered
impossible, until we are discovered, before you will
decide to save me and to grasp with both hands the happiness
that is yours; this happiness that is not twice offered in a
lifetime?"</p>

<p>She was so close to him that he could almost feel the
beating of her heart. He was now as wax in her hands.
Forgotten were all considerations of rank and station. They
were just man and woman whose fates were linked together
irrevocably. Under the sway of an impulse he could not
resist, he kissed her upturned face, her lips, her eyes. Then
he broke from her clasp and, bracing himself for the task to
which they stood committed by that act, he said, the words
tumbling from his lips:</p>

<p>"Hellayne, we know not who is abroad to-night. We
know not what dangers are lurking in the shadows. Tebaldo
and his men may even now be scouring the streets of Rome
for a fugitive, and once in their power all the saints could not
save us from our doom. I know not the object of this plot
of which you were the victim, and even the Lord Roger may
be but the dupe of another. I will take you to the convent
of the Blessed Sisters of Santa Maria in Trastevere, that
you may dwell there in safety until I have ascertained that
all danger is past. You shall enter as my sister, trying to
escape the attention of an unwelcome suitor. But the thing
that chiefly exercises my mind now is how to make our escape
unobserved."</p>

<p>Hellayne nodded dreamily.</p>

<p>"I have thought of it already."</p>

<p>"You have thought of it?" he replied. "And of what
have you thought?"</p>

<p>For answer she stepped back a pace and drew the cowl of
the monk's habit over her head until her features were lost
in the shadows. Her meaning was clear to him at once.
With a cry of relief he turned to the drawer whence he had
taken the habit in which she was arrayed and, selecting
another, he hastily donned it above the garments he wore.</p>

<p>No sooner was it done than he caught her by the arm.</p>

<p>There was no time to be lost. Moments were flying.</p>

<p>If he should be too late at the Lateran!</p>

<p>"Come!" he said in an urgent voice.</p>

<p>At the first step she stumbled. The habit was so long
that it cumbered her feet. But that was a difficulty soon
overcome. Without regarding the omen, he cut with his
dagger a piece from the skirt, enough to leave her freedom
of movement and, this accomplished, they set out.</p>

<p>They crossed the church swiftly and silently, then entered
the porch, where he left her in order to peer out upon the
street. All was quiet. Rome was wrapt in sleep. From the
moon he gleaned it wanted less than an hour to midnight.</p>

<p>Drawing their cowls about their faces, they abandoned the
main streets, Tristan conducting his charge through narrow
alleys, deserted of the living. These lanes were dark and
steep, the moonlight being unable to penetrate the chasms
formed between the tall, ill-favored houses. They stumbled
frequently, and in some places he carried her almost bodily,
to avoid the filth of the quarter they were traversing.</p>

<p>The night was solemn and beautiful. Myriads of stars
paved the deep vault of heaven. The moon, now in her
zenith, hung like a silver lamp in the midst of them; a stream
of quivering, rosy light, issuing from the north, traversed the
sky like the tail of some stupendous comet, sending forth,
ever and anon, corruscations like flaming meteors.</p>

<p>At last they reached the Transtiberine region and the
convent of Santa Maria in Trastevere hove into sight. The
range of habitations around were in a ruinous state and the
whole aspect of the region was so dismal as to encourage
but few ramblers to venture there after nightfall.</p>

<p>Passing through the ill-famed quarter of the Sclavonians,
where, in after time, one of the blackest crimes in history was
committed, Tristan and Hellayne at last arrived before the
gates of the convent. They had spoken but little, dreading
even the faintest echo of their footsteps might bring a pursuer
on their track. Their summons for admission was,
after a considerable wait, answered by the porter of the
gate, who, upon seeing two monks, relinquished his station
by the wicket and descended to inquire into their behest.</p>

<p>Hellayne shrank up to Tristan, as the latter stated their
purpose and the old monk, unable to understand the jargon
of his belated caller, withdrew, mumbling some equally unintelligible
reply.</p>

<p>Hellayne's eyes were those of a frightened deer.</p>

<p>"What will he do, Tristan?" she whispered, "Oh, Tristan,
do not leave me! I feel I shall never see you again,
Tristan&mdash;my love&mdash;take me away&mdash;I am afraid&mdash;"</p>

<p>He held her close to him.</p>

<p>"There is nothing to fear, my Hellayne! To-morrow night
I shall return and place you safely where we may see each
other till I have absolved my duties to the Senator. Do not
fear, sweetheart! Of all the abodes in Rome the sanctity of
the convent is inviolate! But I hear steps approaching&mdash;some
one is coming. Courage, dearest&mdash;remember how
much is at stake!"</p>

<p>Another moment and they stood before the Abbess of
Santa Maria in Trastevere.</p>

<p>Summoning all his presence of mind, Tristan told his tale
and made his request. Danger lurking in the infatuation of
a Roman noble was threatening his sister. She had fled
from his innuendos and begged the convent's asylum for a
brief space of time, when he, Tristan, would claim her. He
explained Hellayne's attire, and the Abbess, raising the
woman's head, looked long and earnestly into her face.</p>

<p>What she saw seemed to confirm of the truth of Tristan's
speech, and she agreed readily to his request. Tristan
kissed Hellayne on the brow, then, after a brief and affectionate
farewell and the assurance that he would return on the
following day, he left her in charge of the Blessed Sisters.
With a sob she followed the Abbess and the gates shut behind
them.</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan felt as if all the world about him was
sinking into a dark bottomless pit.</p>

<p>Then, suppressing an outcry of anguish, his winged feet
bore him across Rome towards the Basilica of St. John in
Lateran.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIVc" id="CHAPTER_XIVc">CHAPTER XIV</a><br />

THE PHANTOM OF THE LATERAN</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It still lacked a few minutes of
midnight when Tristan arrived
at the Lateran. The guard had
been set in all the chapels, as
on the night when he had kept
the watch before.</p>

<p>Without confiding his purpose
to any one, he traversed the
silent corridors until he came to
the chapel where he was to
watch all night.</p>

<p>The men-at-arms were posted outside the door. A lamp
was burning in the corridor, and strict orders had been given
that no person whatsoever was to pass into the chapel.</p>

<p>After assuring himself that all was secure, Tristan seated
himself in a chair which stood in the centre of the chapel.</p>

<p>The place was dim and ghostly. A red lamp burnt before
the Blessed Sacrament, and from the roof of the chapel hung
another lamp of bronze. The light was turned low, but it
threw a slight radiance upon portions of the mosaic of the floor.</p>

<p>Tristan unbuckled his sword and placed it ready to hand.
The whole of the Basilica was hushed in sleep. There was a
heaviness and oppression in the air, and no sound broke the
stillness in the courts of the palace.</p>

<p>Memory flared up and down like the light of a lamp, as
Tristan pondered over the changes and vicissitudes of his
life, with all its miseries and heart-aches, as he thought of
the future and of Hellayne. Danger encompassed them on
every side. But there had been even greater terrors when
he had plucked her from the very grip of Death, from the
midst of her foes.</p>

<p>And then he began to pray, pray for Hellayne's happiness
and safety, and his whispering voice sounded as if a dry leaf
was being blown over the marble floor, and when it ceased
the silence fell over him like a cloak, enveloping him in its
heavy, stifling folds.</p>

<p>He had been on guard in the Lateran before, but the
silence had never seemed so deep as it was now. His mind,
heated and filled with the events of the past days, would not
be tranquil. And yet there was a deadly fascination in this
profound silence, in which it seemed his own mind and the
riot of his thoughts were living and awake.</p>

<p>What, if even now some lurking danger were approaching
through the thousand corridors and anterooms of the palace!
For on this night the enemies of Christ were abroad, silently
unfurling the sable banners of Hell.</p>

<p>The thought was almost unbearable. It was not fear
which Tristan felt, rather a restlessness he was unable to
control. Although the night was no hotter than usual, perspiration
began to break out upon his face, and he felt athirst.
The fumes of incense that permeated the chapel, increased
his drowsiness.</p>

<p>With something of an effort Tristan strode to the door and
opened it. In the corridor two men-at-arms were on guard,
one standing against the wall, the other walking slowly to
and fro. The men reported that all was well, and that no
one had passed that way. Tristan closed the door and
returned inside. He walked up the chapel's length and
then, his drawn sword beside him on the marble, knelt in
prayer before the Blessed Sacrament which he had come to
guard.</p>

<p>There, for a little, his confused and restless mind found
peace.</p>

<p>But not for long.</p>

<p>A drowsiness more heavy and insistent than any he had
ever known began to assail him. It billowed into his brain,
wave after wave. It assailed him with an irresistible, physical
assault. He fought against it despairingly and hopelessly,
knowing that he would be vanquished. Once, twice, sword
in hand, as though the long blade could help him in the fight,
he staggered up and down the chapel. Then, with a smothered
groan, he sank into the chair, the sword slipping from
his grasp. He felt as if deep waters were closing over him.
There was a sound like dim and distant drums in his ears, a
sensation of sinking, lower, ever lower,&mdash;then utter oblivion.</p>

<p>And now silence reigned, silence more intense than his
mind had ever known.</p>

<p>The red lamp burned before the Host. The lamp in the
centre of the chapel threw a dim radiance upon the bowed
form of Tristan, whose sword crossed the mosaics of the
floor.</p>

<p>Silence there was in the whole circuit of the Lateran.</p>

<p>Even the Blessed Father, prisoner in his own chamber,
was asleep. The domestic prelates, the whole vast ecclesiastical
court were wrapt in deep repose.</p>

<p>In the chapel of St. Luke the silence was broken by the
deep breathing of Tristan. It was not the breathing of a man
in healthy sleep. It was a long-drawn catching at the breath,
then once more a difficult inhalation. The men-at-arms outside
in the corridor heard nothing of it. The sound was
confined to the interior alone.</p>

<p>The ceiling of the chapel was painted, and the various panels
were divided by gilded oak beadings.</p>

<p>Almost in the centre, directly above where Tristan reposed
in leaden slumber, was a panel some two feet square, which
represented in faint and faded colors the martyrdom of St.
Sebastian.</p>

<p>Suddenly, without a sound, the panel parted.</p>

<p>If the sleeper had been awake he would have seen almost
at his feet a swaying ladder of silk rope, which for a moment
or two hissed back and forth over the tesselated floor.</p>

<p>Now the dark square in the painted ceiling became faintly
illumined. In its dim oblong a formless shape centred itself.
The faint hiss from the end of the silken rope ladder recommenced
and down the ladder from the roof of the chapel
descended a formless spectre, with incredible swiftness, with
incredible silence.</p>

<p>The spider had dropped from the centre of its web. It had
chosen the time well. It was upon its business.</p>

<p>The trembling of the rope ladder ceased. Without a sound
the black figure emerged into the pale light thrown by the
central lamp. The figure was horrible. It was robed in
deepest black, and as it made a quick bird-like movement of
the head, the face, plucked as from some deadly nightmare,
was so awful that it seemed well that Tristan was unconscious.</p>

<p>The High Priest of Satan stood in the chapel of the Lateran.
His quick, dexterous fingers ran over Tristan's sleeping form.
Then he nodded approvingly.</p>

<p>There was a soft pattering of steps and now the black form
passed out of the circle of light and emerged into the red
light of the lamp, which burned before the altar.</p>

<p>Above, upon the embroidered frontal, were the curtains of
white silk edged with gold&mdash;the gates of the tabernacle.</p>

<p>A long, lean arm, hardly more than a bone, drew apart the
curtains. Mingling with the heavy breathing of the sleeping
man there was a sharp sound, most startling in the intense
silence.</p>

<p>It was a bestial snarl of satisfaction. It was followed by
abominable chirpings of triumph, cold, inhuman, but real.</p>

<p>Tristan slept on. The men-at-arms kept their faithful
watch. In the whole of the Lateran Palace no one knew
that the High Priest of Satan was prowling through the precincts
and had seized upon his awful prey.</p>

<p>He thrust the Holy Host into a silver box, and placed
it next to his bosom. Then he drew a wafer of the exact
size and shape of the stolen Host from the pocket of his
robe. Gliding over to Tristan he thrust this unconsecrated
wafer into his doublet.</p>

<p>Then the black bat-like thing mounted to the ceiling. The
lemon-colored light reappeared for a moment. In its glare
the dark phantom looked terrific, like a fiend from Hell. The
rope ladder moved silently upwards, and the painted panel
with the arrow-pierced Sebastian dropped soundlessly into
its place.</p>

<p>The red lamp burnt in front of the tabernacle. But the
chapel was empty now.</p>

<p>At dawn the unexpected happened.</p>

<p>The guards, expecting to be relieved, found themselves
face to face with a special commission, come to visit the
Lateran. It consisted of the Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna,
the Cardinal of Orvieto, the Prefect of the Camera and Basil
the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>After having made the rounds they at last arrived before
the chapel of St. Luke. They found the two men-at-arms
stationed at the door, alert at their post. The men were
exhausted; their faces appeared grey and drawn in the morning
light, but they reported that no one had passed into the
chapel, nor had they seen anything of Tristan since midnight,
when he had questioned them.</p>

<p>The doors of the chapel were locked. Tristan held the
keys. Repeated knocks elicited no response.</p>

<p>The Archbishop of Ravenna looked anxiously at the Prefect
of the Camera.</p>

<p>"I do not like this, Messer Salviati," he said in a low
voice. "I fear there is something wrong here."</p>

<p>"Beat upon the door more loudly," the Prefect turned to
one of the halberdiers, and the man struck the solid oak
with the staff of his axe, till the whole corridor, filled with the
ghostly advance light of dawn, rang and echoed with the
noise.</p>

<p>The Prefect of the Camera turned to the Archbishop.</p>

<p>"It would seem the Capitano has fallen asleep. That is
not a thing he ought to have done&mdash;but as the chapel seems
inviolate we need hardly remain longer."</p>

<p>And he looked inquiringly at the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>The latter shook his head dubiously.</p>

<p>"I fear the Capitano can hardly be asleep, since we have
called him so loudly," he said, looking from the one to the
other. "I would suggest that the door of the chapel be
forced."</p>

<p>They were some time about it. The door was of massive
oak, the lock well made and true. A man-at-arms had been
despatched to another part of the Lateran to bring a locksmith
who, for nearly half an hour, toiled at his task.</p>

<p>It was accomplished at last and the four entered the chapel.</p>

<p>It stretched before them, long, narrow, almost fantastic in
the grey light of morning.</p>

<p>The painted ceiling above held no color now. The mosaics
of the floor were dead and lifeless. In the centre of the
chapel, with face unnaturally pale, sat Tristan, huddled up in
the velvet chair. By his side lay his naked sword.</p>

<p>The lamp which was suspended from the centre of the
ceiling had almost expired.</p>

<p>In front of the altar the wick, floating on the oil, in its bowl of
red glass, gave almost the only note of color against the grey.</p>

<p>As they entered the chapel, the four genuflected to the
altar. And while the Prefect and Basil went over to where
Tristan was sleeping in his chair, and stood about with
alarmed eyes, the Cardinal of Orvieto and the Archbishop of
Ravenna approached the tabernacle with the proper reverences,
parted the curtains and staggered back, indescribable
horror in their faces.</p>

<p>The Holy Host had disappeared.</p>

<p>The priests stared at each other in terror. What did it
mean? Again the Body of Our Lord had been taken from
His resting-place. The captain of the guard was asleep in
his chair. Verily the demons were at work once more and
Hell was loosed again.</p>

<p>The Archbishop of Ravenna began to weep. He covered
his face with his hands. As he knelt upon the altar steps,
great tears trickled through his trembling fingers, while he
sent up prayers to the Almighty that this sacrilege might be
discovered and its perpetrators brought to justice. On either
side of him knelt the priests who had come into the chapel
after them. Their hearts were filled with fear and sorrow.</p>

<p>The Cardinal of Ravenna rose at last.</p>

<p>His old, lean face shone with holy anger and sorrow.</p>

<p>"An expiatory service will be held in this chapel before
noon," he addressed those present. "I shall myself say
Mass here. Meanwhile the whole of the palace must be
aroused. Somewhere the emissaries of Satan have in their
possession the Blessed Sacrament. See that the secret Judas
does not escape us!"</p>

<p>Almost upon his words there came a loud wail of anguish
from the centre of the chapel where Tristan was still huddled
in his chair.</p>

<p>Basil had opened the doublet at his neck, as if to give him
air, and the Prefect of the Camera, who was standing by,
clapped his hands to his temples, and groaned like a soul in
torment.</p>

<p>The two ecclesiastics hurried down from the altar steps.</p>

<p>Upon the lining of Tristan's doublet there lay the large
round wafer, which every one present believed to be the consecrated
Host.</p>

<p>The Cardinal-Archbishop reverently took the wafer from
Tristan and held it up in two hands.</p>

<p>The men-at-arms sank to their knees with a rattle and
ring of accoutrement.</p>

<p>Every one knelt.</p>

<p>Then in improvised procession, His Eminence restored the
wafer to the tabernacle.</p>

<p>Tristan was dragged out of the chapel.</p>

<p>In the corridor horror-stricken men-at-arms buffeted him
into some sort of consciousness. His bewildered ears caught
the words: "To San Angelo," as he staggered between the
men-at-arms as one in the thrall of an evil dream, leaving
behind him a nameless fear and horror among the monks,
priests and attendants at the Lateran.</p>

<div class='center'>END OF BOOK THE THIRD</div>

<hr class="chap" />
<h2>BOOK THE FOURTH</h2>

<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Id" id="CHAPTER_Id">CHAPTER I</a><br />

THE RETURN OF THE MOOR</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">In a domed chamber of the
Emperor's Tomb there sat two
personages engaged in whispered
conversation, Basil and
a weird hooded phantom that
seemed part of the dread shadows
which crowded in upon the
room, quenching the dying light
of day. Deep silence reigned.
Only the monotonous tread of
the sentries broke the stillness as they made the rounds
above them.</p>

<p>It was Basil who spoke.</p>

<p>"All is going well! We shall prevail! We shall set up
the throne of Ebony in the stead of the Cross. I bow to your
wisdom, my master! The promised reward shall not fail
you!"</p>

<p>As he spoke, the thin, black arm of his vis-a-vis trembled
for a moment in the ample folds of his black gown. Then,
with a quick, bird-like movement, a thin hand, twisted like a
claw, wrinkled and yellow, was stretched out towards the
Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>On the second finger of this claw there was a ring. Basil
bent and kissed it.</p>

<p>Basil began to speak in his ordinary, conversational tone,
but there was a strange gleam in his eyes.</p>

<p>"It has been accomplished," he said. "They tell me all
Rome is astir!"</p>

<p>The voice that replied seemed to come from a great distance;
the lips of the waxen face hardly moved. They parted,
that was all.</p>

<p>"It has been done! I took it myself! It was the Host
which the Cardinal of Ravenna had consecrated on that
morning."</p>

<p>"And you were not seen?"</p>

<p>"I was not," came the whispered reply. "As a measure
of precaution I wore the mask which I use to go about the
churches at night. I met no one."</p>

<p>"Is it here?" Basil queried eagerly.</p>

<p>"It is not here," replied the voice. "It must be kept
until the night of the great consecration, when Lucifer himself
shall sit upon the ebony throne and demand his bride&mdash;his
stainless dove. Where is she now?"</p>

<p>The light had faded out of Basil's eyes, and his face was
ashen.</p>

<p>"One has been found, worthy of even as fastidious a
master as he, whom we both serve. Well-nigh had she
escaped us, had not one who never fails me tracked her on
that fatal night, when her body lay in her coffin ready to be
consecrated to the Nameless one."</p>

<p>From the eyeless sockets of the shadow-mask a phosphorescent
gleam shot towards the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>"What of the man?"</p>

<p>"The wafer was discovered on a certain captain of the
guard who hath crossed my path to his undoing once too
often. The Church herself shall pronounce sentence upon him&mdash;through
me!"</p>

<p>"And&mdash;that other?"</p>

<p>There was a pause.</p>

<p>"Her husband!&mdash;He deems her dead, nor grieves he
overmuch, believing, as he does, that her love was another's&mdash;even
his whom I have marked for certain doom. I have
it in my mind to try what a jest will do for him."</p>

<p>The lurid tone of the speaker seemed to impress even his
shadowy companion.</p>

<p>"A jest?"</p>

<p>"He shall attend the great ceremony," Basil explained.
"And he shall behold the stainless dove. When is it to be?"
he added after a pause.</p>

<p>"When is it to be?"</p>

<p>"Six nights hence&mdash;on the night of the full moon."</p>

<p>"And then you shall give to me that which I crave, and
the forfeit shall be paid."</p>

<p>"The forfeit shall be paid," the voice re-echoed from the
shadows, and to Basil it seemed as if the damp, cold breath
from an open grave had been wafted to his cheeks.</p>

<p>Like a phantom that sinks back into the night of the grave,
whence it had emerged, Bessarion vanished from the chamber.
In his place stood Hormazd, who had noiselessly
entered through a panel in the wall.</p>

<p>Basil greeted him with a silent nod.</p>

<p>"What of the messenger?" he turned to the Oriental.</p>

<p>"He returns within the hour," replied the voice.</p>

<p>"What are his tidings?" Basil queried eagerly. "Is
Alberic in the land of shadows, where she dwells who gave
him birth?"</p>

<p>"Sent by the same relentless hand across the Styx," the
cowled figure spoke, yet Basil knew not whether it was a
question or a statement.</p>

<p>He gave a start.</p>

<p>"Tell me, how are secrets known to you at which Hell
itself would pale?" he turned with unsteady tone to his
companion.</p>

<p>"Those of the shadows commune with the shadows,"
came the enigmatical reply. "Is everything prepared?"</p>

<p>"When the brazen tongue from the Capitol tolls the hour,
the blow shall fall," Basil replied. "Hassan Abdullah and
his Saracens are anchored off the port of Ostia. The Epirotes
and Albanians in the Senator's service are bribed to our cause.
Rome is in the throes of mortal terror. Even the Monk of
Cluny is under the spell, and has ceased to arraign the Scarlet
Woman of Babylon. The dread of the impending judgment
day will succor our cause. And&mdash;once installed within
these walls as master of Rome&mdash;with Theodora by my
side&mdash;you shall have full sway, to do whatever your dark
fancies may prompt. You shall have a chamber and a laboratory
and be at liberty to roam at will through your devil's
kitchen."</p>

<p>The cowled figure gave a silent nod, but, before he could
speak, the door leading into the chamber opened as from the
effect of a violent gust of wind, and a shapeless form, that
seemed half human, half ape, flew at Basil's feet, who recoiled
as if a ghost had arisen before him from the floor.</p>

<p>For a moment Basil stared from Daoud the Moor to his
shadowy visitor, then he bade the runner arise and commanded
him in some Eastern tongue to unburden himself.</p>

<p>With many protestations of his devotion the monster produced
a bundle which Basil had not noted, owing to the
swiftness with which the African had entered the chamber.
Panting, with deft, though trembling fingers, Daoud untied
the cords and a bloody head, severed from its trunk, rolled
upon the floor of the chamber, and lay still at Basil's feet. It
had lost all human semblance and exhaled the putrid odor of
the grave.</p>

<p>Basil started to his feet, staring from the Moor to Hormazd.</p>

<p>"Dead&mdash;" his pale lips stammered. Then, turning to
his dark companion, he added by way of encouragement to
himself:</p>

<p>"You gave me truth!"</p>

<p>Daoud was cowering on the floor, his eyes staring into the
shadows, where hovered the Persian's almost invisible
form.</p>

<p>A nod from Basil caused him to rise.</p>

<p>"Away with it!" shrieked the Grand Chamberlain overcome
with terror. "See that no one sets eyes upon it!"</p>

<p>The Moor wrapped the severed head into the blood-stained
cloth and darted from the chamber.</p>

<p>Then Basil turned to his visitor.</p>

<p>"In six days Rome shall hail a new master! Let then
the sable banners of Hell be unfurled and the Nameless
Presence rejoice upon his ebony throne! And now do you
come with me into the realms of doom that gape below, that
your eyes may be gladdened by that which is in store for you!"</p>

<p>Taking up a torch, Basil lighted it with the aid of two flints
and the twain trooped out of the chamber into the shadowy
corridor leading into the crypts of the Emperor's Tomb.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IId" id="CHAPTER_IId">CHAPTER II</a><br />

THE ESCAPE FROM SAN ANGELO</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_h.png" width="100" height="94" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Hidden away in some secret
vault of the great honey-colored
Mausoleum Tristan found
himself when the men-at-arms
had departed, and he had regained
his full senses. Color
had faded out of everything.
The rock walls were lifeless and
grey. The immense silence of
the tomb surrounded him. The
rayless gloom was without relief, save what sparse light
filtered through a narrow grated window so high in the wall
that nothing could be seen from below, save the sky.</p>

<p>The torture of it all he could have endured very well. There
was something greater. It was the thought of Hellayne.
This dreadful uncertainty swung like a bell in his brain, cut
through the fibre of his being. And when these thoughts
came over him in his lone confinement he beat his hands
upon the stone and wept.</p>

<p>They had placed him in a cell, which seemed to have been
hollowed out of the Travertine rock. It was small, built in
the thickness of the mighty Roman walls. Tristan set his
teeth hard, prepared to endure. He knew well enough what
it meant. He would be confined in this living tomb till his
enemies thought his spirit was broken, and then he would be
summoned before a tribunal of the Church.</p>

<p>Once a day, and once only, the door of his cell opened.
By the smoky light of a torch, his gaoler pushed a pitcher of
water and a machet of bread into his prison. Then the red
light died and darkness and silence supervened. Yet it was
not the ordinary darkness which men know. Through the
haunted chambers of Tristan's mind fantastic forms began
to chase each other, evil things to uncoil themselves and raise
their heads. More and more drearily the burden of the days
began to press upon him. What availed heroic endurance?</p>

<p>But it was not only darkness, nor was it only despair. Nor
was it only silence. It was a strange impalpable something
which haunted his restless, enforced vigil; a dim inchoate
nothingness, that drove him to the verge of madness. Though
day draped the sky with blue and golden banners, to tell the
sons of men that Night was past and they need not longer
fear, for Tristan darkness was not a transient thing, but an
awful negation of hope.</p>

<p>All of this Tristan could have endured, had not the thought
of Hellayne unnerved him utterly.</p>

<p>She was safe&mdash;so he hoped&mdash;in the Convent of Santa
Maria in Trastevere. But, as hour succeeded hour, his assurance
began to pale. Everything had been arranged with the
Abbess. But&mdash;had she indeed eluded her pursuers? The
empty coffin had no doubt long been discovered. Did they
believe she was dead, or did the hand who had dealt the
blow in the dark, the vigilant eye that had pursued her every
step, plot further mischief?</p>

<p>He thought of Odo of Cluny. The monk was influential,
but there was, at this hour, in Rome, one even more powerful,
and he doubted not but that by his agency the wafer had been
placed into his doublet, though the events of that fateful night
from the time he had entered the Lateran, were like a black
blot upon his memory.</p>

<p>Had Odo even sought admission to his cell? Did he, too,
believe him guilty? Had his ears, too, been poisoned by the
monstrous lie? To him he might indeed have turned; of him
he might have received assurance of Hellayne's fate; and in
return he might have reassured her who was pining at the
Convent of Santa Maria in Trastevere.</p>

<p>But, was she ignorant indeed of what was happening in the
seven-hilled city of Rome? Would not the rumor of the
terrible outrage committed at the Lateran knock even at the
silent walls of the convent? A captain of the Senator's guard
caught red-handed in the perpetration of a crime too heinous
for the human mind to conceive!</p>

<p>He reviewed his own life, the close of which seemed very
near at hand. Free from cunning and that secret conceit
which is peculiarly alarming to natures that know themselves
to be, in all practical matters, confounded and confused, he
had, in a short time, found himself placed upon the world's
greatest stage, a world little fit for dreamers and for dreams.
He had been plunged into the inner circles of the mighty
struggle, impending between Powers of Light and the Powers
of Darkness, upon a sea he knew not how to navigate, and
upon whose cliffs his ship had stranded.</p>

<p>One evening, when the cold greyness of an early twilight
had enveloped the city, and from the darkening sky every
now and then was heard a sound of approaching thunder,
Tristan, counting the weary hours of his unbroken solitude,
which he could but measure by the appearance and departure
of his gaoler, had been more restless than usual. He had
hoped to be summoned for early trial before those high in
the Church, when, in Odo of Cluny, he would find an advocate,
who alone might save him from his doom. But nothing had
happened. Nothing had broken the dreary, maddening
monotony, save now and then the shriek and curses of a
maddened fellow-prisoner, or the moans of a wretch who was
dying of thirst or hunger.</p>

<p>Whoever the powers that dominated his life, they evidently
had not decreed his immediate death, as if they were rejoicing
in the torture of false hopes which each recurrent day waked
in his breast, and which each departing day extinguished.
The food never varied, and the water intended for the cleansing
of his body was so sparse that he had to husband it as a
precious possession till the gaoler refilled the bronze ewer
on the succeeding day.</p>

<p>When waking from feverish, troubled slumbers, broken by
the squeaking of the rats that scurried over the filthy floor
of his dungeon, and other presences that caused him to pray
for a speedy death from this slow torture, he found himself
nevertheless listening for the approach of the gaoler who,
after dispensing his bounty, departed as he had come, silent
as the tomb, without making reply to Tristan's queries.</p>

<p>Escape, to all appearances, seemed quite beyond the scope
of possibility. Yet, with failing hopes, the spirit of Tristan
seemed to rise. Had not his good fortune been with him
ever since he arrived at Rome? Had he not, by some
miraculous decree of destiny, again met the woman he
loved better than all the world? And then, they had left
him his dagger. After all, not such wretched company
in his present plight.</p>

<p>It was on the eve of the third day when the voices of men
coming down the night-wrapt passage struck his wakeful ear.</p>

<p>In one of the speakers he recognized Basil.</p>

<p>"And you are quite sure no one saw you enter?" he said
to his companion.</p>

<p>"No one!" came the snarling reply. "Nevertheless&mdash;they
are on my track. I breathe the air of the gibbet which
burns my throat."</p>

<p>"And you are positive no one recognized you?" spoke the
silken voice.</p>

<p>"No one."</p>

<p>"Take courage, Hormazd. Then there is little danger, yet
you should take care that no one may see you. We are
surrounded by spies."</p>

<p>"Do you not trust Maraglia?"</p>

<p>"I trust none! You will therefore remain a short time
concealed in this subterranean passage."</p>

<p>"Subterranean?"</p>

<p>There was a note of terror in the Oriental's voice.</p>

<p>"That is to say&mdash;the vaults! Here you will find honorable
and pleasant company, who will not betray you. You
will find straw in abundance and each day Maraglia will
bring you something to eat. Go slowly. How do you like
the abode?"</p>

<p>"Not even the devil can find me here."</p>

<p>"No one will find you here!"</p>

<p>"No one knows where I am," Hormazd interposed dubiously.</p>

<p>"Nor ever shall."</p>

<p>"It is of no consequence. So I am safe."</p>

<p>"You are safe enough. Lower your head and take care
not to stumble over the threshold. Here&mdash;this side&mdash;enter."</p>

<p>"Enter," re-echoed the other. Then there was a pause.</p>

<p>"It is very evident, you are afraid&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Afraid? No&mdash;but I am thinking we always know when
we enter such places&mdash;never when we shall leave them."</p>

<p>"How? Did I not say to-morrow night?"</p>

<p>"But if you should not come for me?"</p>

<p>"What profit would your death be to me? Where shall I
find another wizard to bring to foretell the death of another
Alberic?"</p>

<p>Tristan gave an audible gasp at these words. He felt his
limbs grow numb. Had his ears heard aright? Surely they
had not. Some demon had mocked him, to drive him mad.
Ere he could regain his mental balance, the voice of the
Grand Chamberlain's companion again struck his ear.</p>

<p>"But if you should not come, my lord?"</p>

<p>"You could scream!"</p>

<p>"What would that avail?"</p>

<p>"Mind you&mdash;I might have to stay here myself for sheltering
such a patriarch as you."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless&mdash;to guard against all risks&mdash;leave the
door open&mdash;"</p>

<p>He entered, but the door turned immediately upon its
hinges.</p>

<p>"My Lord Basil&mdash;" shrieked Hormazd, "the door is shut&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I stumbled against it."</p>

<p>"Bring a light&mdash;open the door&mdash;" came a muffled voice
from within.</p>

<p>"I shall soon return."</p>

<p>"Do not forget the light."</p>

<p>"Light!&mdash;Ay! You shall not want for light,&mdash;if what I
say be not false: Et lux perpetua luceat eis," chanted the
Grand Chamberlain in Requiem measure, as he strode away.</p>

<p>Silence, deep and sepulchral, succeeded. Tristan cowered
on the floor, his face covered with his hands. If what he had
overheard was true, he, too, was lost. What had happened?
Who was the Grand Chamberlain's companion?</p>

<p>Now Hormazd began to scream and rave in the darkness.
Terrible execrations broke from the Oriental's lips, as he
hurled his body against the iron bars of his prison cell.
Demoniacal yells waked the silent echoes. The other prisoners,
alarmed and rendered restless, soon joined in, and
soon the dark vaults of the Emperor's Tomb resounded with
a veritable pandemonium, a chorus of the damned that
caused Tristan to put his fingers to his ears lest he, too, go
mad.</p>

<p>At nine o'clock that night the last visit was to be paid the
prisoners. At nine o'clock Maraglia, the Castellan, came,
attended by the guard, which waited outside. The Castellan
was in a state of nervous excitement. As he entered Tristan's
cell he looked about, as if he dreaded a listener, then
he approached his prisoner and whispered something into his
ear.</p>

<p>For a moment Tristan knew not what has happening to
him. Was he alone with a mad man and was Maraglia too
possessed?&mdash;</p>

<p>The Castellan, to prove his assertion that he was a bat,
began forthwith to squeak, and waved his arms, as if they
were wings.</p>

<p>Curious stories were told about Maraglia. No one knew,
why he had retained his post so long amidst ever recurring
changes, and it was whispered that he was subject to strange
possessions of the mind. He faced his prisoner nervously,
fingering a poniard in his belt. Tristan watched his every
gesture.</p>

<p>A little foam came out of the corners of Maraglia's lips.
He wrung his hands and his voice rose into a sort of shriek.
He jerked his head half round towards the men-at arms
outside in the gallery. The screams of Hormazd continued.</p>

<p>"It is the Ape of Antichrist," he whispered to Tristan.
"I have a mind to try conclusions with him. Close the
door."</p>

<p>Tristan's wits, preternaturally sharpened in his predicament
put words in his mouth which he seemed unable
to account for. He had heard rumors of the Castellan.
Perchance he might turn his madness to account.</p>

<p>"I can tell you much," he said. "But not here! But one
thing I perceive. You are approaching one of your bad
spells."</p>

<p>Maraglia shrank back against the door. His face was pale
as death.</p>

<p>"Then you know?" he squeaked.</p>

<p>Tristan nodded. The torch which the Castellan had placed
in an iron holder that projected from the wall, was burning
low and the resinous fumes filled the cell.</p>

<p>"Something I know&mdash;but not all! Yet, I believe I can
cure you&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I am about to turn into a bat! And when I go abroad I
scream like a bat&mdash;in a thin, high pitched tone. And I flap
my arms&mdash;and fly away&mdash;thus&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tristan nodded wisely.</p>

<p>"I know the symptoms&mdash;they are of Satan. Nevertheless,
I can cure you."</p>

<p>"Without conference with the evil powers?"</p>

<p>Tristan pondered.</p>

<p>"You shall not imperil your soul! But&mdash;take heed! It
is well that you have spoken to me of these matters. For,
from feeling that you are a bat, a bat you will become."</p>

<p>Maraglia was pale as a ghost.</p>

<p>"Then I was just in the nick of time?"</p>

<p>"You are already half immersed," Tristan replied in a
deep and menacing tone. "Take heed lest you be utterly
drowned."</p>

<p>The Castellan shivered as one in an ague.</p>

<p>"Every Friday at midnight the Black Mass is said by one
Bessarion, that is of unthinkable age&mdash;a hideous wizard and
High Priest of Satan. It is he who has cast the spell over
me."</p>

<p>Hope mounted high in Tristan. The alert confidence of
his companion animated him and he felt almost as if the great
ordeal was over. A distant bell was tolling. Its tones came
in muffled cadence into the night wrapt corridors of the
Emperor's Tomb.</p>

<p>Nevertheless he shivered at the Castellan's confession.
Maraglia, then, was under the spell of this Wizard of Hell.</p>

<p>"I have seen him stalking through these galleries," he
turned to his gaoler. "But I possess a spell which renders
him harmless. He cannot touch me&mdash;nor breathe his evil
breath into my soul. I can compel him to take away the
spell he has cast over you&mdash;that is, if you so wish it."</p>

<p>The Castellan squeaked and waved his arms.</p>

<p>"You would do this for me?"</p>

<p>"If you will not betray me. For only a more powerful
spell than that which he possesses can take away the curse
he has put upon you."</p>

<p>"Ah! If you would do this! It is coming upon me now.
I am going mad. I am a bat!"</p>

<p>And Maraglia squeaked like a whole company of dusky
mice, and flapped his arms as if he were about to fly away.</p>

<p>"This very night will I do it," Tristan replied. "But you
must help me."</p>

<p>"What can I do?"</p>

<p>Tristan cast all upon one throw.</p>

<p>"Remove your guards from this corridor and leave me a
light and a rope."</p>

<p>"It is but reasonable," Maraglia returned. "I will fetch
them. When appears the wizard?"</p>

<p>"At midnight! See that I am not disturbed."</p>

<p>Maraglia nodded. Fear had almost deprived him of his
senses.</p>

<p>"Last time I saw him he came from yonder corridor,"
Tristan informed the Castellan.</p>

<p>"That may not be!" the latter replied. "Unless he hath
wings. This passage leads to the ramparts."</p>

<p>"It is possible I have been confused by the darkness,"
Tristan replied pensively. "Nevertheless, I will oblige you,
Messer Maraglia."</p>

<p>The Castellan retired with many manifestations of his
gratitude, leaving Tristan in possession of a lantern, a candle
and a coil of rope.</p>

<p>It was midnight.</p>

<p>The sharp click of a flint upon steel was repeated several
times before a spark fell upon the tinder and it caught with
a blue, ghostly flicker. There were strange reflections in
Tristan's cell. Curious steely lights played upon him.</p>

<p>Then the candle ignited. The glow widened out. Tristan
peered about cautiously. The door of his cell had been left
unfastened by Maraglia. He had no fear of his prisoner
escaping. No one had ever escaped from these vaults, except
to certain death.</p>

<p>He crept out into the corridor. It was dark as in the
realms of the underworld. The silence of the tomb prevailed.
After a time the passage made a sharp turn at right angles.
A cooler air blew upon his face, wafted through an unbarred
embrasure, beyond which showed a star-lit night without a
moon, but not wholly dark.</p>

<p>Drawing himself up into the embrasure he stood at last
upon a broad sill of stone. A cool breeze eddied around
him. He was at an immense height. A vast portion of
Rome lay below. The Tiber seemed like a river of lead.
Far away to the left the dark cypresses of the Pincian Hill
cut into the night sky in sombre silhouette. He was above
the tombs of Hadrian and Caracalla.</p>

<p>Tristan shivered despite himself as he fastened the rope
he had secured from the unwary Castellan to the stone ledge.
It was not fear; but that actual, physical shrinking, which
induces nausea, had him in its grip.</p>

<p>"There is Rome," he said to himself with a savage chuckle.</p>

<p>He made a stirrup loop and curved it round a boss of antique
tile, which stretched above the abyss like a gargoyle. Then,
with infinite precaution, he lowered the coil of rope.</p>

<p>Dawn was already heralded in the East. A faint grey
light appeared in the direction of the Alban Hills. From
over the Esquiline came the shrill trumpeting of a cock.</p>

<p>There was a horrible moment as Tristan's hands left the
roof edge and he fell a foot to grasp the rope. He curled his
legs about it, got it between his crossed feet and began to
let himself down. The sinews of his arms seemed to creak.
Once he passed an open window and distinctly heard the
snores of the men-at-arms who were sleeping within. The
descent seemed interminable. As seen from above, had
there been any one to watch him, his form grew less and less.
From a man it seemed to turn into an ape; from an ape as a
night bird groping down the Mausoleum's side; from a bird
it dwindled to a spider, spinning downward on a taut thread.
Up there, on the height, the rope groaned and creaked upon
the curved tile from which it hung. But tile and fibre held.
Once his feet rested upon a leaden water pipe and he clung
and swayed, glad of a momentary release from the frightful
strain upon his arms. That was almost the last conscious
sensation. Clinging to the rope he came down quick and
more quickly. His arms rose and fell with the precision of a
machine. At last he felt his feet upon solid ground, where
he reeled and staggered like a drunken man.</p>

<p>He had traversed a hundred thirty-five feet of air.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIId" id="CHAPTER_IIId">CHAPTER III</a><br />

THE LURE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_f.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">For three whole days Hellayne
consumed herself waiting for
Tristan, and she began to feel
listless and dispirited. She had
long acknowledged to herself
the necessity of his presence,
and how much his love had
influenced her thoughts and
actions ever since she had
known him&mdash;a period that now
seemed of infinite length. She found herself perpetually
recalling the origin and growth of this love. She dwelt with
a strange pleasure on her terrible plight, when, believing she
was dead, he had remained with her body. As evening
approached she strolled down to the Tiber, with a strange
persistency and the vague expectation of Tristan's return.
She now trusted him utterly, since that last and most potent
proof of his love for her.</p>

<p>On the first day this dreamy, imaginative existence was
delightful. The region of the Trastevere at the period of our
story was but sparsely populated, and the great convent,
with its church of Santa Maria, dominated the lowly fisher
huts, scattered over its precincts. Hellayne, during these
quiet evening hours, when only the sounds of far-off chimes
from churches and convents smote the silence with their silver
tongues, and during which hours the Abbess of Santa Maria
permitted her to leave the silent walls of her asylum for a
short walk to the Tiber's edge, rarely ever saw a human
being. Only at dusk, when the fishermen and boatmen
returned from their daily routine, she saw them pass in the
distance, like phantoms that come and go and vanish in the
evening glow.</p>

<p>On the second day there came a feeling of want; the consciousness
that there was a void which it would be a great
happiness to fill. This grew to a longing for those hours
which had glided by so quickly and sweetly. At intervals
there came the startling thought: if she should never see him
again! Then her heart stopped beating, and her cheek paled
with the thought of the bare possibility.</p>

<p>Thus the third day sped, and when Hellayne still remained
without tidings from Tristan her anxiety slowly changed to a
great fear. She could hardly contain herself during the long
hours of the day, and though she spent hours and hours in
prayer for his return, her heart seemed to sink under the
weight of her fear and sorrow. She was alone&mdash;alone in
Rome&mdash;exposed to dangers which her great beauty rendered
even more grave than those that beset an ordinary person.
She feared lest Basil was scouring the city for the woman
who had so mysteriously baffled his desires, and she dreaded
the hatred of Theodora, whose infatuation for her lover had
rather increased than diminished in the face of Tristan's
resistance. How long would he be able to withstand, if
Theodora had decreed his undoing?</p>

<p>There were moments when a mad jealousy and despair
surged up in Hellayne's heart, yet she hesitated to confide
her fears and anxiety to the Abbess, voicing only her disquietude
at Tristan's prolonged absence. Then only the
latter informed Hellayne of a strange rumor which had found
its way into the Trastevere. Three nights ago a terrible
sacrilege had been committed at the Lateran, during the
small hours of the night, and on the following morning, during
an inspection by some high prelates of the Church, the criminal
had been discovered in the person of a captain of the
Senator's guard, who had but recently arrived in Rome, and
had been placed in high command by the Senator himself,
whom he had so cruelly betrayed.</p>

<p>Three nights ago! It was on the night of the terrible
crime from whose consequences she had been saved just in
the nick of time. With painful minuteness Hellayne recalled,
or tried to recall, every incident, every detail, every utterance
of her lover. But there was nothing at which she could
clutch save&mdash;but it was sheer madness. Surely it was some
horrid nightmare. Again she sought the Abbess, later in the
day, questioning her regarding the name of him who had been
taken in the commission of so heinous an offence. It was
some time ere the Abbess could recall a name strange in her
own land, and Hellayne, with the persistency of desperation,
withheld any aid, so as not to offer a clue to the one she
dreaded to hear. But the strain proved too great. Almost
with a shriek she demanded to know if, perchance, the name
was Tristan. The Abbess regarded her questioner strangely.
"Tristan is the name. Do you know this man, my child?"</p>

<p>Hellayne was on the point of fainting. Everything grew
black before her eyes, and she would have fallen, had not the
Abbess supported her.</p>

<p>"A countryman of mine," she said, dreading lest by revealing
their connection she might herself be held in custody.
"He came to Rome on a pilgrimage. Surely there is some
horrible mistake! He could not! He could not!"</p>

<p>The Abbess placed an arm round the trembling girl.</p>

<p>"If he can prove that he is innocent, the Cardinal-Archbishop
will not suffer a hair of his head to be touched," she
tried to console Hellayne whose head rested on her shoulder.
She seemed utterly crushed. Surely&mdash;it was too monstrous&mdash;too
unbelievable. Yet as the moments sped on, an icy,
sickening fear gripped her heart. She recalled an incident
of that last evening with Tristan which, but for what had
happened or was rumored to have happened, she would have
utterly ignored. She had noted her lover's restlessness, and
his apparent haste in leaving her at the convent gates. She
recalled now that he repeatedly glanced at the moon and did,
at one time, comment upon the lateness of the hour. He
had not seemed anxious to prolong their tete-a-tete, and he
had not been heard from in three days. Surely, no matter
where he was, he could have sent a message, verbal or otherwise.
And the crime had happened during the small hours
of the night&mdash;after he had left her! It was too horrible to
ponder upon!</p>

<p>That there was some dreadful mystery which surrounded
this deed of darkness and Tristan's share therein, Hellayne
did not question. But how was she, a woman, a stranger,
alone in Rome, to aid in clearing it up and reveal her lover's
innocence? There was no doubt in her mind, but that he was
the victim of some devilish conspiracy&mdash;perchance a thread
of that same web which had entangled her to her undoing.
But how to convince the Cardinal-Archbishop of Tristan's
innocence, when the facts surrounding the terrible discovery
were unknown to her?</p>

<p>"This man is, no doubt, very dear to you," said the Abbess
at last.</p>

<p>Hellayne shrank before the questioner and averted her
face. But the Abbess was resolved to know more, once her
suspicions were aroused.</p>

<p>"Could it perchance be he who brought you here three
nights ago&mdash;your brother?" she queried with a kind, though
penetrating glance at the woman who was trembling like an
aspen, her face colorless, her eyes dimmed with tears.</p>

<p>A silent nod convinced the Abbess of the truth of her surmise.
She stroked Hellayne's silken hair.</p>

<p>"It is a dreadful crime of which he stands accused, one for
which there is no remission&mdash;no pardon here or hereafter,"
she said sorrowfully.</p>

<p>"He is innocent," sobbed Hellayne. "He is as pure as
the light, as the flowers. There is some dreadful mistake.
He must be saved before it is too late! Oh&mdash;dear mother&mdash;could
you not intercede for him with His Eminence?"</p>

<p>The Abbess regarded her as if she thought her protege had
suddenly lost her reason. To intercede with the Cardinal-Archbishop
for one who stood committed of so heinous an
offence, taken in the very act,&mdash;one who, perchance, was
implicated in all those other terrible outrages committed in
the various sanctuaries of Rome! Nevertheless she made
allowance for Hellayne's hysterical plea.</p>

<p>"Has he never mentioned these matters to you?" She
queried kindly, hoping to draw the girl out.</p>

<p>"What matters?" Hellayne queried, with wide eyes, and
the question convinced the Abbess that the woman knew
nothing.</p>

<p>"These dark practices," replied the Abbess. "For this
is not the first offence. Even within this very moon cycle
the Holy Host has been taken from the Church of Our Blessed
Lady yonder. And all efforts to discover the guilty one have
failed."</p>

<p>"I had not heard of it," said Hellayne. "I have not been
long in Rome. Nor has he. About a month, I should say."</p>

<p>"A month?"</p>

<p>"And he knew nothing of this. Nor knew he even one
person in this whole city."</p>

<p>"Wherefore then came he?"</p>

<p>Hellayne explained and the Abbess listened. Hellayne's
account, which was impersonal, impressed her protectress in
so far as she knew she spoke truth. For, if here was an
impostor, it was the cleverest she had ever faced and, while a
stranger to the world and to worldly affairs, the stamp of
truth was too indelibly written upon Hellayne's brow to even
permit of the shadow of a doubt. Perhaps it was for this
reason the Abbess refrained from questioning her farther,
for she had been somehow curious of the relation between
the woman and the man who had brought her here.</p>

<p>Here was matter for thought indeed. For, if the man was
guilty and, notwithstanding Hellayne's protestations, the
Abbess was in her own mind convinced that the Cardinal-Archbishop
of Ravenna could not be deceived in matters of
this kind, what was to become of the woman he had placed
in her charge? There were also other matters equally grave
which oppressed the Abbess' mind. Hellayne's connection
with one who had committed the unspeakable crime might
militate against her remaining at the convent. Yet she hesitated
to send her out into the world, unprotected and alone.</p>

<p>For a time there was silence. Hellayne, utterly exhausted
from the recital of a past, which had reopened every wound
in her heart, causing it to bleed anew, anxious, afraid, doubting
and wondering how far her protectress might go, stood
before the woman who seemed to hold in her hand both her
own fate and that of her lover.</p>

<p>"I will retire to my cell and pray to the Blessed Virgin for
light to guide my steps," the Abbess said at last, laying her
hand on Hellayne's head. "Do not venture away too far,"
she enjoined, "and come to me after the Ave Maria. Perchance
I may then know what to counsel."</p>

<p>Hellayne bowed her head and kissed the hem of the
Abbess' robe.</p>

<p>After she had left, Hellayne remained standing where she
was, transfixed with anxiety and grief.</p>

<p>What forces of gloom and evil encompassed her on all
sides? The man to whom she had given her youth and
beauty, who had plucked the flower which others had vainly
desired, instead of cherishing the gift she had bestowed upon
him, had trampled the delicate blossom in the dust. He, to
whom her heart belonged ever since she had power to think,
was doomed for a deed too terrible to name. She had been
ruthlessly sacrificed by the one, and now the other had
failed her, and a third tried to encompass her ruin. And she
was alone&mdash;utterly alone!</p>

<p>What was she to do? To request an audience of the
Cardinal-Archbishop was little short of madness. In her
own heart Hellayne doubted seriously that the Abbess would
concern herself any further about her or her distress. Nevertheless
she felt that something must be done. This inertia
which was creeping over her would drive her mad. But
first of all she must know the nature of the charge placed
against the man she loved before she would determine what
to do. In vain she taxed her tired brain for a ray of hope in
the encompassing gloom.</p>

<p>The long lights of the afternoon crossed and recrossed the
sanctuary of Santa Maria in Trastevere when Hellayne, after
an hour of fervent prayer, emerged from its portals and took
the direction of the Tiber, where she sat on her accustomed
seat and brooded over her misery.</p>

<p>At last the sunset came. The ashen color of the olive trees
flashed out into silver. The mountain peaks of distant Alba
became faintly flushed and phantom fair as, in a tempest of
fire, the sun sank to rest. The forests of ilex and arbutus on
the Janiculum Hill seemed to tremble with delight as the
long red heralds touched their topmost boughs. The whole
landscape seemed to smile farewell to departing day.</p>

<p>As she sat there, Hellayne's attention was attracted to a
woman who had paused near the river's edge. There was
nothing remarkable either in her carriage or apparel. It was
a wrinkled hag, swart, snake-locked, cowled, her dress jingling
with sequins, her right hand clawed upon a crooked
staff. She appeared, in fact, just an old Levantine hoodie-crow
of the breed which was familiar enough in Rome in
those cataclysmic days, when all sorts of queer, tragic fowl
were being driven northward from over seas before the tidal
wave of invading Islam. Her speech as well as her manners
and dress betrayed Oriental origin.</p>

<p>As she hobbled up to where Hellayne was seated she
stopped and asked some trifling question about her way,
which Hellayne pointed with some hesitation, explaining that
she was herself a stranger in Rome, and knew not the direction
of the city.</p>

<p>The old crone seemed interested.</p>

<p>"In yonder cloister&mdash;yet not of it?" she queried, pointing
with the crooked staff to the convent walls that towered
darkly behind them in the evening dusk.</p>

<p>Her penetration startled Hellayne.</p>

<p>"How did you guess, old mother?" she queried with a
look of awe, which was not unremarked by the other.</p>

<p>"Ay&mdash;there is lore enough under these faded locks of
mine to turn the foulest cesspool in Rome as clear as crystal,
or to change this staff whereon I lean into a thing that creeps
and hisses," she said with a low laugh.</p>

<p>Hellayne shrank back from her with a gesture of dismay.
Believing implicitly in their power, she felt a deadly fear of
those who professed the black arts.</p>

<p>The old woman read her thoughts.</p>

<p>"My daughter," she said, "be not afraid of the old woman's
secret gifts. Mine is a harmless knowledge, gained by study
of the scrolls of wise men, in my own native land. Fear not,
I say, for I, who have pored over those mystic characters till
me eyes grew dim, can read your sweet pale face as plainly
as the brazen tablets in the Forum, and I can see in it sorrow
and care and anxiety for one you love."</p>

<p>Hellayne gave a start.</p>

<p>It was true! But how had the old crone found it out! She
glanced wistfully at her companion, and the latter, satisfied
she was on the right track, proceeded to answer that questioning
glance.&mdash;</p>

<p>"You think he is in danger, or in grief," she continued
mysteriously, "and you wonder why he does not come.
What would you not give, my poor child, to see him this very
moment&mdash;to look into his face&mdash;his eyes. And I can show
him to you, if you will. I am not ungrateful, even for a slight
service."</p>

<p>The blood mounted to Hellayne's brow, and a strange
light kindled in her eyes, while a soft radiance swept over her
face such as comes into every countenance when the heart
vibrates with an illusion to its happiness, as though the
silver cord thrilled to the touch of an angel's wing. It was
no clumsy guess of the wise woman to infer that the woman
before her loved.</p>

<p>"What mean you?" asked Hellayne eagerly. "How can
you show him to me? What do you know of him? Where
is he? Is he safe?"</p>

<p>The wise woman smiled. Here was a bird flying blindly
into the net. Take her by her affections, there would be
little difficulty in the capture.</p>

<p>"He is in danger&mdash;in grave danger," she replied. "But
you could save him, if you only knew how. He might be
happy, too, if he would. But&mdash;with another!"</p>

<p>To do Hellayne justice, she heard only the first sentence.</p>

<p>"In grave danger," she repeated. "I knew it! And I
could save him! Oh, tell me where he is, and what I can do
for him?"</p>

<p>The wise woman pulled a small mirror from her bosom.</p>

<p>"I cannot tell you," she replied. "But I can show him to
you. Only not here, where the shadow of any chance passer-by
might destroy the charm. Let us turn aside into yonder
ruins. There is no one near, and you shall gaze without
interruption into the face of him you love&mdash;"</p>

<p>It was but a short way off, though the ruins which surrounded
it made the place lonely and secluded. Had it
been twice the distance however, Hellayne would have
accompanied her new acquaintance for Tristan's sake, in the
eagerness to obtain tidings of his fate. As she approached
the ruins she could not repress a faint sigh, which was not
lost on her companion.</p>

<p>"It was here you parted," she said. "It is here you shall
see him again."</p>

<p>This was scarcely a random shaft, for it required little
penetration to discover that Hellayne had some tender association
connected with a spot, the solitude of which appealed
to her in so great a degree.</p>

<p>Nevertheless the utterance convinced Hellayne of her
companion's supernatural power and, though it roused alarm,
it excited curiosity to a still greater degree.</p>

<p>"Take the mirror in your hand," whispered the wise
woman, when they reached the portico, casting a searching
glance around. "Shut your eyes while I speak the charm
that calls him three times over, and then look steadily on its
surface till I have counted ten."</p>

<p>Hellayne obeyed these instructions implicitly. Standing
in the centre of the ruin with the mirror in her hand, she
shut her eyes and listened intently to the low solemn tones
of the woman's chanting, while from the deep shadows of
the ruin there stole out a muffled form and at the same time
a half dozen sbirri rose from their different hiding places
among the ruins.</p>

<p>Ere the incantation had been twice repeated, the leader
threw a scarf over Hellayne's head, muffling her so completely
that an outcry was impossible.</p>

<p>Resistlessly she felt herself taken up and carried to a
chariot, which was waiting a short space away. A moment
later the driver whipped the horses into a gallop and the
vehicle with its occupants and burden disappeared in the
gathering dusk.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IVd" id="CHAPTER_IVd">CHAPTER IV</a><br />

A LYING ORACLE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">It was an eventful night in
Rome and, although for that
reason well adapted to deeds
of violence, the tumult and
confusion exacted great caution
from those who wished to
proceed without interruption
along the streets.</p>

<p>A storm had burst as out of a
clear sky, and was sweeping in
its fury throughout a large portion of the city. Like all
similar outbreaks, it gathered force from many sources unconnected
with its original course.</p>

<p>Rome was the theatre that night of a furious strife between
the great feudal houses which lorded it over the city.</p>

<p>The Leonine city with its protecting walls did not exist until
some decades later. Thus, not only hordes of marauding
Saracens, but Franks and Teutons used to make occasional
inroads to the very gates of the city. On this evening Pandulph
of Benevento, having taken umbrage at some decision
of the Sacred Consistory regarding the lands he held as fief
of the Church, conferring upon him a title which was disputed
by Wido of Prænesté, had broken into the city and a bloody
and obstinate conflict was being waged between his forces
and the soldiers of the Church. The Roman nobles, ever
restless and ready to revolt alike from the authority of the
Emperor or of the Church, would not let this glorious opportunity
pass without reminding those in power that they had
built upon a volcano. They joined in the fray, some taking
the part of the invader, others of the Church.</p>

<p>An hour or two before sunset an undisciplined horde of
mercenaries, armed cap-a-pie, and formidable chiefly for the
wild fury with which they seemed inspired, attacked the
Mausoleum of the Flavian Emperor. The assailants, having
no engines of war either for protection or assault, suffered
severely from the missiles showered upon them by the
besieged. Being repulsed after repeated assaults, they threw
flaming torches into the houses that lined the river on the
opposite shore and withdrew. From another quarter of the
city a large body of Epirotes, who had hoisted the standard of
the Lord Gisulph of Salerno and had already suffered one
defeat, which rather roused their animosity than quelled their
ardor, were advancing in good order. Before the Lateran
they met the forces of Pandulph of Benevento, and a terrible
hand-to-hand encounter ensued. Nor was man the only
demon on the scene. Unsexed women with bare bosoms,
wild eyes and streaming hair, the very outcast of the Roman
scum, their feet stained with blood, flew to and fro, stimulating
each other to fresh atrocities with wine, caresses and ribald
mirth. It was a feast of Death and Sin. She had wreathed
her white arms about the spectral king and crowned his fleshless
head with her gaudy garlands, wrapped him in a mantle
of flame and pressed the blood-red goblet to his lips, maddening
him with her shrieks of wild, mocking mirth, the while
mailed feet trampled out the lives of their victims on the flagstones
of Rome.</p>

<p>Through a town in such a state of turmoil and confusion
Tebaldo took it upon himself to conduct in safety the prize
he had succeeded in capturing, not, it must be confessed,
without many hearty regrets that he had ever embarked on
the enterprise.</p>

<p>It was indeed a difficult and perilous task. He had been
compelled to dismiss his men long ago, in order not to attract
attention. There was but room for himself and one stout
slave, beside the charioteer and his captive. The latter had
struggled violently and required to be held down by sheer
force, nor, in muffling her screams, was it easy to observe the
happy medium between silence and suffocation. Also, it was
indispensable in the present state of lawlessness to avoid
observation, and the spectacle of a golden chariot with a
woman prisoner, gagged and veiled, the whole drawn by four
spirited black steeds, was not calculated to avoid suspicion
and comment. Stefano, Tebaldo's underling, had indeed
suggested a litter, but this had been overruled by his comrade
on the score of speed, and now the congestion of the streets
made speed impossible. To be sure, this enabled his escort
to keep up with them at a distance, but a fight at this present
moment was little to Tebaldo's taste. The darkness which
should have favored him was dispelled by the numerous
conflagrations in the various parts of the city, and when the
chariot was stopped and forced to run into a by-street, to
avoid a crowd running toward the Campo Marzo, Tebaldo
felt his heart sink within him in an access of terror such as
even he had rarely felt before.</p>

<p>Up one street, down another, avoiding the main thoroughfares,
now rendered impassable by the throngs, the charioteer
directed his steeds towards Basil's palace on the
Pincian Hill.</p>

<p>Hellayne seemed to have either fainted, or resigned herself
to her fate, for she had ceased to struggle and cowered
on the floor of the chariot, silent and motionless. Tebaldo
hoped his difficulties were over, and promised himself never
again to be concerned in such an affair. Already he imagined
himself safe on his patron's porch, claiming his reward, when
his advance was stopped by a pageant, which promised a
protracted and hazardous delay.</p>

<p>Winding its slow way along, with all the pomp and splendor
attending it, a procession of chariots crossed in front of
Tebaldo's steeds, and not a man in Rome would have dared
to break in upon the train of Theodora, who was abroad to
view the strife of the factions, utterly indifferent to the perils
of the venture.</p>

<p>It may be that something whispered to Hellayne that, of
the two perils confronting her, what she contemplated was
the lesser, and no sooner did the car stop to let the chariots
pass, than, tearing away the bandage, she uttered a piercing
scream, which brought it to a halt at once, while Tebaldo,
trying to wear a bold front, quaked in every limb.</p>

<p>At a signal from the woman in the first chariot her giant
Africans seized the shaking Tebaldo and surrounded his
chariot. Already a crowd of curious spectators was gathering,
and the glare of the bonfires, kindled here and there, shed
its light on their dark, eager faces, contrasting strangely with
the veiled form of a woman, cold and immobile as marble.</p>

<p>Two of the Africans seized Tebaldo, and buffeted him
unceremoniously to within a few paces of the occupant of the
chariot. Here he stood, speechless and trembling, anger and
fear contending for the mastery, which changed to dismay as
the woman raised her veil with a hand gleaming white as
ivory.</p>

<p>"Do you know me?"</p>

<p>Whatever he had intended to say, the words died on
Tebaldo's lips.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora!"</p>

<p>"You still have your wits about you," replied the woman.
"Whom have you there?"</p>

<p>The cold sweat stood on the brow of Basil's henchman.</p>

<p>"The <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'run-away'">runaway</ins>
mistress of my lord," he said, looking from
right to left for some one to prompt him, some escape from
the dilemma.</p>

<p>"Who is your master?" Theodora queried curtly.</p>

<p>"The Lord Basil&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The Lord Basil!" shrilled Theodora. "Indeed I knew
not he had lost a mistress. Yet I saw him within the hour
and had speech with him."&mdash;</p>

<p>Stefano had meanwhile come up, composed and sedate,
little guessing the quality of his companion's interlocutor,
with the air of a man confident in the justice of his case.</p>

<p>"Where are you taking this woman?" Theodora queried.</p>

<p>Tebaldo attempted to speak, but Stefano anticipated him.</p>

<p>"To the palace of my Lord Basil on the Pincian Hill, noble
lady," he said with many obese bows. "Suffer us to proceed,
for the streets are becoming more unsafe every moment and
our lord will not be trifled with in matters of this kind."</p>

<p>"Indeed," Theodora interposed. "Is his heart so much
set upon this prize? Ho there, Bahram&mdash;Yussuff&mdash;bring
the woman here!"</p>

<p>Tebaldo tried to worm himself out of the clutch of the
black giants, in order to prevent them from obeying
Theodora's order, but he found the situation hopeless and
was about to address Theodora when the latter bade him
be silent.&mdash;</p>

<p>"The woman shall speak for herself," she said in a tone
that suffered no contradiction and, in another moment, Hellayne,
lifted by four muscular arms from the chariot of her
abductors, stood, released of her bandages, before Theodora.</p>

<p>All color left the Roman's face as she gazed into the pallid
and anguished features of the woman whom of all women on
earth she feared and hated most, the woman who dared to
enter the arena with her for the love of the one man whom
she was determined to possess, if the universe should crumble
to atoms. Hellayne's fear upon beholding Theodora gave
way to her pride as she met the dark eyes of the Roman in
which there might have been a gleam of pity or a flash of
scorn.</p>

<p>But, ere Hellayne could speak, finding herself, caught like
a poor hunted bird, in one net, ere she had well escaped the
other, Theodora turned to Tebaldo.</p>

<p>"Tell the Lord Basil, the woman he craves is under Theodora's
roof, and&mdash;if so he be inclined&mdash;he may claim her
at my hands&mdash;"</p>

<p>The gleaming white arm went out, and ere Hellayne knew
what happened, she found herself raised into the second
chariot, where sat a tall girl of great beauty, Persephoné, the
Circassian.</p>

<p>A signal to the charioteer and the pageant moved with
slightly increased speed towards the Aventine, while Tebaldo
and Stefano, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'out-witted'">outwitted</ins> and non-plussed, stared after the
vanishing procession as if they were encompassed by a nightmare.
Then, simultaneously, they broke out into such a
chorus of vituperation that the by-standers shrank back from
them in horror, and they soon found themselves, their chariot
and its driver, almost the only human beings in the now
deserted thoroughfare.</p>

<p>Hellayne meanwhile sat, utterly dazed, next to Persephoné.
Terrified by the danger she had escaped, and scarcely reassured
by the manner of her rescue she seemed as one in a
stupor, unable to think, unable to speak.</p>

<p>Persephoné regarded her with a strange fascination, not
unmingled with curiosity. Hellayne's fair and wonderful
beauty appealed strangely to the Circassian, while, with her
native intuition, she wondered whether Theodora's act was
prompted by kindness or revenge.</p>

<p>Hellayne seemed, for the first time, to note her companion.
Looking into Persephoné's eyes she shuddered.</p>

<p>"Where are we going?" she whispered, gazing about in a
state of bewilderment, as the procession slowly wound up
the slopes of the Mount of Cloisters, and the broad ribbon of
the Tiber gleamed below in the moonlight.</p>

<p>A strange smile curved Persephoné's lips.</p>

<p>"To the Groves of Enchantment," she replied. "You are
the guest of the Lady Theodora."</p>

<p>Hellayne brushed back the silken hair from her brow as if
she were waking from a troubled dream.</p>

<p>She gave a swift glance to her companion, another to the
winding road and, suddenly rising from her seat, started to
leap from the chariot.</p>

<p>Ere she could carry out her intent, she was caught in the
Circassian's arms.</p>

<p>A silent, but terrible struggle ensued. Notwithstanding
her harrowing experiences of the past days, despair had given
back to Hellayne the strength of youth. But in the lithe
Circassian she found her match and, after a few moments,
she sank back exhausted, Persephoné's arms encircling her
like coils of steel, while her smiling eyes sank into her own.</p>

<p>The palace of Theodora rose phantom-like from among its
environing groves in the moonlight, and the chariots dashed
through the portals of the outer court, which closed upon the
fantastic procession.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Vd" id="CHAPTER_Vd">CHAPTER V</a><br />

BITTER WATERS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The dawn was creeping over the
Sabine mountains when Tristan,
after having made good his
escape from the dungeons of
Castel San Angelo, reached the
hermitage of Odo of Cluny on
distant Aventine.</p>

<p>Fatigued almost to the point
of death, bleeding and bruised,
only his unconquerable will had
urged him on towards safety.</p>

<p>His first impulse, after crossing the bridge of San Angelo,
was to go to the Convent of Santa Maria in Trastevere. He
abandoned this plan upon saner reflection. Doubtlessly all
Rome was instructed regarding the crime of which he stood
accused. Recognition meant arrest and a fate he dared not
think of. Tears forced themselves into Tristan's eyes, tears
of sheer despair and hopelessness. Now, that he was free, he
dared not follow the all-compelling impulse of his heart,
assuage the craving of his soul, to learn if Hellayne was safe.</p>

<p>After a few moments rest in the shadow of a doorway he
set out to seek the one man in all Rome to whom he dared
reveal himself.</p>

<p>Not a soul seemed astir. Dim dusk hovered above the
high houses beyond the Tiber, between whose silent chasms
Tristan, dreading the echo of his own footsteps, made his way
towards the Church of the Trespontine. Thus, after a circuitous
route through waste and desert spaces, he reached
the Benedictine's hermitage.</p>

<p>Odo stared at the early visitor as if a ghost had arisen from
the floor before him. He had just concluded his devotions
and Tristan, fearing lest the Monk of Cluny might believe in
his guilt, lost no time in stating his case, pouring forth a tale
so fantastic and wild that his host could not but listen in
mingled horror and amaze.</p>

<p>Beginning with the moment when he had been informed of
Hellayne's sudden death, he omitted not a detail up to the
time of his escape from the dungeon, which to him meant
nothing less than the antechamber of death. Minutely he
dwelt upon his watch in the Lateran, laying particular stress
upon the deadly drowsiness, which had gradually overtaken
him, binding his limbs as with cords of steel. Graphically
he depicted his awakening, when he found himself surrounded
by the high prelates of the Church who faced him with the
supposed evidence of a crime of which he knew nothing. And
lastly he repeated almost word for word the strange discourse
he had overheard in his dungeon between Basil and the
Oriental.</p>

<p>A ghastly pallor flitted over the features of Odo of Cluny
at the latter intelligence.</p>

<p>"If this be true indeed&mdash;if Alberic is dead&mdash;woe be to
Rome! It is too monstrous for belief, and yet&mdash;I have
suspected it long."</p>

<p>For a time Odo relapsed into silence, brooding over the
tidings of doom, and Tristan, though many questions struggled
for utterance, waited in anxious suspense.</p>

<p>At last the monk resumed.</p>

<p>"I see in this the hand of one who never strikes but to
destroy. The blow falls unseen, yet the aim is sure. I have
not been idle, yet do I not hold in my hand all the threads of
the dark web that encompasses us. Of the crime of which
you stand accused I know you to be innocent. Nevertheless&mdash;you
dare not show yourself in Rome. Your escape from
your dungeon once discovered, not a nook or corner of Rome
will remain unsearched. They dare not let you live, for your
existence spells their doom. They will not look for you in
this hermitage. It has many secret winding passages, and
it will be easy for you to elude them. Therefore, my son,
school your soul to patience, for here you must remain till we
have assembled around the banner of the Cross the forces of
Light against the legions of Hell."</p>

<p>"What of the woman, Father, who is awaiting my return
at the Convent of Santa Maria in Trastevere?" Tristan turned
to the monk in a pleading, stifled voice. "Doubtless the
terrible rumor has reached her ear."</p>

<p>He covered his face with his hands, while convulsive sobs
shook his whole frame.</p>

<p>Odo tried to soothe him.</p>

<p>"This is hardly the spirit I expected of one who has hitherto
shown so brave a front, and whose aim it is not to anticipate
the blows of chance."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, Father, it is more than I can bear. I have
no lust for life, and care not what fate has in store for me,
for my heart is heavy within me, and all the fountains of my
hopes are dried up, until I know the fate of the Lady Hellayne&mdash;and
know from her own lips that she does not believe this
devilish calumny."</p>

<p>A troubled look passed into Odo's face.</p>

<p>"If she still is at the convent of the Blessed Sisters of
Trastevere she is undoubtedly safe," he said, but there
was something in his tone which struck Tristan's ear with
dismay.</p>

<p>"You are keeping something from me, Father," he said
falteringly. "Tell me the worst! For this anxiety is worse
than death. Where is the Lady Hellayne? Is she&mdash;dead?"</p>

<p>"Would she were," replied the monk gloomily. "I wished
to spare you the tidings! She was taken from the convent
on some pretext&mdash;the nature of which I know not. At
present she is at the palace of Theodora on Mount Aventine."</p>

<p>Tristan sat up as if electrified.</p>

<p>"At the palace of Theodora?" he cried. "How is this
known to you?"</p>

<p>"Little transpires in Rome which I do not know," Odo
replied darkly. "It seems that those whom the Lord Basil
entrusted with the task of abducting the woman were in turn
outwitted by Theodora who, in rescuing her from a fate worse
than death at the hands of the Grand Chamberlain, has perchance
consigned her to one equally, if not more, cruel."</p>

<p>A moan broke from Tristan's lips. Then he was seized
with a terrible fit of rage.</p>

<p>"Then it is Theodora's hand that has sundered us in the
flesh as her witches' beauty had estranged our hearts. More
merciless than a beast of prey she did not strike Hellayne
with death, so that I might have sentinelled her hallowed
tomb, and with her sweet memory for company might have
watched for the coming of my own hour to join her again!
I have lost my love&mdash;my honor&mdash;my manhood&mdash;at the
hands of a wanton."</p>

<p>Odo tried for a time, though in vain, to calm him by reminding
him that Hellayne would rather suffer death than dishonor.
As regarded himself, he was convinced that Theodora
would have moved heaven and earth to have set him free,
had not his supposed crime concerned the Church and the
Cardinal-Archbishop was adamant.</p>

<p>"Oft, in my visions," he concluded, speaking lower, as if
his mind strove with some vague elusive memory, "have I
heard the voice of Theodora's doom cried aloud. A cruel
fate is yours indeed&mdash;and we can but pray to the saints that
the worst may be averted from the woman who has suffered
so much."</p>

<p>"Something must be done," Tristan interposed, his fierce
mood gaining the mastery over every other feeling. "I care
not if the minions of the devil take me back to the prison that
leads to death, so I snatch her prey from this arch-courtesan
of the Aventine."</p>

<p>Odo laid a detaining hand upon his arm.</p>

<p>"Madman! You are but planning your own destruction.
And, if you die, wherein will it benefit the woman who is left
to her fate? You are weak from the night's work and your
nerves are overwrought. Follow me into the adjoining room
even though the repast be meagre. We will devise some
means to rescue the Lady Hellayne from the powers of darkness
and, trusting in Him who died that we may live, we
shall succeed."</p>

<p>Pointing to the drooping form of the crucified Christ on
the opposite wall of his improvised oratory, Odo beckoned to
Tristan to follow him, and the latter accompanied the Benedictine
into the adjoining rock chamber, where he did ample
justice to the frugal repast which Odo placed before him, and
of which the monk himself partook but sparingly.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VId" id="CHAPTER_VId">CHAPTER VI</a><br />

FROM DREAM TO DREAM</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Theodora's sleep had been
broken and restless. She tossed
and turned upon her pillow. It
was weary work to lie gazing
with eyes wide open at the fantastic
shadows cast by the
flickering night lamp. It was
still less productive of sleep to
shut them tight and abandon
herself to the visions thus created
which stood out in life-like colors and refused to be
dispelled. Do what she would to forget him, Tristan ever
and ever stood before her, towering like a demigod above the
mean, effeminate throng that surrounded her. She could no
longer analyze her feelings. She believed herself to be
bewitched. She had not reached the prime of womanhood
without having sounded, as she thought, every chord of the
human heart. Descendant from a family of courtesans, such
as had ruled Rome during the tenth century, she had tasted
every cup, as she thought, that promised gratification and
excitement. She had been flattered, courted, loved, admired.
Yet she had remained utterly cold to all these experiences,
and none of her lovers could boast that her passion had
endured beyond the hour. The terrible fascination she exercised
over all men made them slaves in her hands, blind
instruments of her will. But, as the years went by, the utter
disgust she felt with these hordes of beasts that thronged her
bowers, was only equalled by a mad desire for power, a
struggle, which alone could bring to her oblivion. To rule
had become a passion with the woman, who had no heart
interest that made life worth living. The fleeting passion
for Basil had long ceased to kindle a responsive fire in her
veins. Fit but to be her tool, she was determined to rid
herself of him as soon as her ambition should have been
realized.</p>

<p>Suddenly the unbelievable had come to pass. She had
met a man. Not one of those crawling, fawning reptiles who
nightly desecrated her groves, but a man who might have
steered her life into different channels, who might have
directed the flight of her soul to regions of light, instead of
chaining it to the dark abyss among the shadows. It was a
new sensation altogether. This intense and passionate longing
she had never felt before. But in its novelty it was
absolutely painful. For the man whom she craved with all
the fibres of her being, to whom her soul went out as it had
never gone out to mortal, had scorned her.</p>

<p>Her fame had proved more potent than her beauty.</p>

<p>Tristan's continued indifference had roused in her all the
demons in her nature. Her first impulse had been revenge
at any price. Her compact with Basil was the fruit of her
first madness. Even now she would have rescinded it had
Tristan but shown a softer, kindlier feeling towards her.
Some incongruous whim had prompted her to choose for her
instrument the very man whom in her heart she loathed,
whose attentions were an insult to her. For, in her own
heart, Theodora held herself to be some God-decreed thing,
like the Laides and Thaides and Phrynes of old. She could
not escape her destiny.</p>

<p>With all her self-command Theodora's feelings had almost
overpowered her. Ever since the tidings of Tristan's supposed
crime and captivity had reached her ear, she had taxed
her brain, though in vain, to bring about his rescue. For
once her efforts were baffled and she met a resistance which
all the tigerish ferocity of her nature could not overcome.
Tristan was in the custody of the Church. In his guilt Theodora
did not believe, rather did she suspect foul play at the
hands of one of whom she would demand a terrible reckoning.
She thought of Tristan night and day, and she was determined
to save him, whatever the hazard,&mdash;save him for
herself and her love. Her spies were at work, but meanwhile
she must sit idly by and wait&mdash;wait, though the blood
coursed like lava through her veins. She dared confide in
none, nor could she even have speech with the man she loved.
She had managed to curb her feelings and to preserve an
outward calm, while Persephoné prepared her for repose.
The latter was much puzzled by her mistress's mood, but
she retired to her own couch carefree, while Theodora writhed
in an agony such as she had never known before.</p>

<p>Yet, fate had been kind to her,&mdash;kinder than she had
dared to hope. By some fatal throw of chance the woman
Tristan loved&mdash;her rival&mdash;had fallen into her hands. While
this circumstance did not in itself take the sting of Tristan's
insult from the wound, she would, at least, be revenged upon
the cause of her suffering.</p>

<p>When, on that memorable evening at the Arch of the Seven
Candles, she had first met Hellayne face to face, when first
the truth had flashed upon her and she knew herself rejected
for that white lily from the North, a hatred such as she had
never known had crept into her heart, a hatred to which
fresh fuel was added from the consciousness of her rival's
beauty, her strength, her youth. With all the fire of her
southern temperament she longed to meet this woman, to
conquer her, to take from her the man she loved.</p>

<p>Morning brought in its wake its unfailing accession of
clear-sightedness and practical resolve. Long before she
rose she had made up her mind where and how to strike.
Nothing remained but to choose the weapon and to put a
keener edge upon the steel.</p>

<p>When Persephoné came to assist her mistress, she wondered
how the mood of the evening had passed. While
attiring Theodora, the Circassian could not but wonder at the
marvellous beauty of this woman who had bent the hearts of
men to her desires like wind blown reeds, only to break them
and cast them at their feet. Only on the previous day a new
wooer had entered the lists; a man rude of speech and manner,
vain withal and self-satisfied, had laid gifts at Theodora's
feet. Roger de Laval was the great man's name. He came
from some far away, fabled land, and it was rumored that he
had come to Rome to seek his truant wife. Having surprised
her in the arms of her lover, whom she had followed, he had
killed both. Such a temper was to the liking of Persephoné,
and, as her soft white fingers played around her
mistress' throat, in the endeavor to fasten her rose-colored
tunic, she could hardly restrain herself from encircling that
white throat and strangling the woman who had spurned the
attentions of one for whose love she would have sacrificed
her soul.</p>

<p>"What of the Lady Hellayne?" Theodora broke the heavy
silence.</p>

<p>"She remains in the chamber which the Lady Theodora
has assigned to her." Persephoné replied.</p>

<p>"Are the eunuchs at their post?"</p>

<p>"Before her door and beneath her windows."</p>

<p>Theodora gave a nod.</p>

<p>"Bring the Lady Hellayne here!"</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora has not breakfasted."</p>

<p>"I know! Yet I would not delay this meeting longer."</p>

<p>Persephoné hesitated.</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne is in a perilous mood&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I should love nothing better than to find her so," Theodora
replied, extending her two snowy arms, whose steely
strength Persephoné knew so well. "I long for the conflict
with this marble statue as I have never longed for anything
in my life. I could find it in my heart to be happy if she
destroyed me with those white hands that rival mine, if she
but stepped out of her reserve, her marble calm, if her soul
ignited from mine."</p>

<p>"If I know aught about her kind, the Lady Theodora will
do well to be wary," Persephoné replied demurely.</p>

<p>The covert taunt had its instantaneous effect.</p>

<p>"Deem you I fear this white siren from the North?"
Theodora flashed, regarding herself in the bronze mirror and
brushing a stray lock of hair from her white brow.</p>

<p>"What will you do with her, Lady Theodora?" Persephoné
purred.</p>

<p>Theodora's face was very white.</p>

<p>"There are times when nothing but the physical touch will
satisfy. And now go and fetch hither the Lady Hellayne
that I may hear from her own lips how she fared under the
roof of her rival."</p>

<p>Persephoné departed from the room, while Theodora arose
and, stepping to the casement, looked out into the blossoming
gardens that encircled her palace.</p>

<p>Her beauty was regal indeed, as she stood there brooding,
her bare arms dropping by her side. But for the expression
of the eyes, in which a turmoil of passion seemed to seethe,
the wonderful face in repose would have seemed that of an
angel rather than a woman meditating the destruction of
another.</p>

<p>After a time Persephoné returned. By her side walked
Hellayne.</p>

<p>Her beauty seemed even enhanced by the expression of
suffering revealed in the depths of her blue eyes. She wore
a dark robe, almost severe in its straight lines. The loose
sleeves revealed her white arms. Her hair was tied in a
Grecian knot.</p>

<p>At a sign from Theodora Persephoné left the room.</p>

<p>For a moment the two women faced each other in silence,
fixing each other with their gaze, each trying to read the
thoughts of the other.</p>

<p>It was Hellayne who spoke.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora has desired my presence."</p>

<p>"It was my anxiety for your welfare, Lady Hellayne,"
Theodora replied, inviting her to a seat, while she seated
herself opposite her visitor. "After the trying experiences
of yesterday I do not wonder at the shadows that creep
under your eyes. They but prove that my anxiety was well
founded. May I ask if you rested well?"</p>

<p>"I owe you thanks, Lady Theodora, for your timely aid,"
Hellayne replied in cold, passionless accents. "They tell
me I was in dire straits, though I cannot conceive who should
care to abduct one who would so little repay the effort."</p>

<p>"Enough to infatuate him, whoever he was, with a beauty
as rare as it is wonderful," Theodora replied, forced to an
expression of her own admiration at the sight of the exquisite
face, the white throat, the wonderful arms and hands of her
rival. "I but did what any woman would do for another
whose life she saw imperilled. Your wonderful youth and
strength will soon restore you to your former self. Deign
then to accept the hospitality of this abode until such a time."</p>

<p>There was a pause during which each seemed to search
the soul of the other.</p>

<p>It was Hellayne who spoke.</p>

<p>"I thank you, Lady Theodora. Nevertheless I intend to
depart at the earliest. I can picture to myself the anxiety
of the Blessed Sisters of Santa Maria in Trastevere at my
mysterious disappearance."</p>

<p>"You intend taking holy orders?"</p>

<p>Theodora's question was pregnant with a strange wonder.</p>

<p>A negative gesture came in response.</p>

<p>"The convent proved a haven of refuge to me when I was
sorely tried."</p>

<p>"Yet&mdash;you cannot return there," Theodora interposed.
"You would not be safe. Know you from whose minions
my Africans rescued you on yester eve?"</p>

<p>Hellayne's wide eyes were silent questioners.</p>

<p>"Then listen well and ponder. You were in the power of
the Lord Basil. And that which he desires he usually
obtains."</p>

<p>Hellayne covered her face with her hands.</p>

<p>"The Lord Basil!"</p>

<p>"You know him, Lady Hellayne?"</p>

<p>"Slightly. He was wont to call upon the man I once called
my husband."</p>

<p>"The man you deserted for another."</p>

<p>Hellayne's eyes glittered like steel.</p>

<p>"That is a matter which concerns only myself, Lady Theodora,"
she said coldly. "You saved my honor&mdash;perchance
my life. For this I thank you. I shall depart at once."</p>

<p>She walked to the door, opened it and recoiled.</p>

<p>Before it stood two Africans with gleaming scimitars.</p>

<p>White to the lips, Hellayne closed the door and faced Theodora.</p>

<p>"Lady Theodora&mdash;why are these there?"</p>

<p>Theodora's smouldering gaze met the fire in the other
woman's eyes.</p>

<p>"Those who come to the bowers of Theodora, remain,"
she said slowly.</p>

<p>"Am I to understand that you will detain me by force
within these walls of infamy?"</p>

<p>"Your language is a trifle harsh, fairest Lady Hellayne,"
Theodora replied mockingly. "Your over-wrought nerves
must bear the burden of the blame. Yet, whatever it may
please you to call the place where Theodora dwells, always
remember, I am Theodora. You have heard of me before."</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;I have heard of you before!"</p>

<p>The calm and cutting contempt which lingered in these
words stung Theodora like a whip-lash.</p>

<p>"You know then, Lady Hellayne, it is your will against
mine! We have met before!"</p>

<p>"You mean to detain me here, against my will?"</p>

<p>"Whether I detain you or no&mdash;shall depend upon yourself.
We are two women&mdash;young,&mdash;beautiful&mdash;passionate&mdash;determined
to win that which we deem our happiness.
I will be plain with you. All the reverses and heartaches of
months and days are wiped out in this glorious moment when
I hold you here in my power. For once my guardian angel,
if I can still boast of one, has been kind to me. He has
delivered you into my hands&mdash;and I shall bend or break
you!"</p>

<p>Hellayne listened to this outburst of passion with outward
calm, though her heart beat so wildly that she thought the
other woman must hear it through the deadly silence which
prevailed for a space.</p>

<p>"You will bend or break me, Lady Theodora?" Hellayne
replied with a pathetic shrug. "There is nothing that you
could do that would even leave a memory. I have suffered
that in life which makes you to me but the nightmare of an
evil dream."</p>

<p>"We shall see, Lady Hellayne," Theodora replied, her
passion kindling at the other woman's calm.</p>

<p>"What then is the ransom you desire, Lady Theodora?"
Hellayne continued sardonically. "A woman of your kind
desires but one thing&mdash;and gold I do not possess&mdash;"</p>

<p>Theodora's eyes scanned Hellayne's pale face.</p>

<p>"Lady Hellayne," she said slowly, "of all the things in
heaven or on earth there is but one I desire: Tristan,&mdash;the
man you love&mdash;the man who loves you with a passion so
idolatrous that, did I possess but the one thousandth atom of
what he gives to your ice cold heart, I should deem myself
blessed above all women on earth. Give him to me&mdash;renounce
him&mdash;and you are free to go wherever your fancy
may lead you."</p>

<p>Hellayne regarded the speaker as if she thought she had
gone mad.</p>

<p>"Give him to you?" she said, hardly above a whisper, but
her tone stung Theodora to the quick.</p>

<p>"To me!" she said. "Look at me! Am I not beautiful?
Am I not created to make man happy? What woman may
match herself with me? Even your pale beauty, Lady Hellayne,
is but as a disembodied wraith as compared to mine.
To me! To me! You are young, Lady Hellayne. What
can the sacrifice matter to you? To you it can mean little.
There are other men with whom you may be happy. For
me it spells salvation&mdash;or eternal doom! For I love him, I
love him with my whole heart and soul, love him as never I
loved the thing called man before! He has shown to me one
glimpse of heaven, and now I mean to have him, to atone for
a past that was my evil inheritance, to taste life ere I too
descend to those shadowy regions whence there is no return.
Lady Hellayne," she continued, hardly noting the expression
of horror and loathing that had crept into Hellayne's countenance.
"You have heard of me&mdash;you know who I am&mdash;and
what! Those who went before me were the same,
generations, perchance. It rankles in our blood. But there
is salvation&mdash;even for such as myself. To few it comes, but I
have seen the star. It is the love of a man, pure and true.
Where such a one is found, even the darkness of the grave is
dispelled. I have lived and loved, Lady Hellayne! I have
been loved as few women have. I have hurled myself into
this mad whirlpool to forget&mdash;but forget I could not. Man,
the beast, is ever ready to drag the woman who cries for life
and its true meaning back into the mire. He alone of all
has spurned me&mdash;he alone has resisted the deadly lure of
my charms. Never have I spoken to woman before as I am
speaking to you, Lady Hellayne. Hear my prayer!&mdash;Renounce
him!"</p>

<p>Hellayne stared mute at the speaker, as if her tongue
refused her utterance. Was she going mad? Theodora,
the courtesan queen of Rome, trying to obtain salvation by
taking from her her lover? She could almost have found it
in her heart to laugh aloud. A death-bed repentance that
made the devils laugh! In her virginal purity Hellayne
could not fathom what was going on in the soul of a woman
who had suddenly awakened to the terror of her life and
was snatching at the last straw to save herself from drowning
in the cesspool of vice.</p>

<p>Theodora, with her woman's intuition, saw what was going
on in the other woman's soul. She noted the slow transformation
from amazement to horror, and from horror to
defiance. She saw Hellayne slowly raising herself to her
full height, and approaching her, who had risen, until her
breath fanned her cheek.</p>

<p>"Give him to you, Lady Theodora? Surely you must be
mad to even dream of so monstrous a thing."</p>

<p>She was very white, and her hands were clenched as if
she forcibly restrained herself from flying at her opponent's
throat.</p>

<p>Theodora's self-restraint was slowly waning. She knew
she had pleaded in vain. She knew Hellayne did not understand,
or, if she understood, did not believe.</p>

<p>She spoke calmly, yet there was something in her voice
that warned Hellayne of the impending storm.</p>

<p>"Listen, Lady Hellayne," she said. "You are alone in
Rome! At the mercy of any one who desires you! Your
lover is accused of the most heinous crime. He has taken
the consecrated wafer from the chapel in the Lateran and,
who knows, from how many other churches in Rome."</p>

<p>Hellayne's eyes sank into those of the other woman.</p>

<p>"No one knows better than yourself, Lady Theodora, how
utterly false and infamous this accusation is. Tristan is a
devout son of the Church. His whole life bears testimony
thereof."</p>

<p>"If the Consistory pronounce him guilty, who will believe
him innocent?" came the mocking reply.</p>

<p>"His God&mdash;his conscience&mdash;and I," Hellayne replied
quietly.</p>

<p>"Will that save his life&mdash;which is forfeit?" Theodora
interposed.</p>

<p>"Where is he? Oh, where is he?"</p>

<p>For a moment Hellayne gave way to her emotions.</p>

<p>"He lies in the vaults of Castel San Angelo," Theodora
replied, "awaiting his doom."</p>

<p>"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Hellayne moaned, covering her
face with her hands and sobbing convulsively.</p>

<p>"His rescue&mdash;though difficult of achievement&mdash;lies with
you," Theodora said, veiling her inmost feelings. She was
staking all on the last throw.</p>

<p>"With me?" Hellayne turned to her piteously.</p>

<p>"I will tell you," Theodora interposed, placing her white
hands on Hellayne's shoulders. "The Consistory has
spoken&mdash;" she lied&mdash;"and no power on earth can save
your lover from his doom save&mdash;myself!"</p>

<p>"How may that be?"</p>

<p>"I know the ways of the Emperor's Tomb. Its denizens
obey me! If you love him as I do you will bring the sacrifice
and save his life."</p>

<p>"Oh, save him if you can, Lady Theodora," Hellayne
prayed, her hands closing round Theodora's wrists. "Save
him&mdash;save him."</p>

<p>"I shall, if you will do this thing, I ask," Theodora replied,
sinking her dark orbs into the blue depths of Hellayne's.</p>

<p>"What am I to do?"</p>

<p>"It is easy. Here are stylus and tablet. Write to the
Lord Basil to meet you at the Groves of Theodora. A hint
of love, passion, promise&mdash;fulfillment of his desires&mdash;then
give it to me. It shall save your lover."</p>

<p>For a moment Hellayne stared wild-eyed at the woman.
It was as if she had heard a voice, the meaning of which she
no longer understood.</p>

<p>Then, in her unimpassioned voice, she turned to Theodora.</p>

<p>"Only the fiend himself and Theodora could ask as much!"</p>

<p>The blood was coursing like a stream of lava through
Theodora's veins.</p>

<p>Would Hellayne but step out of her reserve! Would she
but abandon her icy calm!</p>

<p>"Then you refuse?" she flashed.</p>

<p>"I defy you," Hellayne replied. "Do your worst! Rather
would I see him dead than defiled by such as you!"</p>

<p>"Would you, indeed?" Theodora returned with a deadly
calm. "Nevertheless, when first we met, he, for the mere
asking, gave to me a scarf of blue samite, a chased dagger,
tokens from the woman he had loved."</p>

<p>Theodora paused, to watch the effect of the poison shaft
she had sped. She saw by Hellayne's agonized expression
that it had struck home.</p>

<p>"For the last time, Lady Hellayne, do my bidding!"</p>

<p>Hellayne had regained her self-possession. With a
supreme effort she fought down the pain in her heart.</p>

<p>"Never!" came the firm reply.</p>

<p>"Then I shall take him from you!"</p>

<p>"Deem you, I have aught to fear from such as you?"
Hellayne said slowly, the blue fire of her eyes burning on the
pale face of Theodora. "Deem you, that Tristan would
defile his manhood with the courtesan queen of Rome?"</p>

<p>A gasp, a choking outcry, and Theodora's white hands
closed round Hellayne's throat. Though their touch burnt
her like fire, Hellayne did not even raise her hands.</p>

<p>Fearlessly she gazed into Theodora's face.</p>

<p>"I am waiting," she said with the same passionless voice,
but there was something in her eyes that gave the other
woman pause.</p>

<p>Theodora's hands fell limply by her side. What she read
in Hellayne's eyes had caused her, perchance, for the first
time, to blanch.</p>

<p>She clapped her hands.</p>

<p>The door opened and Persephoné stood on the threshold.</p>

<p>She had listened, and not a word of their discourse had
escaped her watchful ears.</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne desires to return to her chamber,"
Theodora turned to the Circassian, and without another word
Hellayne followed her guide.</p>

<p>Yet, as she did so, her head was turned towards Theodora
and in her eyes was an expression so inscrutable that Theodora
turned away with a shudder, as the door closed behind
their retreating forms, leaving her alone with her overmastering
agony.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIId" id="CHAPTER_VIId">CHAPTER VII</a><br />

A ROMAN MEDEA</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">It was a moonless night.&mdash;</p>

<p>Deep repose was upon the
seven hilled city. The sky was
intensely dark, but the stars
shone out full and lustrous.
Venus was almost setting. Mars
glowed red and fiery towards
the zenith; the constellations
seemed to stand out from the
infinite spaces behind them.
Orion glittered like a giant in golden armour; Cassiopeia
shone out in her own peculiar radiance and the Pleiades in
their misty brightness.</p>

<p>A litter, borne by four stalwart Nubians, and preceded by
two torch bearers, slowly emerged from the gates of Theodora's
palace and took the direction of the gorge which
divides the Mount of Cloisters from Mount Testaccio.</p>

<p>Owing to the prevailing darkness which made all objects,
moving and immobile, indistinguishable, the inmates of the
litter had not drawn the curtains, so as to admit the cooling
night air. There was a fixedness in Theodora's look and a
recklessness in her manner that showed anger and determination.
It struck Persephoné, who was seated by her
side, with a sort of terror, and for once she did not dare to
accost her mistress with her usual banter and freedom.</p>

<p>Theodora had spent the early hours of the evening in a
half obscured room, whose sable hangings seemed to reflect
the unrest of her soul. She had forbidden the lamps to be
lighted, brooding alone in darkness and solitude. Then she
had summoned Persephoné, ordered her litter-bearers and
commanded them to take her to the house of Sidonia, a
woman versed in all manner of lore that shunned the light
of day.</p>

<p>"It must be done! It shall be done!" she muttered, her
white face tense, her white hands clenched.</p>

<p>Suddenly her hand closed round Persephoné's wrist.</p>

<p>"She defies me, knowing herself in my power," she said.
"We shall see who shall conquer."</p>

<p>"The Lady Hellayne is as fearless of death, as yourself,
Lady Theodora," Persephoné replied. "Indeed, she seemed
rather to desire it, for no woman ever faced you with such
defiance as did she when you put before her the fatal choice."</p>

<p>Theodora's face shone ghostly in the nocturnal gloom.</p>

<p>"We shall see! She shall desire death a thousand fold
ere she quits the abode I have assigned to her. God! Not
even Roxana had dared to say to me what this one did."</p>

<p>"Nor would her shafts have struck so deep a wound,"
Persephoné interposed with studied insolence.</p>

<p>Theodora's grip tightened round the girl's wrist.</p>

<p>"You admire the Lady Hellayne?" she said softly, but
there was a gleam in her eyes like liquid fire.</p>

<p>"As one brave woman admires another!" Persephoné
replied fearlessly, turning her beautiful face to the speaker.</p>

<p>"You may require all your courage some day to face
another task," Theodora replied. "Beware, lest you tempt
me to do what I might regret."</p>

<p>Persephoné turned white. Her bosom heaved. Her eyes
met Theodora's.</p>

<p>"I shall welcome the ordeal with all my heart!"</p>

<p>Theodora relapsed into silence, oppressed by dark thoughts,
the memory of unresisted temptations, a chaotic world where
black unscalable rocks, like circles of the Inferno, hemmed
her in on every side, while devils whispered into her ears
the words that gave shape and substance to her desire to
destroy her rival in the love of the one man whom, in all her
changeable life, she had truly desired.</p>

<p>"Deem you, that I have aught to fear from such as you?
Deem you, that Tristan would defile his manhood with the
courtesan queen of Rome?"</p>

<p>The words still boomed in her ears, the words and the
tone in which they had been hurled in her face.</p>

<p>Even to this moment she knew not what restrained her
from strangling Hellayne. It seemed to her that only in a
physical encounter could she quench the hatred she bore this
white, beautiful statue who never raised her voice while the
fire of her blue eyes seared her very soul.</p>

<p>A thousand frightful forms of evil, stalking shapes of death,
came and went before her imagination, which caused her to
clutch first at one, then at another of the dire suggestions
that came in crowds which overwhelmed her powers of
choice. Then, like an inspiration from the very depths of
Hell, a thought flashed into her mind, and, no sooner conceived,
than she determined upon its execution.</p>

<p>The laboratory of the woman whom Theodora was seeking
on this night was in an old house midway in the gorge. In
a deep hollow, almost out of sight, stood a square structure
of stone, gloomy and forbidding, with narrow windows and
an uninviting door. Tall pines shadowed it on one side, a
small rivulet twisted itself, like a live snake, half round it on
the other. A plot of green grass, ill-kept and teeming with
noxious weeds, fennel, thistle and foul stramonium, was
surrounded by a rough wall of loose stone; and here lived
the woman who supplied all those who desired her wares,
and plied her nocturnal trade.</p>

<p>Sidonia was tall and straight, of uncertain age, though she
might have been reckoned at forty. The whiteness of her
skin was enhanced by her blue black hair and lustrous black
eyes. Far from forbidding, she exercised a sinister charm
upon those who called upon her, and who vainly tried to
reconcile her trade with the traces of a great beauty. Yet
her thin, cruel lips never smiled, unless she had an object
to gain by assuming a disguise as foreign to her as light is
to an angel of darkness.</p>

<p>Hardly any known poison there was, which was not obtainable
at her hands. In a sombre chest, carved with fantastic
figures from Etruscan designs, were concealed the subtle
drugs, cabalistical formulas and alchemic preparations which
were so greatly in demand during those years of darkness.</p>

<p>In the most secret place of all were deposited, ready for
use, a few phials of a crystal liquid, every single drop of
which contained the life of a man, and which, administered
in due proportion of time and measure, killed and left no
trace.</p>

<p>Here was the sublimated dust of the deadly night-shade
which kindles the red fires of fever and rots the roots of the
tongue. Here was the fetid powder of stramonium that
grips the lungs like an asthma, and quinia that shakes its
victims like the cold hand of the miasma in the Pontine
Marshes. The essence of poppies, ten times sublimated, a
few grains of which bring on the stupor of apoplexy, and the
sardonic plant that kills its victims with the frightful laughter
of madness upon their countenance, were here. The knowledge
of these and many other cursed herbs, once known to
Medea in the Colchian land, and transplanted to Greece
and Rome with the enchantments of their use, had been
handed down by a long succession of sorcerers and poisoners
to the woman, who seemed endowed by nature as the legitimate
inheritrix of this lore of Hell.</p>

<p>At last the litter of Theodora was set down by its swarthy
bearers before the threshold of Sidonia's house. Theodora
alighted and, after commanding the Africans to await her
return, ascended the narrow stone steps alone and knocked
at the door. After a brief wait, shuffling steps were heard
from within, and a bent, lynx-eyed individual of Oriental
origin opened the door, inviting the visitor to enter. She
was ushered into a dusky hallway, in which brooded strange
odors, thence into a dimly lighted room, the laboratory of
Sidonia.</p>

<p>Hardly had she seated herself when the woman entered
and stood face to face with Theodora.</p>

<p>The eyes of the two women instantly met in a searching
glance that took in the whole ensemble, bearing, dress and
almost the very thoughts of each other. In that one glance
each knew and understood; each knew that she could trust
the other, in evil, if not in good.</p>

<p>And there was trust between them. The evil spirits that
possessed their hearts clasped hands, and a silent league was
formed in their souls ere a word had been spoken.</p>

<p>Sidonia wore a long, purple robe, totally unadorned. The
sleeves were wide, and revealed her white, bare arms. Her
finely cut features were crossed with thin lines of cruelty
and cunning. No mercy was in her eyes, still less on her
lips, and none in her heart, cold to every human feeling.</p>

<p>"The Lady Theodora is fair to look upon," Sidonia broke
the silence. "All women admit it; all men confess it." And
her gaze swept the other woman, who was clad in an ample
black mantle which ended in a hood.</p>

<p>"Can you guess why I am here?" Theodora replied.
"You are wise and know a woman's desire better than she
dares avow."</p>

<p>"Can I guess?" replied Sidonia, returning Theodora's
scrutiny. "You have many lovers, Lady Theodora, but
there is one who does not return your passion. And, you
have a rival. A woman, more potent than yourself, has,
notwithstanding your beauty, entangled the man you love,
and you are here to win him back and to triumph over your
rival. Is it not so, Lady Theodora?"</p>

<p>"More than that," replied the other, clenching her white
hands and gazing into the eyes that met her own with a look
of merciless triumph at what she saw reflected therein.
"It is all that&mdash;and more&mdash;"</p>

<p>Sidonia met her eager gaze.</p>

<p>"You would kill your rival!" she said with a smile upon
her lips. "There is death in your eyes&mdash;in your voice&mdash;in
your heart! You would kill the woman. It is good in
the eyes of a woman to kill her rival&mdash;and women like you
are rare!"</p>

<p>"Your reward shall be great," Theodora said with an
inquisitive glance at the woman who had read her inmost
thoughts.</p>

<p>"To kill woman or man were a pleasure even without the
profit," replied Sidonia, darkly. "I come from a race,
ancient and terrible as the Cæsars, and I hate the puny
rabble. I have my own joy in making my hand felt in a
world I hate and which hates me!"</p>

<p>She held out her hands, as if the ends of her fingers were
trickling poison.</p>

<p>"Death drops on whomsoever I send it," she continued,
"subtly, secretly. The very spirits of air cannot trace
whence it comes."</p>

<p>"I know you are the possessor of terrible secrets," Theodora
replied, fascinated beyond all her experiences with the
woman and her trade.</p>

<p>"Such secrets never die," said the poisoner. "Few men,
still fewer women, are there who would not listen at the
door of Hell to learn them. Let me see your hand!"</p>

<p>Theodora complied with her abrupt demand and laid her
beautiful white hand into the no less beautiful one of the
woman before her.</p>

<p>Her touch, though the hand was cool, seemed to burn,
but Theodora's touch affected the other woman likewise
for she said:</p>

<p>"There is evil enough in the palm of your hand to destroy
the world! We are well met, you and I. You are worthy
of my confidence. These fingers would pick the fruit off
the forbidden tree, for men to eat and die! Lady Theodora&mdash;I
may some day teach you the great secret&mdash;meanwhile
I will show you that I possess it!"</p>

<p>With these words she walked to the chest, took from it
an ebony casket and laid it upon the table.</p>

<p>"There is death enough in this casket," she said, "to
kill every man and woman in Rome!"</p>

<p>Theodora fastened her gaze upon it, as if she would have
drawn out the secret of its contents by the very magnetism
of her eyes. For, even while Sidonia was speaking, a thought
flashed through her visitor's mind&mdash;a thought which almost
made her forget the purpose on which she had come. She
laid her hands upon it caressingly, trembling, eager to see
its contents.</p>

<p>"Open it!" said Sidonia. "Touch the spring and look!"</p>

<p>Theodora touched the little spring. The lid flew back and
there flashed from it a light which for a moment dazzled her
by its very brilliancy. She thrust the cabinet from her in
alarm, imagining she inhaled the odor of some deadly perfume.</p>

<p>"Its glitter terrifies me!" she said. "Its odor sickens."</p>

<p>"Your conscience frightens you," sneered Sidonia.</p>

<p>Theodora rose to her feet, her face pale, her eyes alight
with a strange fire.</p>

<p>"This to me?" she flashed.</p>

<p>For a moment the two women faced each other in a white
silence.</p>

<p>A strange smile played upon Sidonia's lips.</p>

<p>"The Aqua Tofana in the hands of a coward is a gift as
fatal to its possessor as to its victim!"</p>

<p>"You are brave to speak such words to Theodora!"</p>

<p>Sidonia gave her an inscrutable glance.</p>

<p>"Why should I fear you? Even without these,&mdash;woman
to woman," she replied, as she drew the casket to herself
and took out a phial, gilt and chased with strange symbols.</p>

<p>Sidonia took it up and immediately the liquid was filled
with a million sparks of fire. It was the Aqua Tofana,
undiluted, instantaneous in its effect, and not medicable by
antidotes. Once administered there was no more hope for
its victim than for the souls of the damned who have received
the final judgment. One drop of the sparkling water upon
the tongue of a Titan would blast him like Jove's thunderbolt,
shrivel him up to a black, unsightly cinder.</p>

<p>This terrible water was rarely used alone by the poisoners,
but it formed the basis of a hundred slower potions which
ambition, fear or hypocrisy, mingled with the element of
time, and colored with the various hues and aspects of natural
disease.</p>

<p>Theodora had again taken her seat and leaned towards
Sidonia, supporting her chin in the palm of her hands, as
she bent eagerly over the table, drinking in every word as
the hot sand of the desert drinks in the water that falls upon
it.</p>

<p>"What is that?" she pointed to a phial, white as milk and
seemingly harmless, and while she questioned, her busy
brain worked with feverish activity. The Aqua Tofana she
had used when she struck down Roxana and her too talkative
lover on the night of the feast in her garden. But now she
required a different concoction to complete the vengeance
on her rival.</p>

<p>"This is called Lac Misericordiae," replied Sidonia. "It
brings on painless consumption and decay! It eats the life
out of man or woman, while the moon empties and fills. The
strong man becomes a skeleton. Blooming maidens sink to
their graves blighted and bloodless. Neither saint or sacrament
can arrest its doom. This phial"&mdash;and she took
another from the cabinet, replacing the first&mdash;"contains
innumerable griefs that wait upon the pillows of rejected
and heartbroken lovers, and the wisest mediciner is mocked
by the lying appearances of disease that defy his skill and
make a mock of his wisdom."</p>

<p>There was a moment's silence. At last Theodora spoke.</p>

<p>"Have you nothing that will cause fear&mdash;dread&mdash;madness&mdash;ere
it strikes the victim dumb forever more? Something
that produces in the brain those dreadful visions&mdash;horrid
shapes&mdash;peopling its chambers where reason once
held sway?"</p>

<p>For a moment Sidonia and Theodora held each other's
gaze, as if each were wondering at the wickedness of the
other.</p>

<p>"This," Sidonia said at last, taking out a curiously twisted
bottle, containing a clear crimson liquid and sealed with the
mystic Pentagon, "contains the quintessence of mandrakes,
distilled in the alembic, when Scorpio rules the hour. It
will produce what you desire."</p>

<p>"How much of it is required to do this thing?"</p>

<p>"Three drops. Within six hours the unfailing result will
appear."</p>

<p>"Give it to me!"</p>

<p>"You possess rare ingenuity, Lady Theodora," said
Sidonia, placing her hand in that of her caller. "If Satan
prompts you not, it is because he can teach you nothing,
either in love or stratagem."</p>

<p>She shut up her infernal casket, leaving the phial of distilled
mandrakes, shining like a ruby in the lamp light, upon
the table. By its side lay a bag of gold.</p>

<p>Theodora arose. The eyes of the two women flashed in
lurid sympathy as they parted, and Sidonia accompanied her
visitor to the door.</p>

<p>As she did so a heavy curtain in the background parted
and the white face of Basil peered into the empty room.</p>

<p>After a brief interval Sidonia returned.</p>

<p>Her face had again assumed its forbidding aspect as,
removing the phials and seemingly addressing no one, she
said:</p>

<p>"We are alone now!"</p>

<p>At the next moment Basil stood in the chamber. His eyes
burned with a feverish lustre, and there was a horror in his
countenance which he strove in vain to conceal.</p>

<p>"This must not be," he said hoarsely. "Why did you
give her this devil's brew?"</p>

<p>And staggering up to the table he gripped the soft white
wrist of the woman with fingers of steel.</p>

<p>Sidonia's eyes narrowed as she gazed into those of the man.</p>

<p>"Do you love that one, too?" she said, wrenching herself
free. "Or have you lied to her as you have lied to me?"</p>

<p>"Your voice sounds like the cry from a dark gallery that
leads to Hell," Basil replied. "You, alone, have I loved all
these years, and for your fell beauty have I risked all I have
done and am about to do!"</p>

<p>"Fear speaks in your voice," Sidonia replied with a cruel
smile upon her lips. "You are in my power, else had you
long ago consigned me to a place whence there is no return.
With me the secret of another's death would go to the grave."</p>

<p>"Nay, you do not understand!" Basil interposed. "The
woman who has aroused Theodora's maddened jealousy is
nothing to me. But I have other plans concerning her&mdash;she
must be saved!"</p>

<p>"Other plans?" replied Sidonia darkly. "What other
plans? What sort of woman is she who can arouse the
jealousy of Theodora?"</p>

<p>"White and cold as the snows of the North."</p>

<p>"A stranger in Rome?"</p>

<p>"The wife of one whose days are numbered, if I rightly
read the oracle."</p>

<p>"What is this plan?" Sidonia insisted.</p>

<p>"She is to be delivered to Hassan Abdullah, as reward
for his aid in the great stroke that is about to fall."</p>

<p>In the distance whimpered a bell.</p>

<p>"And, when the hour tolls&mdash;the hour of which you have
so often prated&mdash;when you sit in the high seat of the Senator
of Rome&mdash;where then will I be, who have watched your
power grow and have aided it in its upward flight?"</p>

<p>Basil's face lighted up with the fires within.</p>

<p>"Where else but by my side? Who dares defy us and
the realms of the Underworld?"</p>

<p>"Who, indeed?" Sidonia replied with a dark, inscrutable
glance into Basil's face. "Perchance I should not love you
as I do were you not as evil as you are good to look upon!
I love you, even though I know your lying lips have professed
love to many others, even though I know that Theodora has
kindled in you all the evil passions of your soul. Beware
how you play with me!"</p>

<p>She threw back her wide sleeves and two dazzling white
arms encircled Basil's neck.</p>

<p>"Await me yonder," she then turned to her visitor, pointing
to a chamber situated beyond the curtain. "We will
talk this matter over!"</p>

<p>Basil retired and Sidonia busied herself, replacing the
different phials in the ebony chest.</p>

<p>After having assured herself that everything was in its
place, she picked up the lamp and disappeared behind the
curtain in the background.</p>

<p>Deep midnight silence reigned in the gorge of Mount
Aventine.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIId" id="CHAPTER_VIIId">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />

IN TENEBRIS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">Another day had gone down
the never returning tide of
time. The sun was sinking
in a rosy bed of quilted clouds.
All day long Hellayne had sat
brooding in her chamber, unable
to shake off the lethargy of
despair that bound and benumbed
her limbs, rousing herself
at long intervals just sufficiently
to wring her hands for very anguish, without even the
faintest ray of hope to pierce the black night of her misery.</p>

<p>Just as a white border of light had been visible on the edge
of the dark cloud that hung over her, just as she had refound
the man whose love was the very breath of her existence, her
evil star had again flamed in the ascendant and, losing him
anew, she had utterly lost herself. She struggled with her
thoughts, as a drowning man amid tossing waves, groping
about in the dark for a plank to float upon, when all else has
sunk in the seas around him.</p>

<p>She had hardly touched the food which Persephoné herself
had brought to her. Yet it seemed to her the Circassian had
regarded her strangely, as she placed the viands before her.
She had tried to frame a question, but her lips seemed to
refuse the utterance, and at last Persephoné had departed,
with the mocking promise to return later, to inquire how the
Lady Hellayne had spent the day.</p>

<p>Now it seemed to her as if a poison breath of evil was
slowly permeating the narrow confines of her chamber.
Something she had never before experienced was floating
before her vision, was creeping into her brain, was booming
in her ears, was turning her blood to ice.</p>

<p>Was it the voiceless echo of an ill-omened incantation,
handed down through generations of poisoners and witches
from the time of pagan Rome?</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Hecaten voco,</span><br />
Voco Tisiphonem,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spargens avernales aquas,</span><br />
Te morti devoveo; te diris ago."<br />
</p>

<p>Was she going mad?</p>

<p>Hellayne's hands went to her forehead.</p>

<p>"I think I am sane," she said to herself, "at least&mdash;as
yet."</p>

<p>Would Heaven not come to her aid? She was but a weak
woman who in vain&mdash;too often in vain&mdash;had tried to
snatch a few moments of happiness from life. Ah! If
Death knew what a service he would render her! But no!
She would brace her heart strings more than ever. She
would renew her fight with dusk and madness. She would
face and challenge each mad phantom&mdash;make it speak&mdash;reveal
itself,&mdash;or she would break the silence of that monstrous
place at least with her own voice. Though flesh was
weak she would be strong to-night&mdash;but&mdash;ah God! here
they came trooping out of the night.</p>

<p>She cowered back, shuddering, her eyes fixed on the
dusky depths of the chamber.</p>

<p>It was the blue one&mdash;the one whose limbs and cheeks
seemed made of pale blue ice. She felt her limbs growing
numb. But she would bar its way.</p>

<p>The finger of the freezing shape was on its lip. Did it
mean that it was dumb? Well, then, let it speak by signs.
The dim blue rays that draped its silence quaked like aspens.</p>

<p>"Who are you?" she forced herself to speak. "Are you
Hate? You shake your head? Are you Despair? No? Not
that? Then you must be Fear!"</p>

<p>The figure nodded with a horrible grin.</p>

<p>"Fear of what?"</p>

<p>The phantom passed its finger slowly across its throat.</p>

<p>She held on to the panelling to keep from falling. Her
woman's strength had bounds. But she recovered herself
and forced herself to speak.</p>

<p>"Ah!" she said, "it is this she contemplates? How soon?
I needs must know. How many twilights have I still to live,
before they sink my body in yonder lotus pond?"</p>

<p>The phantom held up three fingers.</p>

<p>"Only three," Hellayne babbled like a child, talking to
herself. "Well&mdash;pass upon your way, phantom.&mdash;You
have given me all you had to give&mdash;three dusks to rise to
Heaven."</p>

<p>She raised her eyes in prayer and a strange rapture came
into her face. But it vanished suddenly&mdash;and once more
she stared, shuddering, into the gloom.</p>

<p>For craze and hell still prevailed.</p>

<p>Look, there it came!</p>

<p>What new and monstrous phantom was swaying and
groping towards her? A headless monk!&mdash;The air grew
black with horror. Horror shrivelled her skin, was raising
the roots of her hair.</p>

<p>It was for her he was groping. Her wits were beginning
to leave her. She had to move this way and that to avoid
him. She felt, if he only touched her, madness would win
the day. And he groped and groped, and she seemed to
feel him near to her.</p>

<p>"Away! Away!" she shrieked. But she was wasting
her breath. He had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear.</p>

<p>And he groped and groped, as if he felt her already under
his vague, white hands.</p>

<p>"Help&mdash;God!" she shrieked.</p>

<p>Nature could not cope with such shapes as these!</p>

<p>And Hellayne fell forward in a swoon.</p>

<p>It was late in the night when she regained consciousness.
She opened her eyes. The shapes of dusk had gone. She
was alone&mdash;alone on the stone floor of the chamber. Everything
was still in the long dusky gallery beyond. Perhaps
it was all over for the night, and yet&mdash;what was there upon
the threshold?</p>

<p>"Oh, my God! my God!" she cried. "Let me die&mdash;only
not this horror!"</p>

<p>There the phantom stood. Its scarlet mantle glimmered
almost black. She dared not turn her back. She dared
not shut her eyes. He made neither sign, nor beck, nor
nod. But, like a crazy shadow, he circled round and round
her, soundlessly, as if he were treading on velvet.</p>

<p>"Keep off&mdash;keep off!" she shrieked. "Protect me, oh
my God! Madness is closing in upon me!"</p>

<p>And with a sudden, desperate movement she rushed at
the phantom to tear the crimson mask from its face.</p>

<p>Her arms penetrated empty air.</p>

<p>With a moan she sank upon the floor. Her arms spread
out, she lay upon her face.</p>

<p>The swoon held her captive once more.</p>

<p>But the dream was kinder to Hellayne than life.</p>

<p>She stood upon a rocky promontory in her own far-off
land of Provence.</p>

<p>Before her spread the peace of the wide, glimmering sea.</p>

<p>What are these golden columns through which the water
glistens?</p>

<p>A man stood within the ruins of a great temple, the sea
before him, violet hills behind. From the summit of an
island mountain in the bay the lilt of a tender song was drifting
upwards.</p>

<p>And, as he sang, the great sea stirred. It heaved, it
writhed, it rose. With onward movement, as of a coiling
serpent, the whole vast liquid brilliance rushed upon the
temple. Mighty billows of beryl curved and broke in sheets
of white foam.</p>

<p>"Fear nothing," said the man. "Your river has found the
sea!"</p>

<p>It was Tristan's voice.</p>

<p>From the distance came the faint tolling of a bell, forlorn,
as from a forest chapel, infinitely sweet and tremulous. In
a faint light, like a mountain mist at dawn, the whole scene
faded away, and Hellayne was in a garden&mdash;a rose garden.
She had been there before, but how different it all was. She
was being smothered in roses. Flame roses every one&mdash;curled
into fiery petal whorls, dancing in the garden dusk
under a red, red sky.</p>

<p>Ah! There it is again, the terrible face, leering from
among the branches, the face that froze the blood in her
veins, that made her heart turn cold as ice and filled her
soul with horror.</p>

<p>It is the Count Laval. He is seeking her, seeking her
everywhere. Horns are peering out from under his scarlet
cap, and he has long claws.</p>

<p>Now she is fleeing through the rose garden, faster, faster,
ever faster. But he is gaining upon her. From bosquet to
bosquet, from thicket to thicket; she hears his approaching
steps. Now she can almost feel his breath upon her neck.</p>

<p>At last he has overtaken her.</p>

<p>Now he is circling round her, nearer and nearer, extending
his hands towards her, while she follows his movement with
horror-stricken eyes.</p>

<p>But her strength, her body, are paralyzed.</p>

<p>As his hands close round her throat, his eyes gloating with
dull malice, she covers her face with her hands and falls
with a shriek.</p>

<p>And as she lies there before him, dead, he looks down
upon her with a strange smile upon his lips and casts his
scarlet mantle over her.</p>

<p>Once more Hellayne is in the throes of a swoon.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IXd" id="CHAPTER_IXd">CHAPTER IX</a><br />

THE CONSPIRACY</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="93" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">It was a night, moonless and
starless. Deep silence brooded
over the city. Not a ray of
light was in the sky. A dense
fog hung like a funeral pall
over the Seven Hills, and a
ceaseless, changeless drizzle
was sinking from the heavy
clouds whose contours were
indistinguishable in the nocturnal
gloom. The Tiber hardly moaned within his banks.
The city fires hissed and smouldered away under the descending
rain, soon to be extinguished altogether.</p>

<p>It was about the second watch of the night when two men,
wrapped in dark mantles that covered them from head to
foot, quitted the monastery of San Lorenzo and were immediately
swallowed up by the darkness.</p>

<p>The night by this time was more dismal than ever. The
wind began to rise, and its fitful gusts howled round the
stern old walls of the monastery, or rustled in the laurels
and cypresses by which it was surrounded. The great gates
were shut and barred. Hardly a light was to be seen along
the entire range of buildings.</p>

<p>Suddenly a postern gate opened, and what appeared to be
a monk, drawing his black cowl completely over his head,
came forth and hurried along in the direction of the river.</p>

<p>Tristan and his companion, emerging from their hiding-place,
followed at the farthest possible distance which
allowed them to retain sight of their quarry. Through a
succession of the worst and narrowest by-lanes of the city
they tracked him to the Tiber's edge.</p>

<p>Here, dark as it was, a boat was ready for launching.
Five or six persons were standing by, who seemed to recognize
and address the monk. Keeping in the shadows of
the tall, ill-favored houses, the twain contrived to approach
near enough to hear somewhat that was said.</p>

<p>"The light over yonder has been burning this half hour,"
said one of the men.</p>

<p>"I could not come before," said he in the monk's habit.
"I was followed by two men. I threw them out, however,
before I reached the monastery of San Lorenzo. But&mdash;by
all the saints&mdash;lose no more time! We have lost too much,
as it is."</p>

<p>He entered the boat as he spoke. It was pushed out into
the water, and in another moment the measured sound of
oars came to their ears.</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny turned to his companion.</p>

<p>"Tell me, did he who spoke first and mentioned the light
yonder on St. Bartholomew's Island&mdash;a light there is yonder,
sure enough&mdash;did he resemble, think you, one we know?"</p>

<p>"Both in voice and form," replied Tristan.</p>

<p>"My thoughts point the same way as yours!"</p>

<p>"I should know that voice wherever I heard it," Tristan
muttered under his breath. "But what of the light?"</p>

<p>Dimly through the mist the red glow was discernible.</p>

<p>"It beams from the deserted monastery," Odo replied
after a pause.</p>

<p>"Can we put across?" Tristan queried.</p>

<p>"The question is not so much to find a boat as a landing-place,
where we shall not be seen."</p>

<p>"There is a boat lying yonder. If my eyes do not deceive
me, the boatman lies asleep on the poop."</p>

<p>"Know you aught of the men who rowed down the river?"
Odo turned to the boatman, after he had aroused him.</p>

<p>The latter stared uncomprehendingly into the speaker's
face.</p>

<p>"I know of no men. I fell asleep for want of custom.
It is a God-forsaken spot," he added, rubbing his eyes. "Who
would want a boat on a night like this?"</p>

<p>"We require even such a commodity," Odo replied.</p>

<p>The boatman returned a dull, unresponsive glance and
did not move from his improvised couch.</p>

<p>"Take your oars and row us to the Tiber Island," Odo
said sternly, "unless you would bring upon yourself the
curse of the Church. We have a weighty matter that brooks
no delay. And have a care to avoid that other boat which
has preceded yours. We must not be seen."</p>

<p>Something in Odo's voice seemed to compel, and soon they
were afloat, the boatman bending to his oars. They drifted
through the dense mist and soon a dilapidated flight of landing
stairs hove in sight, leading up to the deserted monastery.</p>

<p>"Had we chosen the usual landing-place, we should have
found two boats moored there&mdash;I saw them as we turned."
Odo turned to his companion. "Yet we dare not land here.
We should be seen from the shore."</p>

<p>Directing their Charon to row his craft higher up, Odo
soon discovered the place of which he was in quest. It was
a little cove. The rocks which bordered it were slippery
with seaweed, and in that misty obscurity offered no very
safe footing.</p>

<p>Here the boat was moored, and Odo and his companion
clambered slowly, but steadily, over the rocks and, in a few
moments, had made good their landing.</p>

<p>Having directed the boatman to await their call in the
shadow of the opposite bank, where he might remain unseen,
they continued to grope their way upward, till they reached
the angles of a wall which converged here, sheltered by a
projecting pent house. Voices were heard issuing from
within.</p>

<p>"We must have ample security, my lord," said a speaker,
whose voice Odo recognized as the voice of Basil. "You
require of us to do everything. You exact ties and pledges
and hostages, and you offer nothing."</p>

<p>"I am desirous of sparing, as much as may be, the blood
of my men," replied the person addressed. "Rome must
be my lord's without conflict."</p>

<p>"That may&mdash;or may not be," said the first speaker.
"But so much you may say to the Lord Ugo. If he expects to
reconquer Rome, he will need all the forces he can summon."</p>

<p>"A wiser man than you or I, my lord, has said: 'Never
force a foe to stand at bay,'" interposed a third. "Reject
our offers, and we, whom you might have for your friends,
you will have for your most bitter and determined foes.
Accept our terms, and Rome, together with the Emperor's
Tomb, is yours!"</p>

<p>"What terms are contained in this paper?" queried Ugo's
emissary.</p>

<p>"They are not very difficult to remember!" returned the
Grand Chamberlain. "But I might as well repeat them
here. First&mdash;the revenues of all the churches to flow to
the Holy See."</p>

<p>"Proceed."</p>

<p>"Utmost security of life, person and property to those
who are aiding our enterprise."</p>

<p>"It is well," said the voice. "So much I can vouch for,
my lord. Is that all?"</p>

<p>"All&mdash;as far as conditions go," returned the third
speaker.</p>

<p>"It is not all, by St. Demetrius," cried Basil. "I claim
the office I am holding with all its privileges and appurtenances,
to give no account to any one of the past or the
future."</p>

<p>"What of the present?" interposed the voice.</p>

<p>"You never could imagine that I perilled my neck only
to secure your lord in his former possessions, which he so
cowardly abandoned," said Basil contemptuously. "I claim
the hand of the Lady Theodora&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Theodora?" cried the envoy of Ugo of Tuscany, turning
fiercely upon the speaker. "Surely you are mad, my lord,
to imagine that the Lord Ugo would peril his reign with the
presence of this woman within the same walls that witnessed
the regime of her sister&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Mind your own business, my lord," interposed Basil.
"What the man thinks who fled from Castel San Angelo at
the first cry of revolt, the man who slunk away like a thief
in the night, is nothing to me. We make the conditions.
It is for him to accept or reject them, as he sees fit."</p>

<p>A rasping voice, speaking a villainous jargon, made itself
heard at this juncture.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;but death only
for apostates."</p>

<p>"Our compact is sealed beyond recall," Basil made reply.</p>

<p>"Then you will deliver the woman into my hands?"</p>

<p>There was a pause.</p>

<p>"She shall be delivered into the hands of Hassan Abdullah!
And he will sail away with his white-plumed bird&mdash;the
fairest flower of the North&mdash;and the ransom of a city."</p>

<p>"Yet I do not know the lady's name," said the Saracen.
"This I should know&mdash;else how may she heed my call?"</p>

<p>"Those who love her call her Hellayne."</p>

<p>At the name Tristan started so violently that the monk
caught his arm in a grip of steel.</p>

<p>"Silence&mdash;if you value your life," Odo enjoined.</p>

<p>"When and where is she to be delivered into my hands?"
Hassan Abdullah continued.</p>

<p>"The place will be made known to you, my lord," Basil
replied, "when the Emperor's Tomb hails its new master."</p>

<p>"Here is an infernal plot," Odo whispered into Tristan's
ear, "spawned up by the very Prince of Darkness."</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>"There are six to two of us," Odo interposed. "Silence!
Some one speaks."</p>

<p>It was the voice of the envoy of Ugo of Tuscany.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>"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?"</p>

<p>"Let us not be hasty," interposed another. "The Lord
Ugo will listen to reason."</p>

<p>"The conditions are settled," Basil replied. "On the
third night from to-night!"</p>

<p>The conspirators rose and, emerging from the ruined
refectory, made their way down to their boat.</p>

<p>Soon the sound of oars, becoming fainter and fainter,
informed the listeners that the company had departed.</p>

<p>Tristan's face was very white.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;"</p>

<p>"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&mdash;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."</p>

<p>"What is Rome to me? What the universe?" Tristan
interposed, "if she whom I love better than life is lost to
me?"</p>

<p>The monk turned to him laying his hand upon his shoulder.</p>

<p>"You have been miraculously delivered from the very
jaws of death. You will save the woman you love from
dishonor and shame."</p>

<p>Odo pondered for a pace then he continued:</p>

<p>"There is one in Rome&mdash;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."</p>

<p>"How will you bring this about, Father?" Tristan queried
despairingly.</p>

<p>"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&mdash;but speak not. Listen&mdash;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&mdash;Il Gobbo&mdash;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."</p>

<p>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.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Xd" id="CHAPTER_Xd">CHAPTER X</a><br />

THE BROKEN SPELL</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="92" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p>

<p>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 <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'fairylike'">outwitted</ins>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>The curtain at the far end of the banquet hall slowly parted.</p>

<p>On the threshold stood Theodora.</p>

<p>Silent, rigid, she gazed into the hall.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>A vision of beauty she appeared, radiantly attired, a jewelled
diadem upon her brow. By her side appeared Basil,
the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>When her gaze fell upon the motley crowd, a disgust,
such as she had never known, seized her.</p>

<p>She seated herself on the dais, reserved for her, and with
queenly dignity bade her guests welcome.</p>

<p>Basil occupied the seat of honor at her right, Roger de
Laval at her left.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>At last the Count de Laval arose and whirled his glass
about his head.</p>

<p>"Twine a wreath about your cups," he shouted, "and
drink to the glory of the most beautiful woman in the world&mdash;the
Lady Theodora."</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 hair streamed behind her
like a darkly spread wing.</p>

<p>Wild outbursts of applause resounded uproariously through
the hall.</p>

<p>Count Roger had drawn nearer to Theodora. His arms
encircled her body.</p>

<p>Theodora bent over him.</p>

<p>"Not to-night! Not to-night! There are many things
to consider. To-morrow I shall give you my answer."</p>

<p>He looked up into her eyes.</p>

<p>"Do you not love me?"</p>

<p>His hot breath fanned her cheeks.</p>

<p>Theodora gave a shrug and turned away, sick with disgust.</p>

<p>"Love&mdash;I hardly know what it means. I do not think I
have ever loved."</p>

<p>Laval sucked in his breath between his teeth.</p>

<p>"Then you shall love me! You shall! Ever since I have
come to Rome have I desired you! And the woman lives
not who may gainsay my appeal."</p>

<p>She smiled tauntingly.</p>

<p>He had seized her hand. The fierceness of his grip made
her gasp with pain.</p>

<p>"And whatever brought you to Rome?" she turned to him.</p>

<p>"I came in quest of one who had betrayed my honor."</p>

<p>"And you found her?"</p>

<p>"Both!" came the laconic reply.</p>

<p>"How interesting," purred Theodora, suffering his odious
embrace, although she shuddered at his touch.</p>

<p>"And, man-like, you were revenged?"</p>

<p>"She has met the fate I had decreed upon her who wantonly
betrayed the honor of her lord."</p>

<p>"Then she confessed?"</p>

<p>"She denied her guilt. What matter? I never loved
her. It is you I love! You, divine Theodora."</p>

<p>And, carried away by a gust of passion, he drew her to
him, covering her brow, her hair, her cheeks with kisses.
But she turned away her mouth.</p>

<p>She tried to release herself from his embrace.</p>

<p>Roger uttered an oath.</p>

<p>"I have tamed women before&mdash;ay&mdash;and I shall tame
you," he sputtered, utterly disregarding her protests.</p>

<p>She drew back as far as his encircling arms permitted.</p>

<p>"Release me, my lord!" she said, her dark eyes flashing
fire. "You are mad!"</p>

<p>"No heroics&mdash;fair Theodora&mdash; Has the Wanton Queen
of Rome turned into a haloed saint?"</p>

<p>He laughed. His mouth was close to her lips.</p>

<p>Revulsion and fury seized her. Disengaging her hands
she struck him across the face.</p>

<p>There was foam on his lips. He caught her by the throat.
Now he was forcing her beneath his weight with the strength
of one insane with uncontrollable passion.</p>

<p>"Help!" she screamed with a choking sensation.</p>

<p>A shadow passed before her eyes. Everything seemed
to swim around her in eddying circles of red. Then a gurgling
sound. The grip on her throat relaxed. Laval rolled
over upon the floor in a horrible convulsion, gasped and
expired.</p>

<p>Basil's dagger had struck him through, piercing his heart.</p>

<p>Slowly Theodora arose. She was pale as death. Her
guests, too much engaged with their beautiful partners, had
been attracted to her plight but by her sudden outcry.</p>

<p>They stared sullenly at the dead man and turned to their
former pursuits.</p>

<p>Theodora clapped her hands.</p>

<p>Two giant Nubians appeared. She pointed to the corpse
at her feet. They raised it up between them, carried it out
and sank it in the Lotus lake. Others wiped away the
stains of blood.</p>

<p>Basil bent over Theodora's hands, and covered them with
kisses, muttering words of endearment which but increased
the discord in her heart.</p>

<p>She released herself, resuming her seat on the dais.</p>

<p>"It is the old fever," she turned to the man beside her.
"You purchase and I sell! Nay"&mdash;she added as his lips
touched her own&mdash;"there is no need for a lover's attitude
when hucksters meet."</p>

<p>Though the guests had returned to their seats, a strange
silence had fallen upon the assembly. The rhythmical splashing
of the water in the fountain and the labored breathing of
the distressed wine-Bibbie's seemed the only sounds that
were audible for a time.</p>

<p>"But I love you, Theodora," Basil spoke with strangely
dilated eyes. "I love you for what you are, for all the evil
you have wrought! You, alone! For you have I done this
thing! For you Alberic lies dead in some unknown glen.
For you have I summoned about us those who shall seat you
in the high place that is yours by right of birth."</p>

<p>Theodora was herself again. With upraised hand, that
shone marble white in the ever-changing light, she enjoined
silence.</p>

<p>"What of that other?" she said, while her eyes held those
of the man with their magic spell.</p>

<p>"What other?" he stammered, turning pale.</p>

<p>"That one!" she flashed.</p>

<p>At that moment the curtain parted again and into the
changing light, emitted by the great revolving globe, swayed
a woman. At first it seemed a statue of marble that had
become animated and, ere consciousness had resumed its
sway, was slowly gaining life and motion, still bound up in
the dream existence into which some unknown power had
plunged her.</p>

<p>As one petrified, Basil stared at the swaying form of Hellayne.
A white transparent byssus veil enveloped the
beautiful limbs. Her wonderful bare arms were raised
above her head, which was slightly inclined, as in a listening
attitude. She seemed to move unconsciously as under a
spell or as one who walks in her sleep. Her eyes were
closed. The pale face showed suffering, yet had not lost
one whit of its marvellous beauty.</p>

<p>The revellers stared spellbound at what, to their superstitious
minds, seemed the wraith of slain Roxana returned
to earth to haunt her rival.</p>

<p>Suddenly, without warning, the dark-robed form of a man
dashed from behind a pillar. No one seemed to have noted
his presence. Overthrowing every impediment, he bounded
straight for Hellayne, when he saw the lithe form snatched
up before his very eyes and her abductor disappear with his
burden, as if the ground had swallowed them.</p>

<p>It seemed to Tristan that he was rushing through an endless
succession of corridors and passages, crossing each
other at every conceivable angle, in his mad endeavor to
snatch his precious prey from her abductor when, in a rotunda
in which these labyrinthine passages converged, he found
himself face to face with an apparition that seemed to have
risen from the floor.</p>

<p>Before him stood Theodora.</p>

<p>Her dark shadow was wavering across the moonlit network
of light. The red and blue robes of the painted figures
on the wall glowed about her like blood and azure, while the
moonlight laid lemon colored splashes upon the varied
mosaics of the floor.</p>

<p>His pulses beating furiously, a sense of suffocation in his
throat, Tristan paused as the woman barred his way.</p>

<p>"Let me pass!" he said imperiously, trying to suit the
action to the word.</p>

<p>But he had not reckoned with the woman's mood.</p>

<p>"You shall not," Theodora said, a strange fire gleaming
in her eyes.</p>

<p>"Where is Hellayne? What have you done with her?"</p>

<p>Theodora regarded him calmly from under drooping
lashes.</p>

<p>"That I will tell you," she said with a mocking voice.
"It was my good fortune to rescue her from the claws of one
who has again got her into his power. Her mind is gone,
my Lord Tristan! Be reconciled to your fate!"</p>

<p>"Surely you cannot mean this?" Tristan gasped, his face
under the monk's cowl pale as death, while his eyes stared
unbelievingly into those of the woman.</p>

<p>"Is not what you have seen, proof that I speak truth?"
Theodora interposed, slightly veiled mockery in her tone.</p>

<p>"Then this is your deed," Tristan flashed.</p>

<p>Theodora gave a shrug.</p>

<p>"What if it were?"</p>

<p>"She is in Basil's power?"</p>

<p>"An experienced suitor."</p>

<p>"Woman, why have you done this thing to me?"</p>

<p>His hands went to his head and he reeled like a drunken
man.</p>

<p>Theodora laid her hands on Tristan's shoulders.</p>

<p>"Because I want you&mdash;because I love you, Tristan," she
said slowly, and her wonderful face seemed to become
illumined as it were, from within. "Nay&mdash;do not shrink
from me! I know what you would say! Theodora&mdash;the
courtesan queen of Rome! You deem I have no heart&mdash;no
soul. You deem that these lips, defiled by the kisses of
beasts, cannot speak truth. Yet, if I tell you, Tristan, that
this is the first and only time in my life that I have loved, that
I love you with a love such as only those know who have
thirsted for it all their lives, yet have never known but its
base counterfeit; if I tell you&mdash;that upon your answer depends
my fate&mdash;my life&mdash;Tristan&mdash;will you believe&mdash;will
you save the woman whom nothing else on earth can save?"</p>

<p>"I do not believe you," Tristan replied.</p>

<p>Theodora's face had grown white to the lips.</p>

<p>"You shall stay&mdash;and you shall listen to me!" she said,
without raising her voice, as if she were discoursing upon
some trifling matter, and Tristan obeyed, compelled by the
look in her eyes.</p>

<p>Theodora felt Tristan's melancholy gaze resting upon her,
as it had rested upon her at their first meeting. Was not
he, too, like herself, a lone wanderer in this strange country
called the world! But his manhood had remained unsullied.
How she envied and how she hated that other woman to
whom his love belonged. Softly she spoke, as one speaks
in a dream.</p>

<p>She had gone forth in quest of happiness&mdash;happiness at
any price. And she had paid the forfeit with a poisoned life.
The desire to conquer had eclipsed every other. The lure of
the senses was too mighty to be withstood. Yet how short
are youth and life! One should snatch its pleasures while
one may.</p>

<p>How fleet had been the golden empty days of joy. She
had drained the brimming goblet to the dregs. If he misjudged
her motive, her self-abasement, if he spurned the
love she held out to him, the one supreme sacrifice of her
life had been in vain. She would fight for it. Soul and
body she would throw herself into the conflict. Her last
chance of happiness was at stake. The poison, rankling in
her veins, she knew could not be expelled by idle sophisms.
Life, the despot, claimed his dues. Had she lived utterly
in vain? Not altogether! She would atone, even though
the bonds of her own forging, which bound her to an ulcered
past, could be broken but by the hand of that crowned phantom:
Death.</p>

<p>Now she was kneeling before him. She had grasped his
hands.</p>

<p>"I love you!" she wailed. "Tristan, I love you and my
love is killing me! Be merciful. Have pity on me. Love
me! Be mine&mdash;if but for an hour! It is not much to ask!
After, do with me what you will! Torture me&mdash;curse me
before Heaven&mdash;I care not&mdash;I am yours&mdash;body and soul.&mdash;I
love you!"</p>

<p>Her voice vibrated with mad idolatrous pleading.</p>

<p>He tried to release himself. She dragged herself yet
closer to him.</p>

<p>"Tristan! Tristan!" she murmured. "Have you a
heart? Can you reject me when I pray thus to you? When
I offer you all I have? All that I am, or ever hope to be?
Am I so repellent to you? Many men would give their lives
if I were to say to them what I say to you. They are nothing
to me&mdash;you alone are my world, the breath of my existence.
You, alone, can save me from myself!"</p>

<p>Tristan felt his senses swooning at the sight of her beauty.
He tried to speak, but the words froze on his lips. It was
too impossible, too unbelievable. Theodora, the most beautiful,
the most powerful woman in Rome was kneeling before
him, imploring that which any man in Rome would have
deemed himself a thousand fold blessed to receive. And he
remained untouched.</p>

<p>She read his innermost thoughts and knew the supreme
moment when she must win or lose him forever was at hand.</p>

<p>"Tristan&mdash;Tristan," she sobbed&mdash;and in the distant
grove sobbed flutes and sistrum and citherns&mdash;"say what
you will of me; it is true. I own it. Yet I am not worse
than other women who have sold their souls for power or
gold. Am I not fair to look upon? And is all this beauty of
my face and form worthless in your eyes, and you no more
than man? Kill me&mdash;destroy me&mdash;I care naught. But
love me&mdash;as I love you!" and in a perfect frenzy of self-abandonment
she rose to her feet and stood before him, a
very bacchante of wild loveliness and passion. "Look upon
me! Am I not more beautiful than the Lady Hellayne?
You shall not&mdash;dare not&mdash;spurn such love as mine!"</p>

<p>Deep silence supervened. The expression of her countenance
seemed quite unearthly; her eyes seemed wells of
fire and the tense white arms seemed to seek a victim round
which they might coil themselves to its undoing.</p>

<p>The name she had uttered in her supreme outburst of
passion had broken the spell she had woven about him.</p>

<p>Hellayne&mdash;his white dove! What was her fate at this
moment while he was listening to the pleadings of the
enchantress?</p>

<p>Theodora advanced towards him with outstretched arms.</p>

<p>He stayed her with a fierce gesture.</p>

<p>"Stand back!" he said. "Such love as yours&mdash;what
is it? Shame to whosoever shall accept it! I desire you not."</p>

<p>"You dare not!" she panted, pale as death.</p>

<p>"Dare not?"</p>

<p>But she was now fairly roused. All the savagery in her
nature was awakened and she stood before him like some
beautiful wild animal at bay, trembling from head to foot
with the violence of her passion.</p>

<p>"You scorn me!" she said in fierce, panting accents, that
scarcely rose above an angry whisper. "You make a mockery
of my anguish and despair&mdash;holding yourself aloof with
your prated virtue! But you shall suffer for it! I am your
match! You shall not spurn me a third time! I have
humbled myself in the dust before you, I, Theodora&mdash;and
you have spurned the love I have offered you&mdash;you have
spurned Theodora&mdash;for that white marble statue whom I
should strangle before your very eyes were she here! You
shall not see her again, my Lord Tristan. Her fate is sealed
from this moment. On the altars of Satan is she to be
sacrificed on to-morrow night!"</p>

<p>Tristan listened like paralyzed to her words, unable to
move.</p>

<p>She saw her opportunity. She sprang at him. Her arms
coiled about him. Her moist kisses seared his lips.</p>

<p>"Oh Tristan&mdash;Tristan," she pleaded, "forgive me, forgive!
I know not what I say! I hunger for the kisses of
your lips, the clasp of your arms! Do you know&mdash;do you
ever think of your power? The cruel terrible power of your
eyes, the beauty that makes you more like an angel than
man? Have you no pity? I am well nigh mad with jealousy
of that other whom you keep enshrined in your heart! Could
she love, like I? She was not made for you&mdash;I am! Tristan&mdash;come
with me&mdash;come&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tighter and tighter her arms encircled his neck. The
moonbeams showed him her eyes alight with rapture, her
lips quivering with passion, her bosom heaving. The blood
surged up in his brain and a red mist swam before his eyes.</p>

<p>With a supreme effort Tristan released himself. Flinging
her from him, he rushed out of the rotunda as if pursued by
an army of demons. If he remained another moment he
knew he was lost.</p>

<p>A lightning bolt shot down from the dark sky vault close
beside him as he reached the gardens, and a peal of thunder
crashed after in quick succession.</p>

<p>It drowned the delirious outburst of laughter that shrilled
from the rotunda where Theodora, with eyes wide with
misery and madness, stared as transfixed down the path
where Tristan had vanished in the night.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XId" id="CHAPTER_XId">CHAPTER XI</a><br />

THE BLACK MASS</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The night was sultry and dismal.</p>

<p>Dense black clouds rolled
over the Roman Campagna,
burning blue in the flashes of
jagged lightnings and the low
boom of distant thunder reverberated
ominously among the
hills and valleys of Rome, when
three men, cloaked and wearing
black velvet masks, skirted
the huge mediæval wall with which Pope Leo IV had girdled
the gardens of the Vatican and, passing along the fortified
rampart which surrounded the Vatican Hill, plunged into the
trackless midnight gloom of deep, branch-shadowed thickets.</p>

<p>Not a word was spoken between them. Silently they
followed their leader, whose tall, dark form was revealed to
them only among the dense network of trees and the fantastic
shapes of the underbrush, when a flash of white lightning
flamed across the limitless depths of the midnight horizon.</p>

<p>Not a sound broke the stillness, save the menacing growl
of the thunder, the intermittent soughing of the wind among
the branches, or the occasional drip-drip of dewy moisture
trickling tearfully from the leaves, mingling with the dreamy,
gurgling sound of the fountains, concealed among bosquets
of orange and almond trees.</p>

<p>From time to time, as they proceeded upon their nocturnal
errand, the sounds of their footsteps being swallowed up by
the soft carpet of moss, they caught fleet glimpses of marble
statues, gleaming white, like ghosts, from among the tall
dark cypresses, or the shimmering surface of a marble-cinctured
lake, mirrored in the sheen of the lightnings.</p>

<p>The grove they traversed assumed by degrees the character
of a tropical forest. Untrodden by human feet, it
seemed as though nature, grown tired of the iridescent floral
beauty of the environing gardens, had, in a sudden malevolent
mood, torn and blurred the fair green frondage and
twisted every bud awry, till the awkward, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'mis-shapen'">misshapen</ins> limbs
resembled the contorted branches of wind-blown trees.
Great jagged leaves covered with prickles and stained with
blotches as of spilt poison, thick brown stems, glistening with
slimy moisture and coiled up like the sleeping bodies of
snakes, masses of blue and purple fungi, and blossoms seemingly
of the orchid-species, some like fleshly tongues, others
like the waxen yellow fingers of a dead hand, protruded
spectrally through the matted foliage, while all manner of
strange overpowering odors increased the swooning oppressiveness
of the sultry, languorous air.</p>

<p>Arrived at a clearing they paused.</p>

<p>In the distance the Basilica of Constantine was sunk in
deep repose. All about them was the pagan world. Goat-footed
Pan seemed to peer through the interstices of the
branches. The fountains crooned in their marble basins.
Centaurs and Bacchantes disported themselves among the
flowering shrubs and, dark against the darker background
of the night, the vast ramparts of Leo IV seemed to shut out
light and life together.</p>

<p>The Prefect of the Camera turned to his companions, after
peering cautiously into the thickets.</p>

<p>"We must wait for the guards," he said in a whisper.
"It were perilous to proceed farther without them."</p>

<p>Tristan's hand tightened upon his sword-hilt. There were
tears in his eyes when he thought of Hellayne and all that
was at stake, the overthrow of the enemies of Christ. He
had, in a manner, conquered the terrible fear that had palsied
heart and soul as they had started out after nightfall. Now,
taking his position as he found it, since he felt that his fate
was ruled by some unseen force which he might not resist,
he was upheld by a staunch resolution to do his part in the
work assigned to him and thereby to merit forgiveness and
absolution.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the enforced calm that filled his soul,
there were moments when, assailed by a terrible dread, lest
he might be too late to prevent the unspeakable crime, his
energies were almost paralyzed. Silent as a ghost he had
traversed the grove by the side of his equally silent companions,
more intent upon his quarry than the patient, velvet-footed
puma that follows in the high branches of the trees
the unsuspecting traveller below.</p>

<p>Was it his imagination, was it the beating of his own
heart in the silence that preceded the breaking of the storm;
or did he indeed hear the dull throbbing of the drums that
heralded the approach of the crimson banners of Satan?</p>

<p>The wind increased with every moment. The thunder
growled ever nearer. The heavens were one sheet of flame.
The trees began to bend their tops to the voice of the hurricane.
The air was hot as if blown from the depths of the
desert. As the uproar of the elements increased, strange
sounds seemed to mingle with the voices of the storm. Black
shadows as of dancing witches darkened the clearing, spread
and wheeled, interlaced and disentwined. In endless thousands
they seemed to fly, like the withered and perishing
leaves of autumn.</p>

<p>Involuntarily Tristan grasped the arm of the Monk of
Cluny.</p>

<p>"Are these real shapes&mdash;or do my eyes play me false?"
he faltered, an expression of terror on his countenance, such
as no consideration of earthly danger could have evoked.</p>

<p>"To-night, my son, we are invincible," replied the monk.
"Trust in the Crucified Christ!"</p>

<p>Across the plaisaunce, washed white by the sheen of the
lightnings, there was a stir as of an approaching forest. Tristan
watched as in the throes of a dream.</p>

<p>A few moments later the little band was joined by the
newcomers, masked, garbed in sombre black and heavily
armed, three-score Spaniards, trusted above their companions
for their loyalty and allegiance to Holy Church. Among
them Tristan recognized the Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna,
the Bishop of Orvieto and the Prefect of Rome.</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny noted Tristan's shrinking at the sight of the
two men who had been present when the terrible accusation
had been hurled against him on that fatal morning&mdash;the
accusation in the Lateran, which had launched him in the
dungeons of Castel San Angelo.</p>

<p>He comforted the trembling youth.</p>

<p>"They know now that the charge was false," he said.
"To-night we shall conquer. We shall set our foot upon
Satan's neck."</p>

<p>Withdrawing under the shelter of the trees, regardless of
the increasing fury of the storm, the leaders held whispered
consultation.</p>

<p>Before them, set in the massive wall, appeared a door not
more than five feet high, studded with large nails.</p>

<p>The Prefect of Rome bent forward and inserted a gleaming
piece of steel in the keyhole. After a wrench or two, which
convinced the onlookers that the door had been long in disuse,
it swung inward with a groan. The Prefect, with a muttered
imprecation, beckoned his followers to enter, and when they
were assembled in what appeared to be a courtyard, he took
pains to close the door himself, to avoid the least noise that
might reach the ear of those within the enclosure.</p>

<p>At the far end of this courtyard a shadowy pavilion arose,
culled from the Stygian gloom by the sheen of the lightnings.
It seemed to have been erected in remote antiquity. A
circular structure of considerable extent, its ruinous exterior
revealed traces of Etruscan architecture. No one dared set
foot in it, for it was rumored to be the abode of evil spirits.
Its interior was reported to be a network of intricate galleries,
leading into subterranean chambers, secret and secluded
places into which human foot never strayed, for, not unlike
the catacombs, it was well-nigh impossible to find the exit
from its labyrinthine passages without the saving thread of
Ariadné.</p>

<p>At a signal from the Prefect of the Camera all stopped.
Heavy drops of rain were falling. The hurricane increased
in fury.</p>

<p>It was a weird scene and one the memory of which lingered
long after that eventful night with Tristan.</p>

<p>Black cypresses and holm-oaks formed a dense wall
around the pavilion on two sides. In the distance the white
limbs of some pagan statues could be seen gleaming through
the dark foliage. And, as from a subterranean cavern, a
distant droning chant struck the ear now and then with
fateful import.</p>

<p>Now the Prefect of Rome threw off his cloak. The others
did likewise. Their masks they retained.</p>

<p>"There is a secret entrance, unknown even to these
spawns of hell, behind the pavilion," he addressed his companions
in a subdued tone, hardly audible in the shrieking of
the storm. "It is concealed among tall weeds and has long
been in disuse. The door is almost invisible and they think
themselves safe in the performance of their iniquities below."</p>

<p>"How can we reach this pit of hell?" Tristan, quivering
with ill-repressed excitement interposed at this juncture.
He could hardly restrain himself. On every moment hung
the life of the being dearer to him than all the world, and he
chafed under the restraint like a restive steed. If they
should be too late, even now!</p>

<p>But the Prefect retained his calm demeanor knowing what
was at stake. It was not enough to locate the chapel of
Satan. Those participating in the unholy rites must not be
given the chance to escape. They must be taken, dead or
alive, to the last man.</p>

<p>"We have with us one who is familiar with every nook in
the city of Rome," the Prefect turned to the Cardinal-Archbishop
of Ravenna. "Long have we suspected that all is
not well in the deserted pavilion. But though we watched
by day and by night nothing seemed to reward our efforts,
until one stormy night a dreadful shape with the face of a
devil came forth, and the sight so paralyzed those who
watched from afar that they fled in dismay, believing it was
the Evil One in person who had come forth from the bowels
of the earth. From yonder door a dark corridor leads to a
shaft whence it winds in a slight incline into the devil's
chapel below. The latter is so situated that we can watch
these outcasts at their devotions, unseen, our presence
unguessed. This way! Let silence be the password. Keep
in touch with each other, for the darkness is as that of the
grave."</p>

<p>A flash of lightning that seemed to rend the very heavens
enveloped them for a moment in its sulphureous glare, followed
by a crash of thunder that shook the very earth. The
hurricane shrieked, and the rain came down in torrents.</p>

<p>They had advanced to the very edge of the underbrush,
stumbling over the heads and torsos of broken statues that
lay among parasitic herbage. Monstrous decaying leaves
curled upward, leprous in the lightnings. A poison mist
seemed to hover over this lonely and deserted pleasure-house
of ancient Pelasgian days.</p>

<p>Skirting the haunted pavilion, unmindful of the onslaught
of the elements, they took a path so narrow that they could
but advance in single file. This path had been cut and
beaten by the Prefect's guards, for the weeds and underbrush
luxuriated, until they mounted some ten feet against
the walls of the pavilion.</p>

<p>They had now reached the back wall and proceeded in
utter darkness broken only by the flashes of lightning. They
passed through a half-ruined archway and at last came to a
halt, prompted by those in front, whose progress had been
stopped by, what the others guessed to be, the door. They
had to work warily, to keep it from falling inward. At last
the movement continued and they entered the night-wrapt
corridor.</p>

<p>Tristan had taken his station directly behind the Prefect of
Rome. The ecclesiastics, for their own protection, had been
assigned the rear.</p>

<p>By the sheen of lightnings a pile of brushwood was revealed
to the sight, which the Prefect, in a low tone, ordered to be
cleared away, whereupon a circular opening appeared, like
the entrance of a well.</p>

<p>The Prefect summoned the leaders around him.</p>

<p>For a moment they stood in silence and listened.</p>

<p>Between the peals of the thunder which rolled in terrifying
echoes over the Seven Hills, the trained ear could distinguish
a strange, droning sound that seemed to come from
the bowels of the earth.</p>

<p>"Even now the Black Mass is commencing," he turned
to Tristan. "We are but just in time."</p>

<p>After a pause he continued:</p>

<p>"We must proceed in darkness. The faintest glimmer
might betray our presence. I shall lead the way. Let each
follow warily. Let each be in touch with the other. Let all
stop when I stop. We shall arrive in a circular gallery,
whence we may all witness the abomination below. From
this gallery several flights of winding stairs lead into the
devil's chapel. Let us descend in silence. When you hear
the signal&mdash;down the quick descent and&mdash;upon them!"</p>

<p>One by one they disappeared in the dark aperture. Their
feet touched ground while they still supported themselves on
their arms. They found themselves in a subterranean
chamber, in impenetrable darkness, whose hot, damp murk
almost suffocated the intruders.</p>

<p>Slowly, with infinite caution, in infinite silence, they proceeded.
Every man stretched his hand before him to touch
a companion.</p>

<p>The passage began to slant, yet the incline was gradual.
Their feet touched soft earth which swallowed the sound of
their steps. There was neither echo nor vibration, only
murky silence and the night of the grave.</p>

<p>A low, droning sound, infinitely remote, a sound not unlike
that of swarming bees heard at a great distance, was now
wafted to their ears.</p>

<p>A shudder ran through that long chain of living men, who
were carrying the Cross into the very abyss of Hell.</p>

<p>For they knew they were listening to the infernal choir,
they were approaching the hidden chapel of Satan. The chant
began to swell. Still they continued upon their descent.</p>

<p>The imprisoned air became hotter and murkier, almost
suffocating in its miasmatic waves that assailed the senses
and seemed to weigh like lead upon the brain.</p>

<p>Now the tunnel turned sharply at right angles and after
proceeding some twenty or thirty paces in Stygian darkness,
a faint crimson glow began suddenly to drive the nocturnal
gloom before it, and they emerged in a gallery, terminating
in a number of dark archways, from which narrow winding
stairs led into the hall below. Small round apertures,
resembling port-holes, permitted a glimpse into the chapel of
Satan, and a weird, droning chant was rising rhythmically
from the night-wrapt depths of the pavilion.</p>

<p>Following the example of the leader, they stole on tiptoe
to the unglazed port-holes and gazed below, and eager, yet
trembling, with the anticipation of the dread mysteries they
were about to witness.</p>

<p>At first they could not see anything distinctly, owing to
the crimson mist that seemed to come rolling into the chapel
as from some furnace and their eyes, after having been long
in the darkness, refused to focus themselves. But, by
degrees, the scene became more distinct.</p>

<p>In the circular chapel below dim figures, robed in crimson,
moved to and fro, bearing aloft perfumed cressets on metal
poles, and in its flickering light an altar became visible, hung
with crimson, the summit of which was lost in the gloom
overhead. Here and there indistinct shapes were stretched
in hideous contortions on the pavement, and as others drew
nigh, these rose and, throwing back their heads, made the
vault re-echo with deep-chested roaring.</p>

<p>Suddenly the metal bound gates of a low arched doorway,
faintly discernible in the uncertain light, seemed to be
unclosing with a slow and majestic movement, letting loose
a flood of light in which the ghostly faces of the worshippers
leapt into sudden clearness, men and women, all seemingly
belonging to the highest ranks of society. The crimson
garbs of the officiating priests showed like huge stains of
blood against the dark-veined marble.</p>

<p>Tristan gazed with the rest, stark with terror. The blood
seemed to freeze in his veins as his eyes swept the circular
vault and rested at the shrine's farther end, where branching
candlesticks flanked each the foot of two short flights of
stairs that led up to the summit of the great altar, garnished
at the corner with hideous masks, and sending up from time
to time eddies of smoke, through the reek of which some two
score of men watched the ceremony from above.</p>

<p>Dim shapes passed to and fro. The droning chant continued.
At length a shapeless form evolved itself from the
crimson mist, approached the altar and cast something
upon it. Instantly a blaze of light flooded the shrine, and
in its radiance a weazened, bat-like creature was revealed,
garbed in the fantastic imitation of a priest's robes.</p>

<p>Approaching the infernal altar, upon which lay obscene
symbols of horror, he mounted the steps and his figure
melted into the gloom.</p>

<p>With the cold sweat streaming from his brow, with a
shudder that almost turned him dizzy, Tristan recognized
Bessarion. The High Priest of Satan sat upon the Devil's
altar. There was stir and movement in the chapel. Then
a deep silence supervened.</p>

<p>Petrifaction fell upon the assembly. All voices were
hushed, all movement arrested. From the black throne,
surrounded by terror, where sat the great Unknown, came
a dull hoarse roar, like the roar of an earthquake.</p>

<p>The words were unintelligible to the champions of the
Cross. They were answered by the Sorcerer's Confession,
the hideous, terrible contortion of the Credo, and then Tristan's
ears were assailed by the sounds he had heard on that
fatal night, ere he lost consciousness, and again in the Catacombs
of St. Calixtus, sounds meaningless in themselves,
but fraught with terrible import to him now!</p>

<p>"Emen Hetan! Emen Hetan! Palu! Baalberi! Emen
Hetan!"&mdash;</p>

<p>Pandemonium broke loose.</p>

<p>"Agora! Agora! Patrisa! Agora!"</p>

<p>There was screeching of pipes, made of dead men's bones.
A drum stretched with the skin of the hanged was beaten
with the tail of a wolf. Like leaves in a howling storm the
fantastic red robed forms whirled about, from left to right,
from right to left. And in their midst, immobile and terrible,
sat the Hircus Nocturnus, enthroned upon the shrine.</p>

<p>When at last they stopped, panting, exhausted, the same
voice, deafening as an earthquake, roared:</p>

<p>"Bring hither the bride&mdash;the stainless dove!"</p>

<p>A chorus of hideous laughter, a swelling, bleating cacophony
of execration, so furious and real that it froze the
listeners' blood, answered the summons.</p>

<p>Then, from an arch in the apse of the infernal chapel,
came four chanting figures, hideously masked and draped
in crimson.</p>

<p>With slow, measured steps they approached. The arch
was black again. Deep silence supervened.</p>

<p>Now into the centre came two figures.</p>

<p>One was that of a man robed in doublet and hose of flaming
scarlet. The figure he supported was that of a woman,
though she seemed a corpse returned to earth.</p>

<p>A long white robe covered her from head to toe, like the
winding sheet of death. Her eyes were bound with a white
cloth. She seemed unable to walk, and was being urged
forward, step by step, by the scarlet man at her side.</p>

<p>Again pandemonium reigned, heightened by the crashing
peals of the thunder that rolled in the heavens overhead.</p>

<p>"Emen Hetan! Emen Hetan! Palu! Baalberi! Emen
Hetan!"</p>

<p>The bleating of goats, the shrieks of the tortured damned,
the howling of devils in the nethermost pit of Hell, delirious
laughter, gibes and execrations mingled in a deafening
chorus, which was followed by a dead silence, as anew the
voice of the Unseen roared through the vault:</p>

<p>"Bring hither the bride, the stainless dove!"</p>

<p>There was a tramp of mailed feet.</p>

<p>Like a human whirlwind it came roaring down the winding
stairs, through the vomitories into the vault. The rattling
of weapons, shouts of rage, horror and dismay mingled,
resounding from the vaulted roof, beaten back from the
marble walls.</p>

<p>With drawn sword Tristan, well in advance of his companions,
leaped into the chapel of Satan. When the identity
of the staggering white form beside the scarlet man had
been revealed to him, no power in heaven or earth could
have restrained him. Without awaiting the signal he bounded
with a choking outcry down the shaft.</p>

<p>But, when he reached the floor of the chapel, he recoiled
as if the Evil One had arisen from the floor before him,
barring his advance.</p>

<p>Before him stood Theodora.</p>

<p>She wore a scarlet robe, fastened at the throat with a
clasp of rubies, representing the heads of serpents. Her
wonderful white arms were bare, her hands were clenched
as if she were about to fly at the throat of a hated rival and
a preternatural lustre shone in her eyes.</p>

<p>"You!"</p>

<p>Tristan's words died in the utterance as he surveyed her
for the space of a moment with a glance so full of horror and
disdain that she knew she had lost.</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;it is I," she replied, hardly above a whisper, hot
flush and deadly pallor alternating in her beautiful face,
terrible in its set calm. "And&mdash;though I may not possess
you&mdash;that other shall not! See!"</p>

<p>Maddened beyond all human endurance at the sight that
met his eyes Tristan hurled Theodora aside as she attempted
to bar his way, as if she had been a toy. Rushing straight
through the press towards the spot, where the scarlet man,
his arms still about the drooping form of Hellayne, had
stopped in dismay at the sudden inrush of the guards,
Tristan pierced the Grand Chamberlain through and through.
Almost dragging the woman with him he fell beside
the devil's altar. His head struck the flagstones and he
lay still.</p>

<p>The Prefect himself dashed up the steps of the ebony
shrine and hurled the High Priest of Satan on the flagstones
below. Bessarion's neck was broken and, with the squeak
of a bat, his black soul went out.</p>

<p>While the guards, giving no quarter, were mowing down
all those of the devil's congregation who did not seek salvation
in flight or concealment, Tristan caught the swooning
form of Hellayne in his arms, calling her name in despairing
accents, as he stroked the silken hair back from the
white clammy brow. She was breathing, but her eyes were
closed.</p>

<p>Then he summoned two men-at-arms to his side, and
between them they carried her to the world of light above.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIId" id="CHAPTER_XIId">CHAPTER XII</a><br />

SUNRISE</h3>


<div>
  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="91" alt=""/>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">The <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'thunder clouds'">thunderclouds</ins> had rolled
away to eastward.</p>

<p>A rosy glow was creeping
over the sky. The air was
fresh with the coming of dawn.
Softly they laid Hellayne by
the side of a marble fountain
and splashed the cooling drops
upon her pale face. After a
time she opened her eyes.</p>

<p>The first object they encountered was Tristan who was
bending over her, fear and anxiety in his face.</p>

<p>Her colorless lips parted in a whisper, as her arms encircled
his neck.</p>

<p>"You are with me!" she said, and the transparent lids
drooped again.</p>

<p>Those who had not been slain of the congregation of Hell
had been bound in chains. Among the dead was Theodora.
The contents of a phial she carried on her person had done
its work instantaneously.</p>

<p>Suddenly alarums resounded from the region of Castel
San Angelo. There was a great stir and buzz, as of an
awakened bee hive. There were shouts at the Flaminian
gate, the martial tread of mailed feet and, as the sun's first
ray kissed the golden Archangel on the summit of the Flavian
Emperor's mausoleum, a horseman, followed by a glittering
retinue, dashed up the path, dismounted and raised his visor.</p>

<p>Before the astounded assembly stood Alberic, the Senator
of Rome.</p>

<p>Just then they brought the body of Theodora from the
subterranean chapel and laid it silently on the greensward,
beside that of Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.</p>

<p>The Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna was the first to
speak.</p>

<p>"My lord, we hardly trust our eyes. All Rome is mourning
you for dead."</p>

<p>Alberic turned to the speaker.</p>

<p>"With the aid of the saint I have prevailed against the
foulest treason ever committed by a subject against his
trusting lord. The bribed hosts of Hassan Abdullah, which
were to sack Rome, are scattered in flight. The attempt
upon my own life has been prevented by a miracle from
Heaven. But&mdash;what of these dead?"</p>

<p>Odo of Cluny approached the Senator of Rome.</p>

<p>"The awful horror which has gripped the city is passed.
Christ rules once more and Satan is vanquished. This is a
matter for your private ear, my lord."</p>

<p>Odo pointed to the kneeling form of Tristan, who was
supporting Hellayne in his arms, trying to soothe her troubled
spirit, to dispel the memory of the black horrors which held
her trembling soul in thrall.</p>

<p>Approaching Tristan, Alberic laid his hand upon his head.</p>

<p>"We knew where to trust, and we shall know how to
reward! My lords and prelates of the Church! Matters
of grave import await you. We meet again in the Emperor's
Tomb."</p>

<p>Beckoning to his retinue, Alberic remounted his steed, as
company upon company of men-at-arms filed past&mdash;a host,
such as the city of Rome had not beheld in decades, with
drums and trumpets, pennants and banderols, long lines of
glittering spears, gorgeous surcoats, and splendid suits of
mail.</p>

<p>The forces of the Holy Roman Empire were passing into
the Eternal City.</p>

<p>At their head the Senator of Rome was returning into his
own.</p>

<p>At last they were alone, Tristan and Hellayne.</p>

<p>His companions had departed. With them they had taken
their dead.</p>

<p>Hellayne opened her eyes. They were sombre, yet at
peace.</p>

<p>"Tristan!"</p>

<p>He bent over her.</p>

<p>"My own Hellayne!"</p>

<p>"It is beautiful to be loved," she whispered. "I have
never been loved before."</p>

<p>"You shall be," he replied, "now and forever, before
God and the world!"</p>

<p>The old shadow came again into her eyes.</p>

<p>"What of the Lord Roger?"</p>

<p>She read the answer in his silence.</p>

<p>A tear trickled from the violet pools of her eyes.</p>

<p>Then she raised herself in his arms.</p>

<p>"I thought I should go mad," she crooned. "But I knew
you would come. And you are here&mdash;here&mdash;with me,&mdash;Tristan."</p>

<p>He took her hands in his, his soul in his eyes.</p>

<p>The sun had risen higher through the gold bars of the
east, dispelling the grey chill of dawn.</p>

<p>She nestled closer to him.</p>

<p>"Take me back to Avalon, to my rose garden," she
crooned. "Life is before us&mdash;yonder&mdash;where first we
loved."</p>

<p>He took her in his arms and kissed her eyes and the small
sweet mouth.</p>

<p>A lark began to sing in the silence.</p>

<div class='center'>THE END</div>




<hr class="full"></hr>

<div class="center p4">
<p class="ph2">WHAT ALLAH WILLS<br />
<br />
<i>By Irwin L. Gordon</i></p>
<i>Author of "The Log of The Ark"</i><br />
<br />
<i>Illustrated, net, $1.35; carriage paid, $1.50</i><br />
</div>

<p>Take Morocco for a background&mdash;that quaint and
mysterious land of mosques and minarets, where the
<em>muezzin</em> still calls to prayer at sundown the faithful.</p>

<p>Imagine a story written with power and intensity
and the thrill of adventure in the midst of fanatical
Moslems. Add to this a wealthy young medical student,
a red-blooded American, who gives up his life
to helping the lepers of Arzilla, and the presence of a
beautiful American girl who, despite her love for the
hero, is induced to take up the Mohammedan faith,
and you have some idea of what this remarkable story
presents.</p>

<p>WHAT ALLAH WILLS is a big story of love and
adventure. Mr. Gordon is the author of two notable
non-fiction successes, but he scores heavily in this, his
first work of fiction.
</p>

<div class="center p4">
<p class="ph2">UNDER THE WITCHES' MOON<br />
<br />
<i>By Nathan Gallizier</i></p>
<i>Author of "The Sorceress of Rome," "The Court of<br />
Lucifer," "The Hill of Venus," etc.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Illustrated by The Kinneys, cloth 12mo, net, $1.50;<br />
carriage paid, $1.65</i><br />
</div>

<p>This romantic tale of tenth-century Rome concerns
itself with the fortunes and adventures of Tristan of
Avalon while in the Eternal City on a pilgrimage to
do penance for his love of Hellayne, the wife of his
liege lord, Count Roger de Laval.</p>

<p>Tristan's meeting with the Queen Courtesan of the
Aventine; her infatuation for the pilgrim; Tristan's
rounds of obediences, cut short by his appointment as
Captain of Sant' Angelo by Alberic, Senator of Rome;
the intrigues of Basil, the Grand Chamberlain, who
aspires to the dominion of Rome and the love of
Theodora; the trials of Hellayne, who alternately falls
into the power of Basil and Theodora; the scene between
the Grand Chamberlain and Bessarion in the
ruins of the Coliseum; the great feud between Roxana
and Theodora and the final overthrow of the latter's
regime constitute some of the dramatic episodes of the
romance.</p>

<p>"This new book adds greater weight to the claim
that Mr. Gallizier is the greatest writer of historical
novels in America today."&mdash;<cite>Cincinnati Times-Star.</cite></p>

<p>"In many respects we consider Mr. Gallizier the
most versatile and interesting writer of the day."&mdash;<cite>Saxby's
Magazine.</cite></p>

<div class="center p4">
<i>A third CHEERFUL BOOK</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Trade&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span>
<p class="ph2">SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES<br />
<br />
By Margaret R. Piper</p>
<i>A Sequel to "Sylvia's Experiment: The Cheerful Book"</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Trade&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span><br />
<i>and "Sylvia of the Hill Top"</i><br />
<br />
<i>Illustrated, decorative jacket, net, $1.35; carriage paid,<br />
$1.50</i><br />
</div>

<p>In the original CHEERFUL BOOK, with its rippling
play of incident, Sylvia proved herself a bringer of
tidings of great joy to many people. In the second
book devoted to her adventures, she was a charming
heroine&mdash;urbane, resourceful and vivacious&mdash;with an
added shade of picturesqueness due to her environment.
In this third story Sylvia is a little older grown,
deep in the problem of just-out-of-college adjustment
to the conditions of the "wide, wide world," and in the
process of learning, as she puts it, "to live as deep and
quick as I can." The scene of the new story is laid
partly at Arden Hall and partly in New York and, in
her sincere effort to find herself, Sylvia finds love in
real fairy tale fashion.</p>

<p>"There is a world of human nature, and neighborhood
contentment and quaint, quiet humor in Margaret
R. Piper's books of good cheer. Her tales are
well proportioned and subtly strong in their literary
aspects and quality."&mdash;<cite>North American, Philadelphia.</cite></p>

<div class="center p4">
<p class="ph2">A PLACE IN THE SUN<br />
<br />
<i>By Mrs. Henry Backus</i></p>
<i>Author of "The Career of Dr. Weaver," "The Rose<br />
of Roses," etc.</i><br />
<br />
<i>12mo, cloth, illustrated by Wm. Van Dresser, net, $1.35;<br />
carriage paid, $1.50</i><br />
</div>

<p>Gunda Karoli is a very much alive young person with
a zest for life and looking-forward philosophy which
helps her through every trial. She is sustained in her
struggles against the disadvantage of her birth by a
burning faith in the great American ideal&mdash;that here
in the United States every one has a chance to win for
himself a place in the sun.</p>

<p>Gunda takes for her gospel the Declaration of Independence,
only to find that, although this democratic
doctrine is embodied in the constitution of the country,
it does not manifest itself outwardly in its social life.
Nevertheless, she succeeds in mounting step by step in
the social scale, from the time she first appears at Skyland
on the Knobs as a near-governess, to her brief
season in the metropolis as a danseuse.</p>

<p>How she wins the interest of Justin Arnold, the fastidious
descendant of a fine old family, and brings into
his self-centered existence a new life and fresh charm,
provides a double interest to the plot.</p>

<div class="center p4">
<p class="ph2">VIRGINIA OF ELK CREEK<br />
VALLEY<br />
<br />
<i>By Mary Ellen Chase</i></p>
<i>12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington<br />
Elwell, net, $1.35; carriage paid, $1.50</i><br />
</div>

<p>A sequel to last year's success, THE GIRL FROM
THE BIG HORN COUNTRY (sixth printing). This
new story is more western in flavor than the first book&mdash;since
practically all of the action occurs back in
the Big Horn country, at Virginia's home, to which
she invites her eastern friends for a summer vacation.
The vacation in the West proves "the best ever" for
the Easterners, and in recounting their pleasures they
tell of the hundreds of miles of horseback riding, how
they climbed mountains, trapped a bear, shot gophers,
fished, camped, homesteaded, and of the delightful hospitality
of Virginia and her friends.</p>


<p>"The story is full of life and movement and presents
a variety of interesting characters."&mdash;<cite>St. Paul Despatch.</cite></p>


<p>"This is most gladsome reading to all who love healthfulness
of mind, heart and body."&mdash;<cite>Boston Ideas.</cite></p>

<hr class="chap"></hr>

<div class="center p4">
<p class="ph2">Selections from<br />
The Page Company's<br />
List of Fiction</p>
<p class="ph3">WORKS OF<br />
ELEANOR H. PORTER</p><br />
</div>

<p>POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book (360,000)<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Trade Mark Trade&mdash;&mdash;Mark<br /></p>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by Stockton Mulford.</p>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;"><i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</span></p>

<p>Mr. Leigh Mitchell Hodges, The Optimist, in an editorial for
the <cite>Philadelphia North American</cite>, says: "And when, after Pollyanna
has gone away, you get her letter saying she is going to
take 'eight steps' to-morrow&mdash;well, I don't know just what
you may do, but I know of one person who buried his face
in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness and
got down on his knees and thanked the Giver of all gladness
for Pollyanna."</p>

<p>POLLYANNA GROWS UP: The Second GLAD Book<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.75em;">Trade Mark &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;   (180,000)  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  Trade&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span></p>
<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by H. Weston Taylor.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;"><i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</span></p>

<p>When the story of <span class="smcap">Pollyanna</span> told in The <cite>Glad</cite> Book was
ended a great cry of regret for the vanishing "Glad Girl" went
up all over the country&mdash;and other countries, too. Now
<span class="smcap">Pollyanna</span> appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted,
more grown up and more lovable.</p>

<p>"Take away frowns! Put down the worries! Stop fidgeting
and disagreeing and grumbling! Cheer up, everybody! <span class="smcap">Pollyanna</span>
has come back!"&mdash;<cite>Christian Herald.</cite></p>

<div class="center p2">
<i>The GLAD Book Calendar</i></div>

<p><span style="margin-left: 29em;">Trade&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span></p>

<p>THE POLLYANNA CALENDAR<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2.75em;">Trade Mark</span></p>

<p>(<em>This calendar is issued annually; the calendar for the new
year being ready about Sept. 1st of the preceding year. Note:
in ordering please specify what year you desire.</em>)</p>

<p>Decorated and printed in colors. <i>Net</i>, $1.50; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.65</p>

<p>"There is a message of cheer on every page, and the calendar
is beautifully illustrated."&mdash;<cite>Kansas City Star.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>MISS BILLY (18th printing)</div>

<blockquote>
<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by G. Tyng      .      .   <i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</p></blockquote>

<p>"There is something altogether fascinating about 'Miss
Billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to
demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment
we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."&mdash;<cite>Boston
Transcript.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>MISS BILLY'S DECISION (11th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by Henry W. Moore.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>
<p>"The story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty
of action and humor. Miss Billy is nice to know and so are
her friends."&mdash;<cite>New Haven Times Leader.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED (8th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by W. Haskell Coffin.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>
<p>"Although Pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, Miss
Billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just
as much gladness. She disseminates joy so naturally that we
wonder why all girls are not like her."&mdash;<cite>Boston Transcript.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>SIX STAR RANCH (19th Printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>
<p>"'Six Star Ranch' bears all the charm of the author's genius
and is about a little girl down in Texas who practices the 'Pollyanna
Philosophy' with irresistible success. The book is one of
the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the Pollyanna
books has done. It is a welcome addition to the fast-growing
family of <cite>Glad</cite> Books."&mdash;<cite>Howard Russell Bangs in the
Boston Post.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>CROSS CURRENTS</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated. <i>Net</i>, $1.00; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.15</p></blockquote>

<p>"To one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its
sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal."&mdash;<cite>Book
News Monthly.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>THE TURN OF THE TIDE</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated. <i>Net</i>, $1.25; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.40</p></blockquote>

<p>"A very beautiful book showing the influence that went to
the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and
good woman."&mdash;<cite>Herald and Presbyter, Cincinnati, Ohio.</cite></p>





<p class="ph3">WORKS OF<br />
L. M. MONTGOMERY</p>
<p class="ph4">THE FOUR ANNE BOOKS</p>

<div class='p2i'>ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (40th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by M. A. and W. A. J. Claus.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"In 'Anne of Green Gables' you will find the dearest and
most moving and delightful child since the immortal Alice."&mdash;<cite>Mark
Twain in a letter to Francis Wilson.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>ANNE OF AVONLEA (24th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by George Gibbs.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"A book to lift the spirit and send the pessimist into bankruptcy!"&mdash;<cite>Meredith
Nicholson.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA (6th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by George Gibbs.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"A story of decidedly unusual conception and interest."&mdash;<cite>Baltimore
Sun.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>ANNE OF THE ISLAND (10th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by H. Weston Taylor.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"It has been well worth while to watch the growing up of
Anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her
throughout the process has been properly valued."&mdash;<cite>New York
Herald.</cite></p>

<div class='p4i'>THE STORY GIRL (9th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by George Gibbs.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"A book that holds one's interest and keeps a kindly smile
upon one's lips and in one's heart."&mdash;<cite>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD (10th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by George Gibbs.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"A story born in the heart of Arcadia and brimful of the
sweet life of the primitive environment."&mdash;<cite>Boston Herald.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>THE GOLDEN ROAD (5th printing)</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by George Gibbs.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">
<i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"It is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now
and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos."&mdash;<cite>Chicago
Record Herald.</cite></p>




<p class="ph3">
NOVELS BY<br />
MRS. HENRY BACKUS</p>

<div class='p2i'>THE CAREER OF DOCTOR WEAVER</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated by William Van Dresser.</p></blockquote>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;"><i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>"High craftsmanship is the leading characteristic of this
novel, which, like all good novels, is a love story abounding
in real palpitant human interest. The most startling feature
of the story is the way its author has torn aside the curtain
and revealed certain phases of the relation between the medical
profession and society."&mdash;<cite>Dr. Charles Reed in the Lancet Clinic.</cite></p>


<div class='p2i'>THE ROSE OF ROSES</div>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color.</p>

<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;"><i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50<br />
</span></p>

<p>The author has achieved a thing unusual in developing a
love story which adheres to conventions under unconventional
circumstances.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Backus' novel is distinguished in the first place for
its workmanship."&mdash;<cite>Buffalo Evening News.</cite></p>


<p class="ph2">
NOVELS BY<br />
MARGARET R. PIPER
</p>

<div class='p2i'>SYLVIA'S EXPERIMENT: The Cheerful Book<br />
<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">Trade&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span><br />
</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by Z. P. Nikolaki. <i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</p></blockquote>

<p>"An atmosphere of good spirits pervades the book; the humor
that now and then flashes across the page is entirely natural,
and the characters are well individualized."&mdash;<cite>Boston Post.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>
SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP: The Second Cheerful Book<br />
<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">Trade&mdash;&mdash;Mark</span><br />
</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, from a
painting by Gene Pressler. <i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</p></blockquote>

<p>"There is a world of human nature and neighborhood contentment
and quaint quiet humor in Margaret R. Piper's second
book of good cheer."&mdash;<cite>Philadelphia North American.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>MISS MADELYN MACK, DETECTIVE
By <span class="smcap">Hugh C. Weir</span>.</div>

<blockquote>

<p>Cloth decorative, illustrated. <i>Net</i>, $1.35; <i>carriage paid</i>, $1.50</p></blockquote>

<p>"Clever in plot and effective in style, the author has seized
on some of the most sensational features of modern life, and
the result is a detective novel that gets away from the beaten
track of mystery stories."&mdash;<cite>New York Sun.</cite></p>




<p class="ph2">
WORKS OF<br />
CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
</p>

<div class='p2i'>HAUNTERS OF THE SILENCES</div>

<blockquote>
<p>Cloth decorative, with many drawings by Charles Livingston
Bull, four of which are in full color <span style="margin-left: 55em;">$2.00</span> </p></blockquote>

<p>The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest
and best he has ever written.</p>

<p>He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely
met with in books, whose lives are spent "In the Silences,"
where they are the supreme rulers.</p>

<p>"As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable
place. He is the most literary, as well as the most imaginative
and vivid of all the nature writers."&mdash;<cite>Brooklyn Eagle.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>RED FOX</div>

<blockquote>

<p><span class="smcap">The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak
Wilds, and of His Final Triumph over the Enemies of
His Kind.</span> With fifty illustrations, including frontispiece in
color and cover design by Charles Livingston Bull.</p></blockquote>

<p>Square quarto, cloth decorative <span style="margin-left: 45em;">$2.00</span></p>

<p>"True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will interest
old and young, city-bound and free-footed, those who know
animals and those who do not."&mdash;<cite>Chicago Record Herald.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>THE KINDRED OF THE WILD</div>

<blockquote>

<p><span class="smcap">A Book of Animal Life.</span> With fifty-one full-page plates
and many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston
Bull.</p></blockquote>

<p>Square quarto, cloth decorative  <span style="margin-left: 45em;">$2.00</span></p>

<p>"Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal
stories that has appeared; well named and well done."&mdash;<cite>John
Burroughs.</cite></p>

<div class='p2i'>THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS</div>

<blockquote>

<p>A companion volume to "The Kindred of the Wild." With
forty-eight full-page plates and many decorations from
drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.</p></blockquote>

<p>Square quarto, cloth decorative <span style="margin-left: 45em;">$2.00</span></p>

<p>"These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust
in their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of
woodcraft. Among the many writers about animals, Mr. Roberts
occupies an enviable place."&mdash;<cite>The Outlook.</cite></p>


<p class="ph2">
WORKS OF<br />
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO<br />
</p>

<p>Signor d'Annunzio is known throughout the world as a poet
and a dramatist, but above all as a novelist, for it is in his novels
that he is at his best. In poetic thought and graceful expression
he has few equals among the writers of the day.</p>

<p>He is engaged on a most ambitious work&mdash;nothing less than
the writing of nine novels which cover the whole field of human
sentiment. This work he has divided into three trilogies, and
five of the nine books have been published. It is to be regretted
that other labors have interrupted the completion of the series.</p>

<p>"This book is realistic. Some say that it is brutally so.
But the realism is that of Flaubert, and not of Zola. There
is no plain speaking for the sake of plain speaking. Every
detail is justified in the fact that it illuminates either the motives
or the actions of the man and woman who here stand revealed.
It is deadly true. The author holds the mirror up to nature,
and the reader, as he sees his own experiences duplicated in
passage after passage, has something of the same sensation as
all of us know on the first reading of George Meredith's 'Egoist.'
Reading these pages is like being out in the country on
a dark night in a storm. Suddenly a flash of lightning comes
and every detail of your surroundings is revealed."&mdash;<cite>Review
of "The Triumph of Death" in the New York Evening Sun.</cite></p>

<p>The volumes published are as follows. Each 1 vol., library
12mo, cloth     $1.50 </p>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class='center'><i>THE ROMANCES OF THE ROSE</i></div>

<p><b>THE CHILD OF PLEASURE</b> (<span class="smcap">Il Piacere</span>).<br /></p>
<p><b>THE INTRUDER</b> (<span class="smcap">L'Innocente</span>).<br /></p>
<p><b>THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH</b> (<span class="smcap">Il Trionfo della Morte</span>).</p>


<div class='center p2'><i>THE ROMANCES OF THE LILY</i></div>


<p><b>THE MAIDENS OF THE ROCKS</b> (<span class="smcap">Le Vergini
delle Rocce</span>).<br /></p>

<div class='center p2'><i>THE ROMANCES OF THE POMEGRANATE</i></div>

<p><b>THE FLAME OF LIFE</b> (<span class="smcap">Il Fuoco</span>).<br /></p>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class='tnote'><p class="ph3">Transcriber's Notes:</p> <p>Obvious printing errors fixed such as spelling, punctuation, placement of diacritical marks.</p>

<p>The corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44827 ***</div>
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